john chizoba vincent
Big Brother - Poem by john chizoba vincent
Let us learn not to smile only when there is money in our pockets.
Let us learn to cover each other's anus and flaws.
Let us learn the act of love and butter the inner part of our souls with goodness that slice gently into us.
You left breast milk for me to suck and I must beg you this:
Take life like you take a hot tea, gradually, gradually.
Mother wasn't the problem we are passing through now rather father caused this pain that cried behind us.
Pains of discrimination and hurt can not stop unless we stop it from barking like a dog to us.
What love has brought is greater than the fear that dwells in you like a king of England.
The pest feasting on our skins now may hurl at us if we don't create a space for love to occupy.
Let us see each other as an egg that must be handled with care.
I know the cocroach can't be innocent in the midst of the fowl, I know your inner man seek revenge and death but; desperation and frustration can kill faster than death when you follow them.
Big Brother, the Big Brother up there is not blind to see your pains.
The Big Brother above said he is faithful when we trust in Him.
No man is greater than the Big Brother up there not even the so called Big brother of this World.
So rekindle your pains and let's lick gradually the hot soup that was placed in front of us.
They made us naked, I understand,
They insert blames into our heart; who cares,
Though they are the worst enemies we now have,
Walk carefully; for the Big Brother up there is watching.
Remember, when you point at someone with one finger, the other four fingers are pointing directly to you.
Please Big Brother, let's act wisely; for the Big Brother above us possesses the whole diaries of the world to give account on the last day.
(C) john chizoba vincent
Comments about Big Brother by john chizoba vincent
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye