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Let’s not go back to 2020

There was blood between two greens,
After the peace and unity disagreed
The young bloods came out singing
With purpose as they were marching.

The birds hummed promises to fix the error
Yet they changed the name “error” to “terror”
Was it that, the protest had no direction?
Or was it just another, pull them down syndrome?

Answers came from centres that began to tear
Forming thick black fumes in the air
As properties and structures were set ablaze
Insane it was, seeing anyone truly amazed.

Many young bloods came out stretching their claws
In a once peaceful protest turned to war…
Lost was the hope that was left
After the trained turtles sprayed bullets.

Indeed tempos arose, in all directions
The birds announced there would be sanctions
But the rage of terror never ceased
Into the streets, more turtles were lunched

To calm things down, and maybe to shoot again…
In all, the greens and white were in pains
Seeing their characters loss global integrity
As the pawns were out absolutely in disunity

Those who had, and had nothing to lose brought knives
And most behaved like they had nine lives
Beheaded, but survived the many lies
From the birds, who sang, “no pawn ever died”

Politicians are all the same over the world
But for humanity we ought to build great walls
With peace and progress, yet we take a wrong path
Whereas just two Kings in chessboard is a still mate.

©2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

In the hands of the pigs

Down the streets, I see fierce men in blacks
Throwing punches and spraying bullets back
On both the dead guilty and the innocent
From such grief no man becomes a saint…

Down the streets, I pass everyday
There are a lot my eyes see and lips can’t say
If I were to write, I will run out of pages
It has been on since the rock of ages…

I see torn rags, I see fat pigs, I see hawks
I see ugly vultures perking clean rotten foods
I see little ants queueing for shrunken and fat pigs
Though most times the results are rigged…

At the other end where the grasses are green
I see different faces but the same within
For as they wear the authority band
The little ants and gullible expect a hand

A helping hand, but the route to end injustice,
Alongside corruption and malpractice
Causing sufferings to large extent
And institutionalized Government,

Making every under the roof look so dumb
As well as embezzlements in all forms,
Are the same routes fat pigs themselves pass
On a regularly on their way flying first class.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Are we actually independent?

We are celebrating sixty,
Yet there are no basic amenities,
Nigeria!! In her house is where I grew up,
Everyday she worsens, I am fed up.

Actually, not that I am fed up
Loving my Nation but individuals
And their never sustaining mentality
Killing the fishes till streams are empty…

Things fall apart, and when the center holds
They personally force the head and tails
To think and act in total disunity;
So her future would turn ashes on the tray.

I am fed up on individuals and how they feel
Nonchalant, not paying utility bills
Whether things are epileptic
Or functional as they seek..

I am fed up on every individual
Who live their lifespan as bandits,
Cheats, acting like an ugly vulture
Disturbing the peace of the Nation.

I am fed up on the recycling leaders
Who take turns enriching their selves
At the expense of the masses
Who are not skipping corruption classes.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Politics: The city hall

The rate of fresh blood is overwhelming
With enthusiasms always rising
While the toddlers grow to have wisdom teeth
The city hall in power never fleets.

It is not just the strange bedfellows
Neither the dirt part that always follow
But it is the impunity they have
Siphoning our resources while they serve.

Youthfulness is there to always savour
Although we have numbers in our favor
We just can never fight the city hall
Because they plant discord between us.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Corona is karma

I have a dream, and in that dream,
Apocalypse made reverse flip
She flooded streets, with a reset,
Giving them back all in their bank

Accordingly, appropriately
Cutting sockets, kicking buckets
Lots of bodies, foes and Buddies,
Were stacked like logs, and scared of bugs…

“Dirt kills not an Africa man”
Oh sorry, not those type of men
Who corruption has eaten deep
Beyond depths meant for sinking ship

Now, the center hold not anymore
Beans are empty in cooking pot
And our Hopes are dead in weevils
I heard someone casting Devils

All blames they pushed but he stayed put
In hell, watching landing birds pooh
He had no hand, sins of our land
Exhumed from sands from end to end

Wedges were down and mere touchdown
For personal gain, and golden crowns
Then borders crossed, the virus tossed
Dirt we overpowered, now kills us

We fight world war three, without arms
Which all began from the pigs farm
And self enrich but now they itch
Even as they could turn to fish

With ten fins and bladders to swim
The tears that rain pours out cruel pain
Coming from drugs and outside laws;
Stay far apart; stay sanitized

More than a gun headshot begun
Aiming at rich lessons it teach…
I have a dream, and in that dream,
Apocalypse, had many flips.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

A voice from Nigeria

Nothing will make me grab a rope
Just because my world hit the slope
I might have not been to Europe

But I do not have to go suicidal
Just because of someone else’s potential
Although I have not been to Asia

But before Butterfly was Caterpillar
I have to grow and not think of Antarctica
In Africa, for I have not been to Australia

Nothing will make me empty a bar
Simply because I have no luxury car
I might have not been to America

But my ink and papers have traveled
And my poetic voice have been heard
By different races across the world.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

The Thirteenth President: Shameful 2020

It was the year two thousand and seven
But back then in time, we saw thirteen years
As a far throw, and couldn’t comprehend his plans

But, as days went by, the Roaster crowed
And today, year Twenty twenty came our way
With no duffle bags and no gathered hay…

Meeting us while we are shadows of ourselves
Dwelling in intense hunger and confusions
Multiplying both poverty and corruption

With an high rate of unemployment,
Moribund heritage and high cyber crime
Oozing strongly from us all the time.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

The Thirteenth President: Vision twenty twenty

I witnessed a man of many creeds and zero greed
Who wanted all squirrels to have a nut
A thoroughbred politician but good things last not.

Though, before he sailed away he spoke of
His dream; titled vision twenty twenty
A year when Nigeria shall have plenty.

Reclaiming all her sweet heritages
Turning Niger Delta into heavenly city
And for northeast, mitigate insecurity.

He had a dream to provide uninterrupted supply
Of power and energy, increase employment
And enhance infrastructural development.

These were all on a three point agenda,
Seeming like a hook on repetition
That would take us to redemptions

Just like yesterday, I remember him say;
Economy, economy and economy…
In short, vision twenty, twenty.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

The Thirteenth President: Ya’radua

Before Barrack Obama of America
We had ours, an indefatigable man
That never stole from our rich barn.

Late President Ya’radua of Nigeria
The thirteenth President precisely
From Kastina, all he did were wisely.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Years of Buharism

Oh Nigeria, my Nigeria
Do we have to be rooted here
Is it bad to have faith in you
When denial is long over due.

We prayed for growth to be better
But tides of grief spread all over
Washing our faiths, replacing hopes
With bullets and some suicide ropes

We prayed for capable leaders
The ones who would be our Messiahs
But we got pins in our buttocks
Hurting much more than we can talk

Dead butterflies in our stomach
Breeds sufferings we used to lack
Our eye sockets are wet and soaked
With force of tears that erupt rocks.

©2019 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
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