Four Letters: Ruth


I feel loved and owned, on God
A quarter of the way there and yet enthroned, I trust
Like the Love of God is spread abroad and we’re all touched
Yeah we’re all touched
Small words from her smirk and in all the multiverse I blushed
Lord, I thank you from all of my heart, on God
I’ve never regretted taking this path, I trust

My mom told me a story,
About a woman of her country
Who met a young man, and fell in love with him
He didn’t seem so bad, his people were famed
They dated for a while and then they got married.
The woman’s new home was made of six people.
The Patriarch and his Wife,
The First Son and the woman
The Second Son and his Wife
The Patriarch and his wife came to this woman’s country
With some golden bravery
And the First son’s marriage was a big celebration
Because the Second was already married.
But not long after, the three men died suddenly
And the grief collapsed the whole family
Post-grief, With no grand kids
from her newlywed sons, both now deceased
The Patriarch’s Wife decided she would release the younger women
Let them remarry.
I am old, she said
Let me return to my country

And the Patriarch’s Wife left the town much richer
But now without her husband, and her sons never saw home. Hurrying on the bus,
she couldn’t help but feel followed.
Maybe it was the killers of her men, who knows?
She pushed and slid into her seat
Then froze, that woman was seating by the window
Her First son’s wife
She sat down.

The two women returned to the land of the Patriarch.
The older woman was born there, she ought to sit a matriarch
But now without the respect of when she first embarked,
She returned with the woman and an urge to attack
Anyone who said anymore, “Thank God you’re back!”

Meanwhile the woman went into the city and she found work.
Beautiful and sweaty when she’d concentrate
Very soon, someone spun it to the Boss
There’s this new worker they’ve been warning me about
Boss said chill, I will see her on my rounds

Of course

When He saw her there was no harm in her moves
Head down, numbered of the very least staff
But then she was beautiful
Days later those staff were getting special treatment
Days later only she was getting special treatment
She told the Patriarch’s wife of her predicament
The Old Lady asked, “what’s the name of the Boss? “
And when she replied, the Old Lady gasped
The woman shivered a little.
Had death followed them back here to be total?
The Old Lady said, you are very very blessed.
That man is my kin and you know his intents
Withdraw from his gaze, then go when I’ve said.
And you may have found yourself a bright future
God is thanking you for helping me with my chore

And so the woman found a husband in her dead husband’s hometown
And this time, they lived happily ever after.

How do I know?
Well because my name is Jesse.
And it’s my story too.

Godzniel
©2026

WE, THE INDEPENDENT ONES

We are they that ride on the waves,
Of ideas, beautiful manifestos of the 50s,
The very spittle that our mother told us if dried before the 60s,
Our navels would rot,

We are the child born in lies,
A fatherless child of 250 fathers,
A child that reminds our mother of this rape called amalgamation,
The child who is half of everything,
Whose strength should be in being everything,
Yet one thing rules: the cancer of corruption,

We are this child in dependence,
To the blind, senseless man that knew how we were delivered from,
This very deep inferno between our mother’s leg,
We encourage ourselves with hopes in things,
Things our reality tells us can never be,
We are married to Religion,
These new Masters that promise us mansions and virgins when we,
Like the worms, cringe and bow out of this stage,

We are hungry,
Milk and honey we dare not wish for,
Our elder brothers eat honey,
They told us to pray,
If we dared stared too long into his plate, he would slay,
The nascent dream we have,

We are independent,
Masters of our own,
Slaves to our elder brothers,
Who constantly tell us that the rudders will be ours one day,
Yet make their sons our master when,
Need be…..
Happy Independence Day.

Chukwu Simeon Chidiebere
© 2018