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

Fixed?

There is a reason we respect those who fix us
For we are married to mistakes and misgives
If we had no one to fix what was once broken up
There is no telling the darkness reality would be

There is a reason we respect those who try to fix us
Where others standby helpless and in hopeless anguish
They step on the price of past sacrifice to reach hope
And for a moment longer they give us a reason to believe

There is a reason we respect those who fail to fix us
Their failure comes at a cost of more than bargained for
If they could, they would work harder and not give up
But a one-eyed man can only lead a blind man so far

There is a reason we need a renewal and not a fix
Like Eden, this wound is located beyond man’s search
Jesus on the cross provided us a homing signal to healing
and “It is finished” was for us an eternal discharge

Now our respect may be well placed on these fixers
But they make no promises, only a willingness to try
Jesus offers you his life so you don’t have to fix yours
Now that is a certain promise for your faith and life

Ezeonyeka Godswill
(c) 2020

Don’t Be Deceived

He came not for the righteous preachers
but forsook the glory to save lost sinners
from destruction of the night
into God’s marvelous light
…they that be whole need not a physician
but they that are sick.”

He came not to condemn
but here to usher you
into a new realm of love
that’s more sacrificial than a dove
“for when we were still sinners
Christ died for us..”

He came for reconciliation
of men to their God
not for humiliation
of men by the Lord
“…for I am come not to call the righteous,
but sinners to repentance.”
then He taught them to live in true obedience.

Don’t be deceived:
He offered us liberty
to be law-free.
He gave us grace
to be performers of His holy scene
not as a licence to sin.
“For sin shall not have dominion over you:
for ye are not under the law, but under grace.”

Don’t be decieved!
Christ is here
calling you to believe
inviting you to live.
leave fear,
Come“, Love says.

Josh’ Oloyede Oluwafemi.
©2020

Clouds

I wear these sunglasses to see
The shadowed paintings of the sun meet
My ever-wandering thoughts;
These wintered trees I fought.

I wear this fainne as though I’m at peace with my past
A broad smile, loud laugh like a ship’s mast
Then hug myself twice a day
As a promise never to let my mouth say

I shake hands with tomorrow
Afraid of all it could bring; love, joy, hate and sorrow
This bromance that refuses to align to a scheme
Like the clouds of this year in multiple themes

Symolean Mikado Goodest
© 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

Are You?

Behold the cloud
the train of our King
the procession of heavens host

hear the blasting sounds
of trumpets
calling for the assembly of saints
dead and living

gathering at the table
feasting at the Lamb’s banquet
joy is the wine
in unending glee to dine

but feel the gnashing of teeth
the regrets of ostrich-like men
who missed the flight

are you transformed to fly
or heated to cry ?
Are you?

Josh’ Oloyede Oluwafemi.
© 2020

Once Again

Once again , here I stand
Covering my face with a face pad
The world shouldn’t see these scars,
It’s petrifying to behold,
It reveals a story untold,
Lost hope, lost happiness and dreams torn apart.

Once again, here I stand
With my saviour hand in hand,
Saved, healed and restored.
Once battered but now full of joy
Forgetting the past story because the son has given a glory that lasts.

Princess Pirinye
© 2020