Author: azubuikechinonso

GREAT, happy about life, writer

False-Truth

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I’m not good enough,
Daddy is taking Ada out for the third time because she aced her exams and I did not,
It’s the 4th time I’m being dumped for the better one who happens to bear my second name,
Yes! I took the pain to please my team and they chose David instead to take the lead,
Right now, I can’t look my wife in the face because I was not strong enough to rescue our only son before the car exploded in my face,
It’s 5 of 5 times I gave my opinion only to be overlooked by Tunde my coworker,
Who later brushed it up at the board meeting and was given a cool offer,
I even bet my life savings on the victory of my soccer club and the other club won,
And now I remember that it was momma who never believed a word a say because of the lie I told when I was two,

So, before I take my baby steps to death,
let me tell you that life has left me bullied by these thoughts and actions and betrayals and my pride with many rejections,
I even resulted to alcoholism but.. wait,
My religion abhors it so I’m formerly depressed,
These are the few I can tell,
I don’t want to tingle your ears,
And so far, all gesture given to me have been a clue for my escape away from this wicked world,

This was my life until I met one who told me I was made for so much more,
“Though the world’s pressure be heavy on me?”
But one sure word,
“Though I have been tagged as a sore looser and my dreams are dying”
But one true word,
“Though the stem of a tree be cut off and it’s roots wither but with the scent of water…
..That tree will grow again”

So before you pull the trigger to your brain,
Or drink that mixture,
Or have a last look at the beautiful skies as you sink in to the deep,
Or tie that rope to your neck,
Or write your last letter,
Give me the chance to rescue the hero in you,
Let me a minute to whisper to you that you are the one the skies have been waiting for,
Allow me to give you this scent of hope that there’s one who believes in your breath,
Your scent, your accent, your color, your posture, your smiles,

I mean your tears a so treasured so much that every drop sends a signal to the one who created you,
Truly you’re the apple of his eyes,
And these misdeeds are remodeling you into a masterpiece,
Your past do not define your future,
You are equal and more to that problem you’re facing,
You’re the champion waiting to happen,
So don’t give up, hang in there!
And just before another ‘false truth’ comes knocking at your mind’s door,
Accommodate this one truth,
“You are good enough!”

Azubuike Hannah
© 2018

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CLAD

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I have been a gladiator all my life,
Wrestling with both man and beast all these times,
A complexion of my scars,
The door to my mind’s wounds,
I scarcely knew a hero within these black holes,
Far from the skies,

I entertained spectacular foes for audience,
And my evening had unfolding shows that were popular for my trophy pose,
With facades of joy,
After which I was given the raw meat to eat with a glass of some bitterness to sip,
My pride servicing my red eyes,
With lots of grin applause as envy came as a plus,

Death was my inevitable choice,
A sting option, patient for it’s active chance to occur,
And so no matter the wins, the victims, the gifts I gave,
I was yet to please him dead,
I gave my rivals befitting houses of sorrows with my lying arrows as my wrath residues,
No morrows, as my bow bows them into my memories of victory stairs,

See,
I’ve been in this game for so long,
Long before Seth was born as another son ceded,
Playing with my breathe as my life solemn song,
Yet,
I had not gone passed the dawn of game seven,
And this was no Seth’s based ball,

The summer sage started,
When the first boomerang of teenage battle, unlatched my belt and I stumbled into some piles of dirty lies,
My chest cage got broken when I mistook the right turn for the rest, having the same look as the dust after hauling down to the earth,
The crowd’s laughter grew,
As I made futile efforts to move with my trousers down clogging my boots,
This was no goodness of peace running through my restless veins,
It was vain to shield myself from this day waiting to happen,

Finally with just one slingshot,
My hard hat headed off my head,
And I couldn’t think straight,
It was obvious that I was unsafe,
I was the lad who brought a pen knife to a sword fight,
My only gifted weapon passed down from my elder brother who departed before the age of impart,
I could only keep his last statement which was..
One word of believe from,
Your lips and this penknife becomes a sword,

But as I said,
This day with the weeks following it became the years,
I was not thinking straight,
I mean whose youngster would read Eph6:10-17 and relate a thing?
So there I was unclad ,
A master at pleasing my audience,
This misery of mine became a life series served as an appetizer to Death’s main dish,

My only hope was found in two windows
One of which was an opportunity at game seven and the other, my escape plan,
This was the chance, Death never had,
A chance become the hero within these black holes,
A chance to experience the real joy,
All I needed was a new war dress,
To address this life’s mess,
I needed to get my head straight,
To speak out that Living word of believe,
I needed to guard my heart’s cage to decide what was right and just best,
My belt so tight, I would be smart enough to deliver this truth,
My boots ever ready to tell others there could be a new you,
A faith to shield all these armors cause dead men tell no ,tales,

And so here I am,
A gladiator with a different profession,
Fighting man’s spiritual beast,
Casting down every imagination that exalts itself against the knowledge of my new found Truth,
I bleed my penknife into a sword every time I speak,
My confession has been a salvation in deed,
I am the young star who reads Eph6:10-17 and relates even with 18,
Death’s sting option was quiet late,
So whenever I win these daily battles,
I prove that the Truth already had the victory in the war,
And right now, I’m gaining mastery of this course.

