Slavery

I spoke to Runs girl once,
She said her anger is her source
As she was forced to this life
By her Uncle who came like a thief in the Night and her virginity was the casualty
So the penalty is death for all those who now commit the crime of sleeping with her
She blames they, them
For the mayhem she cause their Marriages
‘I wouldn’t pay for damages when my case has been adjourn’
Everyone I told turn a blind eye to my hurt
Now my heart burns with hate
If you stare at me, your fate might be a night to that hell I have been put through
I and my crew will screw all of you till you forget your wives and call us Boo
She like many others are Nigerian avengers
Fighting the ghost of their abusers
And I too felt her pain
A slave to a past that had been stained,
But can be snow if she chooses to let his light glow
Even if life has given her a low blow as she wrestles with her past demons
She can tag him in
He will guarantee her the win
Then the will to talk of his saving grace with pride
Everywhere she goes, she sows seed of hope to girls like her who are still slaves to rippers of souls
Tell them the past matters but the future is what they want to see and behold

Victor Isoje
(c) 2018

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The Fire of Revolution

If you truly want a revolution
You must be willing to watch your life fade
From before your own vanishing eyes

If you crave for the heavens showered
With bright red flames and blinding white light
You must care to be consumed with it

The rebirth you long for
Isn’t held in familiar bosoms
Is never at home with soft couches, tamed roses and sweet homely dinners

The freedom that’ll last forever
Is an intense joy and a harrowing pain
Stabs of rejection, and lingering loving embraces

If you truly want a revolution
You must be willing to watch your life burn
And glow

If you want a revolution that lasts forever
How about a death that scorches us into unending life?
How about Christ, Revolution Eternal?

Ikenna Nwachukwu
© 2018

The Cross

A hand with a cross
These crosses the empty zones
Like a flying drone
A game of the weak with the strong
Not exactly a contest
But an interest, a request of a savior

A game for the peak and a tale of the wrong
This is about the struggle
That rumbles with man’s eternity
He has been a warrior since the day one
Faces persecution
Stoned by test and trials
Wandered away from the rally of deceit into the valley of shadow of death
Yet a hand bared the cross

In the realm of sleep
Wars, battlefront
Wrestling
Against the devouring clones
With hopelessness
And darkness
And at the tip of condemnation
Rises the hand that bares the cross

And when flaws
Had risen and fallen
Like a raging sea

Wagging war against its self
Beneath the surface of reality
Grew strength
To carry on
Amidst those circumstances
For he who bares the cross
Has render all flaws useless
And had broken all chains by His blood
Freedom oh kingdom!!!

The Alchemist
© 2018.

Life After Death

It is so ridiculous
How we fear death
A riddle, cool course
Why we want to live on earth

Life is to death
As death is to life
Man is to earth
As earth is to man

It’s OK we die
Because it’s a metamorphosis for one to live
At some point, we will say goodbye
To the old hives, we’ve lived

Failure could be death
Challenges could be death
Depression could be death
But the ability to overcome, prompts a new life

Definitely we will die someday
And there awaits us another life
The believers call this eternal
When we shall become immortal
But until we die, can we live such

Adethatwrites
© 2018

A Portrait of Sacrifice, with Blood as Paint

A band of butcherers chant,
As they drag crying sheep through,
Smashed rocks and dirt clouds,
Swarming, to slaughter point,

Its fluffy coat sheds, to mingle,
With mud puddles and grim slime,
It swims in darkened blood,
And sways, to torturers’ feet stomping,

As shredding skin paints the path,
To the altar, with red hue,
A portrait of life takes shape:
Suffering, to death,

But if through its last cries,
It sees losing self could be worship,
It’ll fall, to paint its dying as,
Living worship to God, “Sacrifice Infinite”.

Ikenna Nwachukwu
© 2018

False-Truth

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

GRAVE: The Begining

The day I died, was the day I went to prison.

My life had just begun, or so I believed.  It was shocking to me when I found out that i’d be serving time, being me, my obvious crime.

The cell had black grainy walls, tightly compact . Grains below, grains above, I could not see the sun, I could not see the clouds, my cell was very dark.

The grainy walls were porous. From time to time food and water were passed down to me though the narrow holes.

I spent my first days looking up, I was scared and confused.

Why wasn’t I enough? why was I here? who keeps feeding me? where is my mother?

Day after day the cell walls grew tight around me. I could not push anymore! wet faced, and exhausted from trying, I looked on, feeling my hope’s of freedom ebb away.

” this might just be my destiny, maybe I should wait and see,” I thought to myself. Days passed.

I know this because I steadily watched the transitions of night and day through the cracks in my wall.

I could hear crickets outside. One time I tried to whisper to someone lurking around the walls, I was very hot and I longed to feel the wind on my skin, to feel the light of the sun deep in my pores, so I whispered and I waited but no one came.

One day, I sat in my cell and looked around, I never really noticed those grainy walls, they seemed to have faces with shut eyes, they were sleeping.

Horrified, I ran to the middle of the cell and starred at the walls around me, all sleeping faces, then as if on cue they began to wake up, one right after the other, yawning and clicking their lips in reckless abandon.

They seemed calm, their eyes shone in unison,

”Look Lads One of Us!”, they were excited. I couldn’t understand this because I knew where I had come from, I was not  one of them,

”My skin is fair like the morning sun and my eyes bright as crystal waters, I am nothing like you!”, I replied with borrowed confidence from a lender I could not fathom.

They all starred in amazement, sheer mockery.

”You? of the sun? then what in Earth! are you doing down here?!”, they stressed the word Eaarrth, as though it was a hidden joke among themselves and burst out laughing. Their voice was loud and eery, like metal scratching on metal surface. It was horrifying, I couldn’t take it. I wanted to cover my ears but I couldn’t , it was only then I noticed I had no hands.

”Look at him, he thinks he is fairer than us, little does he know that he is of the dust  and back to the dust he must return, silly boy” they spoke as one, yet it seemed as though they thought differently, it was the most unusual conversation I had ever experienced,

”I am not one of you! I am only here for a time and I will be out just as I came!’. I tried a second time, But their cackling held me down like strong arms placed on feeble shoulders,

” Look at yourself before you claim to be distinguished, before you argue with eyes that really see you for what you are…”

I listened to them, for the first time in the cell I looked down, down from the opening, down from the walls, down at myself, I was brown, like them. A pool of tears formed underneath my eyes and stung my throat,

”No! this isn’t possible, I have always been fair like the morning sun”, my tears fell in uneven streaks leaving trails of despair on my now decaying cheeks, ”I am not one of you”, I said in limp defeat as I sat on the ground, and cried bitterly.

This time they said nothing, they simply watched me, countenance tranquil, a knowing smile on their faces I could feel it. They had me where they wanted me. They had me in defeat, But they never said a thing, they simply stayed still watching me sink. Soon after, I grew weary, eyes sore, soul torn I did what I hadn’t done before,

I closed my eyes and fell into deep sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED…

(13th September 2018)

Msray
© 2018

CLAD

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