Don't Look For Me Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

Don't look for me at the graveyard
I am not dead but alive hopefully.
I still have teeth to eat the cultured kola,
I still attain to my yam in the fire.
Even if I breathe last, my deeds remain.


I have not been caught up in the cage;
The cage of change ravaging our land.
We are not in all progressive club together,
Don't search into my blank expression to see
What to talk about, I now speak in spirit.


Tell father to guide the house behind,
Tell mother that her son has gone to
Speak with his fate surrounded in shame.
Tell sister that her prayers I seek daily,
Tell brother to keep watch over the farm.


Let them keep watch over the farmland,
If the craving oil wells dry up in the south
And the madness of the north reduce a little
Then, that farmland will savour us forever;
I know the wells are angry ready to revolt.

When Ken spoke of today they all mocked
Him and even killed him shamefully there.
Wole stood and battled and they hurt him,
Chinua raged in anger but they never listened,
Now I go in search of my mantle of words.


So, don't look for me if I come not again,
Posterity send me to advocate against folly.
If the bottle of misunderstanding remains,
The kettle will call the pot black and none
Would talk about it, we've taken shed to hide evil.


Don't look for me among the Aristocrats there,
The thorny fate of my kind I'm in search of.
The lurking eyes of tomorrow stand there,
My basket of words are not lacking fibre of joy,
Don't look for me at the grave yard, I'm alive.




(C) John Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016