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Thanks to all philanthropists

A special thank you to all philanthropists
From east to west and north to south;
Up the sky; freely the littlest of birds fly
In such sweet serenity before the eyes
We envied their liberty and less worries
Until we became the characters in such stories.

At different stages, challenges comes in different forms
What we make of it matters, as either sadness or fun,
You see these tears, it falls from every eyes
But honestly, if the rich also cry
For the poor, what is there to live for?
A question we asked several times before.

Then our ghetto dirty lives were a truck load of pain
And death a tranquilizer, our wretched breath gain
Even in urban, death is a debt breath pays afterwards
Hence, the street we chose to suffering in this world
On a platter of gold, by you we were served and saved
We owe you our lives and everything we have.

Growing up, we thought of you as some kind of god,
And a creator, redesigning the whole wide world
Eradicating hunger, pains, sorrows, poverty
Sufferings and all forms of deformities.
If only this crazy world had more of you
Sufferings would have been a term we had no clue…

It was right at the junction of lost hope,
Where we had chosen an elevated floor and a rope
And just after tearily reciting our last prayer
Out of the blues came your pull by our shoulders,
From the rose flowers, you pulled out the thorns
Giving us a million more reasons to carry on.

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

Hunger, the true virus

At times I wish, hunger hits hard
On the rich too, so they understand
And feel the cruel pains, of lost souls
Who before turning ghost had no home.

At times, I wonder why the world is bias
Behaving like everyone inhale special gas
Whereas we are all one and the same
Living on earth, with various prides and shames.

Upon hearing pandemic, we all turn cold
Terrified that curtains will abruptly close
Whereas daily people untimely kick buckets
All because they run on empty stomachs.

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

Two homeless men

Everyday I walk by
The road where you made a home
Under the sun and moon light
You seem not worried at all
I see your barefooted print
A thousand miles, yet you smile.

Everyday I walk by
The road where you made a home
I see you catching a nap
With no mattress and pillow
I wonder how you got here
As an image of sorrow.

Everyday I walk by
The road where you made a home
I see you clear like crystal
But I say no word to you
I baffle how you manage
To squeeze in bins when it rains…

Everyday I walk by
The road where you made a home
I wish I could talk to you
Perhaps help you in any way
But I am like you, homeless
And my life is torn apart.

©2020 http://Vinzpoetry.WordPress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Vulture’s politics

There are lots politicians have to prove
Can I ask, what motions do they move
Every time the smoke gather up above
Monies keep falling from the sky
Our parties they lit, fun multiply
Roasting doves and our butterflies

Their golden shoulders go up and brag
Fetching cameras while changing rags
Spraying all from the duffle bags
A million tongues go pouring
On them; blessings upon blessings
Singing we worship them not knowing,

They recollect the monies they spray
From our very pockets and future hay
While our people keep dying everyday
Of hunger and abject poverty
Yet with our taxes they gather properties
Every four years, they claim we’re their top priority.

©2019 http://vinzpoetry.WordPress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Dead before honor

I have got a mix of cold and fire,
So in need of a million naira,
To help fulfil innermost desires

Sadly I keep getting failed promises
My calls they all deliberately miss
Should I die now, there will be a bliss

Many would cry for me childishly
When am laid, they would smile sheepishly
Feasting and spending so lavishly.

©2019 http://vinzpoetry.WordPress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

City of hardship

I grabbed a bull’s horn
It is no more fun
Please should God return
Let Him remember me
Devil don’t feel
Pains life got on me
Dried tank in my car
Same brush, the same tar
Living in Africa.

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

Nigeria: Eating flesh, gifting bones

It pains so hard
That we still find
Folks eating sand
In a rich land.
Disparity
Between parties
Pose such pity
In my city.

Poverty sketch
Hits highest pitch
Those who eat flesh
Gift bones and preach.
It pains so hard
That we still find
Folks eating sand
In a rich land.

Many reach heights
To detach sight
From fingers that
Fed them in past
Disregarding
The beginnings
And forgetting
Humble gardens.

Seems the rich aim
At sending rain
To combat strain,
But make more gain;
And, not to sink
They kick, poor pick
Demeaning rocks
Praising rich folks.

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

If I am poor as Job

If God blessed you
With many hands,
Don’t critic
Mine that is one.

If you were blessed
With red fresh wine
Don’t tell me
Mine taste like crap…

If your torchlight
Is big and bright,
Don’t come out
To quench my shine,

God filled your hives
Your vinegar
Is my honey
I still jolly…

I am happy
Just where I am,
There are big stars
And there fireflies

For by default
I may be dim
But don’t come
To dampen me…

Since you chose to
Sleep on airplanes,
I love my grounds
I love my mats

My bike is my
Luxury car
Don’t kill me
Because am Job.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Nigeria: Poor black mind

Hope growth is not an hallucination
How did the Whites become diabetic
Economically well structured and nice
Whereas blacks lags; now we auction
Selves, for slavery; legal or illegal
Under the weather of milk and honey.

The internet has become an office
While our gods accepts sacrifices
Kids nowadays cling diabolical ways
Extorting money from folks abroad..
The painful part is, men truly legit
Are but now the riffraff in town…

My country is drying up not because
She fell on the largest of cradle beds
Nor because her leaves and stalks are old
But because she has solely refused
To keep muds far from pigs while trimming leaves
And growing the grey hairs of wisdom.

No metaphor or synedoche can hide
The bad governance these lands have
Hello! are you proud of our sour soups
Yes I am proud to be called an African
Yes I am proud to be called a Nigerian
But I hope my children don’t end up like me.

©2017 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Unending poverty

Do you know, there are people
Who don’t have where to borrow
Yet their life hardship borough
Living in the deepest of holes
Holding firm as soil for poles
On their skin is suffering moles.

Common in both dark and fair
Ending when the bags of air
Biology proudly call the lungs
Is filled with a mass of dust,
And stomach begins to churn
After it turns to a bag of clay.

Hopeless it will end tomorrow
But poverty is a failed today
That didn’t bred yesterday.
Just beside the flying horses,
For it was nobody but us,
Who created the World of poor.

©2017 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
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