Helpless Not Lifeless Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

Under the Orji tree,
We lay helpless not lifeless.
We still look at tomorrow hopefully,
Though we may lay with our stomach'
Down without shaking; we are still alive.




Laugh not at our suffering and pains,
We still crave for another day;
A living dog is better than a dead lion.
We are still alive to answer our calls,
We are still alive to bear our cross.




Bury not our head before time,
We are still the trees of the forest
Which after cutting down resurrect later.
Today in prison, tomorrow in palace
To dine with the kings and queens.




We will sing a song soon with a great horn,
A bubbling whistles shall accompany our joy.
Do not make your face rejoice before the sun,
We are still alive in where you kept us to die.
Helpless not lifeless; homeless not hopeless,
Blood still run through our vein.




The tears gushing through our eyes
Does not mean the death of our man.
Our voices still sound louder and better,
Our eyes are still fierce and dreamful;
Our ears seeking for new names to stand on.




Call forth your rejoicing youthful soul back home,
Gather the coffins you've made to bury us together;
With the days of illusions and abandoned hope,
We still look like the lilies of the forest and the stars.
Though helpless in here, but we're not lifeless,
Though homeless not hopeless with our quest in life.
We are still alive at heart.




(C) john chizoba vincent