What in the world

What, in the world, does a plus sign
Have to do with Redemption?
Like, this math is flawed.
Go figure.

What, in God’s heaven, does precious gold
Have to do with street grounds?
Like a mat is, floored.
Go figure.

Dem dey go, dem dey go, mass choir.
Singing Hallelujah. Trumpeters.

Join the congregation.
Don’t miss it.
Because, flawed as it is.
The maths will begin
When this mass is ended.

And we’ll go in the Peace of Christ.
To love and serve the Lord.
Amen.

Nonso John
©2019

We did

We did it
We makeshift our minds to galaxies

We did it
We mould worlds into words

We did it
We course curses into causes

We did it
We are responsible And able

We did it
Tis a privilege we call a hobby

We did it
And we’ll do it again

Ezeonyeka Godswill
© 2019

Golden Boy

One step in front of the other
I watch you plant them
Like a weary traveler who has lost his way
Your back is burdened with a sack full of disapproval
And a lifetime’s worth of disappointment and doubt
But you shoulder it like it’s nothing
You smile at me, golden boy
And make me believe there is beauty to
The cracked burden of the tortoise

You’re just a little eccentric
I tell myself, every time I catch a glimpse of your pain
I believed I could heal you
You made me believe I was,
And I trudged behind you gladly
Cherishing every moment you put the pack down
And opened it.
But you never got rid of anything in the pack, did you?
I think you loved the sweet torture
Of owning exquisite pain
I learned to appreciate the beauty in pain
And see the hope dressed in disappointment

So I did nothing
Till you slipped right off the edge
And scattered in a burst of gold dust
Slapping my face with the truth I should have seen
had your beautiful, golden smiles not blinded me;
That I had no power to make you happy
That love could be as strong as pain
Or could be its equal

So as I stand at the edge of your cliff
I want to hate you
But I don’t
I will remember us as we were
And I will choose to be happy, golden boy
For both of us, I will choose life.

Miracle Ifechukwu
© 2019

Decadence

Ask George, the bush burns and it kills the soil.
What thoughts do you have in there that are grazing the green lands of your mind?
The government owes us,
Nothing!
Our parents owe us
Nothing!
We owe ourselves!
“What about my background”?
Ask Jack Ma, he can testify.
Seek for enlightenment,
Get over that entitlement mentality,
It’s killing your personality.

@adethatwrites
©2019

Balcony

A good journey is made up of few events,
but one important thing
Is a happy and relieved ending.

I have seen
The journeys the men of my country,
And seen that they have
only begun to stop fighting like animals.

Now we fight a different way.
But to fight like that is not expected of my journey.

Yet this balcony of exclusion
While keeping me
Safe from the journeys of other people,
keeps all the stories I would learn away from me.

Okay, I’m going inside

The Niel
© 2019

TANTRUMS

Birds sing, we hear chirpings
We built our castle on hopes
Poke fingers into the face of Goliaths.
Sands still stay as our foundation
Flooding our flickering fluid imagination
With the feelings that we could dethrone the gods
Then ramble, raze down the mountain with our tongues
We smile sweetly, seeing how weak we made things with our whining
Boxing, branding, and buying their little conscience
With our endless fits

Chukwu Simeon Chidiebere
© 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

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