From A Pen Refusing Frustration Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

I know you, I know your thought,
I won't be intimidated by their sunny
Red blazing eyes that hurts minds.
My ink might not be better now but
I won't give up in the quest to know more,
I will still swallow my pride and work.
The essences of living is not seen in not failing
But failing and rising make up life journey.
Life has knocked me hardin many attempts
Yet, I will triumph bravely over those critics.



Tell hardship that I can't let go of my dreams,
Tell poverty that he has lost the game of the
throne, wink at frustration and mutter to him
that he should keep off from my burning zone.
I may share the bleeding part of the nosy economy,
Tears may flow here and there like a rain drop,
Leaving me helpless and hopeless; dumbfolded,
I must never give up base on what you say to me.



Tell them in the house that we, the penlords,
Will survive the melt down of the sun on us.
Strongly, we will prowl in the darkness alone.
The sweat on our brows had been brave always,
We've seen many times when the sun changes!
We've seen the moon as a chameleon here;
Yes, we've seen many transition in life and life
Itself have seen us with a bleeding souls and legs.


We will cross the bridge of a disgraced shame,
From the faculty of insanity to home of sanity.
We can't leave words alone, we can't leave Nigeria
On fire and run to a sagging strange land, no!
Look at our eyes and find out that there is
A tinny boundary that connect home and abroad,
Love knows no bounds but suffering has bound
That cluster in many ways in the polluted air.


Look at the forest of men astraying,
Panting in an endless depressions that bark.
I refuse to be among the rejected in the street,
I refuse to be frustrated before the new rain,
If their head is censored in the field, many will fall.
I refuse to be stranded in the hands of the so critics,
None those Animaticians on the their white chairs.


Today has seen our stripped heartbeat broken,
Tomorrow shall we overthrow fear in a combat.
This is from my hand; hand of a pen refusing
Frustration from the clouded prison wall of poverty.
I can't be devastated, we can't be demoralised in
Our own land where enough milk are gathered.


(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016