Not My Tale To Tell Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

Nkem was beaten black and white,
She stole tomatoes in the market
When she could not afford to buy one
To make stew for her hungry children.


Not my pot of soup any way
That she was beaten by the crowd,
She was given what she wanted
To chew at the prodigal market.

Femi was arrested for talking
Too much of the first class man
Who travels like a river to Rome
When chaos and fire is in his house.

How is that my pot of soup?
Why would he dip and dip his fingers
Into another's open anus in public?
Has he no anus of his own to caress?

Many queue day and night at
The petrol station to buy fuel,
But they could not buy any;
Empty they went with their kegs.


How does that concern me any way
That they were no petrol for them?
It is change to chain we all wanted,
Everyone would be bitten by ant someday.


Mama Obi was sacked yesterday
At the office, she said her boss
Wanted to change everything in the office
Including his corrupt pant and dirty shirt.


What is my business with that nonsense?
She was sacked because of Change! Change! !
We all sometimes need change to change
Our lives where it hurts us so much and dearly.


Hassan said that darkness now
Governs their street than before
And no one is showing concern
On the improvement of the situation.

Not my tale to tell of darkness,
I still have a hurricane lamp home
Greatly positioned on the roof top
And my soup is still boiling on fire.


Every home has a walking problem;
Problems that birth death in heart.
We all have a staring gun problems
Birthing tribulation to ourselves to doom.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016