DISAPPROVAL OF SAINTS

I used to head to A. G. most Sundays truly
Right until my pops popped in another assembly
Up in Abj, the irreligious allow arch-bars
A friend told me once, never allow wack bars

So I dug into the Spirit
I am in it cause I won it
Shackles made of responsibility
But I dance
Yeah I praise
By God l’mma glorify the Elohim

No need for the pressure or the inhibition
That meat for the idols has become our culture
But all the cattle and the hills are mine in the Lord
I used to cower, now my freedom got my brothers Michael Jackson in disapproval.

The Niel Quchi
© 2020

LOT’S BROTHER-IN-LAW

Take me back to Gwags;
Let me remake the lags and crags that tripped me forward into UNN.
I thought myself a goner, no Arsenal, and yet I won the war with a few good men.

Barely two years into
UNN my issues
Pointed me to people
Who would grow me into
Feet that would fill great shoes
Burst ma brain, no pimples
I ran into you people
Now I’m pretty grateful

So if you take me back to Gwags
I won’t need the swag
That once was a must-have
No, right now, I have Christ
That sure peace I roll on
That faith is my profession

Tertiary choices once lay ahead of me
A barrier between
the now then and this
I chose first indeed
But God will have his

Abrahaming through lands,
I was my own Isaac – the Son was in the Man

God asked for my sacrifice
I kept dodging all his eyes
I thought that I was wise
Arguing through all his whys

But let me remake
The crags and lags that made
me trip into UNN
Let’s see what happened then…

The Niel Quchi
© 2020

Country of our dreams

They say our country is going to seperate,
They say our country is a failed state,
They say we should run abroad because we will never run towns,
They taught us our suffering in silence ensures a graduation gown;
We were just trying to build a roof, but they said we are all bark and no bite
We were just trying to find some food, but they said we can’t eat what they haven’t…

This journey to the country of our dreams will not end us…
I do not pray for some future blessing, or that one day “e go beta”…No!
All we need is in us.
God, each other, tomorrow…

I do not pray for some wave of death, or that our enemies don’t make it to our comfortable
All we need is in us.
You, each other, tomorrow…
Tomorrow is asleep in the palms, three tiers can’t tear what God has joined together.

I pray that we see ourselves in each other’s eyes…children, all trying to breathe between sobs.
I pray that we accept each other’s differences… together, redefining the meaning of color.
I pray that we find each other, unity, and recognize how successful we are to have gotten here.

All we need is in us.
This journey to the country of our dreams will not end us…because Love is our true beginning.
And we’re just getting started.

The Niel Quchi
© 2020

Waking


I’m waking up again
I used to write mornings till I grew too cocky to crow at dawn
The sentences without blemish I’d pen to grow
I stopped for some reason I can’t fathom
I guess I wanted more style, or fact driven
I chased earnings becoming more consequential
I feel the reign coming, thought clouds from deep within evaporate into bare paper

I’m waking up again.
A flood alarm,
The flood I am, it’s not my time but I can’t wait.
Horns in hand, my head grows obligatory weight
Alcohol isn’t the only thing I drink responsibly

My aunt Chi told to watch out;
That when my eyes are too much,
I’m getting selfish
And so I close my eyes when whenever I write
It takes a toll on my poetry, and my pride too.

Or should I say “used to?”
I’m waking…

The Niel Quchi
(c) 2020

Parent Thing

Hail Mary, full of Grace…

Tell mothers their children are gifts with gifts in them. Not slaves who who will give birth to more slaves.

The Lord is with you, blessed art thee…

Tell fathers the world is changing, toxic masculinity is not therapy for the trauma.

Amongst women, and blessed is the fruit…

Tell children; your parents are gods. Adore and revere them. But never be afraid to tell them how you feel or pursue your dream. Deal with your trauma before bringing another kid into this world. Honour and respect all humans equally, God is the greatest, and madu abuho chukwu.

Of your womb…


Parenting is a partnership between parents and their kids. And like all partnerships, as long as the other partner is rational enough to think, their opinion on matters that concern them should be considered, too. You can be a good man, a good woman, but if your kids are not doing well, you will be tagged a bad parent. What does it tell you? The child holds a stake in this parenting business. Consider, build and uplift them. Not entirely in the conventional way, but in the way that is convenient for you and them.

now and at the hour of our death, amen

Ice Nwa Ǹkwọ
©2020

Drive Past It

I stopped driving at 16 when I had my first accident. The cost of it all made me decide to let the keys go, like lovers on some bridge in Paris, after adding their locks to the teeming number that will cripple the bridge.

This is not a poem. And it is not about lucks or keys
or a kiss or about spoon feeding emotions
or trying to have a relationship
or driving a career worthy of a Fast and Furious adaptation or a Shakespeare narration.

This is to the one who has felt heartbreak close up but, like one of the blind asked to describe the structure of the elephant, will take my words with a pinch of salt. Add it to that part of your wound that a heartbreak caused, cover your cracks with it, do an Nsibidi inscription on your sensitivity.

Heartbreaks are bad for your Health.

Remember when I said I stopped driving, well, I will drive again, and again and again and again. That is how hearts get broken…and heal.

You love or trust or have certain expectations for/from people, their inability to meet up or match your expectations leaves you hurt, and now I have been summoned from Frankenstein’s grave to tell you this;

Don’t stop loving, don’t stop being optimistic, don’t stop expecting the best from people.

Don’t stop believing…
Don’t stop loving…
That is how hearts get broken…and heal enough to heal other broken hearts.


Ice Nwa Ǹkwọ
©2020

Take My Hands Instead

One pill…
Two pills…
Three pills…
And another…take my hands.

Isn’t that a perfect metaphor for how you go bananas, dig your feet into those coloured clips, stain your teeth with the feel, stain your fill with the filth, and assume the other filths fade?

Isn’t that how it makes you feel? The peel? No?

Then talk to me.

I want to hear it…take my hands.

This time, get high on the drug of my attention, snort on my love and exhale passion, and if clasping my hands will help, take them, let the tension go.

At first I didn’t listen because I thought it wasn’t you speaking. Your liver called out to me, your lungs did too, your strained heart cried out to me, I heard a million tears fall from your triggered body.

I don’t know and I probably won’t understand you. But I know that nobody puts a gun at his throat and expects to survive.

Give me the gun, and take my hands.
Dear Amanda

Ice Nwa Ǹkwọ
D. Niel Quchi
© 2020