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Each time you call

Title: Each time you call
Author: Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu (c) 2017

You once had me, as a knight
Behind your shining armour,

But now I am an aluminium foil
Needless to your pretty humour.

Each time you are awfully bored
Or cold in the middle of the night,

You call me for temporary relief
Placing my heart on a stove to boil;

Yes! there was love, once upon a time
Now I’m a black coffee mixed with lime

Save your sugar, I now believe
Bitter is sweeter than when you called.

Cecilia – Chasing Shadows

  • VERSE I

Good luck chasing shadows
Good luck chasing the wind

I need a lady not a daughter
A friend and not acquittance

Heart’s playmaker, not a fighter
But one with bonds and chemistry.

  • VERSE II

I need a soulmate not any Cecilia,
Cherishing random flings on fense;

Irrespective of the beast and beauty
I need a home builder not a bulldozer

A good girl is a broken heart repairer
But in a crazy world, who will be a lover

  • VERSE III

When all appealing the heart these days
Are either seriously occupied,

Happily married, or confused,
Chasing the wind that must have a trace

Of height, thick or thin with pretty face
And white black shadow complexion race.

Lovelorn call

Love, a pundit of all odds
Against it all, he stood tall
One dime to sim another to cards
Stretching out the phone, he made a call.

Emotionally, his crush had no rush
But accepted him as just a friend
Not as her lover or any of such
Seeking love to the very end.

Faced in mute, “hello” he whispered
Since lego didn’t fit, let go was employed
His sweet sugar tasted like salt in her cake,
There was no room for love to give or take.

Feverishly, he brokedown in tears
His heart needed her sorrows and wants
But love is so cruel that life doesn’t give us
All we desperately want or need most times.

Rejection slip


  • I try so hard
  • They never say I’m good
  • All I get is no loud voices
  • And no pocket filled of handshake.

  • I sow good seeds
  • I expect good things,
  • For I’m a whale of good things;
  • Inexplicably, I’m discouraged by the outcome.

  • My hard work a whirling joy-ride
  • Without motivation
  • And fading dreams.
  •  Crushed; pray it ride-out the dangers;

 

  • Like false and floating ribs to the breastbone,
  • Discouragement ought not to be in me.
  • She handed me a never sleeping rejection slip,
  •  Messed; now what, should I go on?

  • Like a blood relation it always visits;
  • No shag on a rock it is;
  • Rolling sand in an angle of repose;
  • Victimized; prey my motivation is.

By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

© 2010

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