This Story Must Be Told Of Men Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

I am Jealous, envious of this:
My body and blood is not mine.
Tomorrow shall come and I die
This body I cherish more with oil
Maggots shall feast on it joyfully.


Who shall tell the story to me later?
The hands I guilded million times
Shall a black ants gather to enjoy,
The legs I rob every now and then;
Termites would round about it happily!

I shall see no more of the moon
The stars gathering shall past away,
Beauty of the sky shall exist not,
Man is nothing but dust of clay whom
the yoga birds shall sing of no more.


This story may never get to me later!
How this insects I step on shall step on me!
This gory misteries glorifying ghost
Clouded appealing hell of laughter
Surrounded by their bony smiles shall stand!

This story I may not hear from someone,
As the past history hangs across mountain,
Hellish emotions nullifying horning spirit
Gathering in the grounded earth to build
Up cluster that hurts and haunt feelings.


Tears like rain drops not from the eyes,
Sorrow like black scarlet drove in manly,
Mourning like laughter of peace emerged;
Waving pit of agony present its present,
Life then tell of this gory misteries of lies.

I am jealous, I am envious of this:
This story I must let out from me,
The unsatisfied stomach is not mine!
This craving head belongs not to me
One day it shall be feasted on my the maggots.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016