Hannah
© 2018

RECRUITED

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He was one we were not accustomed to
A perfect percentage of divinity
We …never measured up
In our self right-is-us-ness

We made flaws look good and any goodness seemed strange
We did not carry His burden, His fruits we did not bear
We hardly noticed Him much less His signal
Our routine was …”opposed his motion!”
Objection! Was our response to his every witness cloaked with pride

We never crossed his paths, notoriously parallel
As our fatal destinies never had any neon light
But then He, Jesus, the Christ
Bumped into us in humble majesty,
To reveal His pierced hands once again,
In the spiritual court we never attended

 

Revelations and with mouths ajar

We were paralyzed to Light, stroked by Lightening
We lacked capacity
No, the voltage was high, resistance was fairy tale
As our defense came crumbling in our faces
He portrayed victory as He dashed our hand cuffs to defeat
Change became our routine
As He penetrated our walls
Now we run through troops
Leaping over walls
We, are His sons recruited
An artillery, no rank breaking

We carry a thousand cities in our hand
Ten thousand cities at our right hand
Our bellies, filled with the rivers of the Spirit
We flood these cities
We reveal His love, His kindness, His sweetness
Through Him we can naturally do all things
I mean, He is TDH
Truthful and Divinely Holy
So we, a product of His balanced equation
Were made when the sound of victory was heard
And all we do is to show the papers with His said verdict
Saying….
You have been made free! Reveal Me!!

Azubuike Hannah Chinonso

(c) 2018

THE FUTURE

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It is a place of completeness
Where pregnant ideas are being actualized
With wills being fulfilled and inheritances collected
It tells if the fears of the night, written plans of the dawn
And the actions to execute for the day ever did happen or if they were just flight of the imaginations

It is the ‘Today’ of some, the ‘morrow’ of others and the ‘yesterday’ of many fathers
What lies there are revealed potentially settled situations and secrets hidden in the past
With the emergence of ‘new’ discoveries
The reason everyone strives to be there.

This future could beam, could be dim or may not exist
And chances of arrival at ones’ destiny grows bigger or slimmer
While Mack makes it to the finish line, Joan dies trying

This impact of decades ago makes rippling effects
Dreams fulfilled, targets achieved and some wishes killed
One becomes a king with just a glimpse of it
The reason man searches for it even before it arrives

It comes with hope
But its certainty is not by mere talk or show of strength but of a diligent mind
The expectations are tentative
But could be put in the right trade
With an exchange of time and life
An archive of words limited, actions increased and explanations shortened
One would reach optimistically and look back thankfully

It is the fruits of yesterdays’ seed sown
And the tree growing from the decades’ of continuous watered ground
While some would be termed mistakes
With regrets of “Could have, would have, should have been”
This future gives birth to the man he becomes
Yet as one is begotten, another dies

But there’s nothing new hidden under the sun
Nothing comes as a surprised to the earth
A continuous cycle of fashion, fame, love and war
Only with advanced-archaic methods
And progenies of the past events are shown once again
Yet that has never been the blueprint for the future

It is the end of the script, the cast of the play, more also the fade of the song
But if spelt out, where would the suspense be?
Hope will be killed and man’s ‘curiosity gene’ will be extinct
Leaving a devastating misery behind
So let the culprit be revealed, let the suspect confess, let the case be closed with three dots to the next unknown line

The future is you embalmed with time
Cause one or more lives could be tied in there
With links, no lines knitted to each other in one way or otherwise
And this future could be ours
If only we are ready to search it with all resolve.


Azubuike Hannah Chinonso

(c) 2018

The body of Christ

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The body of Christ
Divisions named denominations
Instead of strengths, no discriminations
But note this that the prophecy is unity

The Real nature of the body is this
That when the hand gets hurt
The mouth cries to the hearing of the ears
So that the eyes lead the feet to where the knee meets its creator,
The head which is Christ
This is sweet harmony
That the eyes beam with great joy as the feet gets a new wear
The reward for being beautiful
( I call that ‘Classy evangelism’)
That the lids of the eyes blink to prevent dust
As the tears flows down the cheeks to calm the broken heart
For It is the hands that carries the load as the back bears the burden
And the brain, the Spirit decides what the mouth says

But something went south, no north, no bad
Yes wrong
And these members majored in factions and differences
Loosing sight of the tendons that links the muscle to the bone, Love
That maturity should be put to play to give synergy

But Edification of all churches is paused and patience for right results is stopped
For which pain I have seen as one member esteems himself higher than the other
Such discord that is oblivious to the offender and the offended
That the mind reviles the heart
Holding back the tears that brings the healing
And Beauty is so pale
So plain, could be trampled again like 2000 and 18 years ago but this time for a different reason

What sides to be kept secret, so sacred is now exposed?
And the true fruit production freezes and ceases.
Like some kind of disease
We blame like Adam did Eve cause this ‘something’ crept in as the angel of the Light
What ears to take heed but let go hence we fall
We all would fall when we do not take heed, right?

The finger’s niche to point all its members to the hit-point of the Son
Does so otherwise and another member, no section, yes denomination, is accused
And so it is sad that eyes to see all these wear Son shades

What helping ministry is neglect to the healing ministers?
What exhortation seem insignificant to the church that prospers?
Can the memory remember that if one member suffers all suffer as honor comes with rejoicing?

Remember that we were once re-membered individually
Can we re-member ourselves back to Perfect’s bond?
And even if we were all one member, where would the body be?

For in deed we are many members, many denominations, yet one body
With strengths, no discriminations
Encouraging one to another
That we grow like the tree planted by the rivers of the Spirit
We would not feel the heat of the sun But the hit-point of the Son.

-Azubuike Hannah Chinonso-
(The Beloved of God)

(C) 2018