john chizoba vincent
Pen Errand - Poem by john chizoba vincent
I know that even when others deceive me, you can't decieve me with your blossoming ink of truth.
Go tell them what has happened to our budget,
Tell them that our budget is missing in a broad day light, who stole it? We Are yet to know.
Tell them that the chibok girls have not return from the forest of lies.
Tell them that the president is confused in fighting corruption.
Tell them that the same looters are our ministers in the government house.
Go to the school, tell the teachers that they have lied to us.
They told us that we are the leaders of tomorrow and our hopes were lifted up, happy. Joyful. Excited.
Yet, the old men still control us like cattle in the field.
They taught us how to carry Bible on our left hands
And then, hold gun on our right hands to kill.
They taught us to keep lies on our upper teeth and
Truths on our lower teeth and deceit at the tip of the tongue.
How the weak sun smile, they shows us with laughter
How the air was inverted with a cloud of worry; they taught with a black chalk which depict darkness.
Go tell the moon that the world is not happy with it,
Why colour our world with white while we need darkness, darkness that speak honestly to humans?
Stop no where until you get to the skin of the sky,
Paint it with red and black of your tongue, humans
Don't need white sky but black and red sky.
Hurl my soul to the people of the earth, smile not!
Laugh not, pen! For the gods are blind to see your work.
Where are the gods of the land which supposed to shield us to peace? !
Where are the gods in this land?
Where is Obatala, Ogun, Amadioha, Sango, Arusi?
Where are they, my beloved pen?
It wasn't so in the beginning, no, it wasn't so in our time.
Your words is but a candle on stand with men,
You will make many blind and many loose their senses when you start with your endless talking.
What good is that to them that they live on earth?
All have sinned and you must tell them the truth,
Do not be gentle on those hard stone, honey pen.
Go! go! ! Go tell them of the pains they have caused
While I remain in this darkness called bar of truth.
Hide nothing from any man or woman, understand? !
Men have chew many cud in their mouths and this had made them forget their creator's warning of love.
Hold the church at ramsom because they caused the war, religion war against one another in the church.
Tell the pastor of your observation; of his drifting off from the doctrine of God, the creator of the universe.
Ask the Imam why many are killing in his mosque,
Why many has created their own part instead of the
Path of their prophet; Mohammed, why?
Then, return to the church and ask the pastors why
Prosperity sermons is the order of the day, pretty pen;
Don't be shy and intimidated on this journey.
Many would abuse you but forth I send you not backward.
Tell the government they have done us more bad than good.
The masses are weeping at the door of their houses,
Commotion here and there in their handwritten letters
The oil they made to fight against us in an abnormal way.
Our hearts they have taken to their hearts to dine with.
When shall the call of intergrity be made to us?
When shall all return home to feast together as one family?
Tell them we see all their works to us under the sun,
Every one shall receive their reward when the time comes.
No king forever, soldier go, soldier come, barracks remain the same.
Stories foretold between my fingers are the sad ones.
Dreams made real by the stroke of a golden pen is real to the boredom of their looted ego in the world.
Blue inks manifest to change course of humankind but their dirty hearts foretold of an unchanged facts.
Red inks warn of impending wordless doom that will befall men when their hearts remain the way it is.
Black ink is the colour of their souls, black demons.
A writer's morsel is pictures in the brain of his brain.
Tell them to turn to the rhymes of their dance and watch how the beads they wear will mock them in tears.
Let your words be broken into verses so that they could understand that life wasn't to get and eat alone.
Mighty pens speak and, I know you won't disappoint me when you see their faces in the light rooms.
Do not look at their faces nor look into their eyes!
Those faces and eyes are decieving to look at.
Your languages their tongue may not understand but write it down on a white parchment paper shrivels under your bleeding body, maybe they would understand.
Words are my wealth, the wealth you really need to share with the world to know of our pains.
Journey of a pen knows no destiny nor fate of others,
They may take your words or leave them at the door of their ears but; make sure you speak what I asked you to speak to the dying world of sin.
I cannot beg the graveyard to teach men of quality of being honest but, I can only plead you to redirect their steps.
I may not have to live completely to write but this errand I sent you shall represent me long before am gone, the legacy of your message to the world shall not be wipe away nor be chased away from people's heart.
I die tomorrow but death never kill me when my words are evidence in their hearts.
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