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Poem

Don't look for me among the weeds;
I write for the roses.
To the weakness of my pen,
I write for love not perfection of my art.
I am for the poor in the street, they are my Roses.
I am for the disables, they are my silver and gold!



I am for the voiceless and the helpless,
Those taken into custody for their rights;
They are my roses.
I am to them what stew is to white Rice,
Don't seek for the perfection of my art;
No work of art is perfect to see as perfection.



I am for those killed by bomb blast in my country,
I am for those ripped off by the government,
I am for the dregs of the Society not the looters,
Don't look for me among the Elites or Aristocrats;
Don't you look for the perfection of my art,
It may come white always; it is for the Roses,
The last dregs of my daylight can give them light.




To those that are left behind the church to beg,
The messiah shall be your hope if my pen does not
Keep you strong.
To those that are rejected at the gate of hell;
God shall supply all your needs if my pen could not.
To those that are humble in spirit, holy spirit shall
Dwell in your heart if my words could not satisfy you




But,
Don't you ever look for me among the corrupt;
I am with you in body and spirit, writing to re-create
Your hope which was embazzled by the black angles.
I write for you, Roses, my heart smiles to you all.
Ka anyi noro na ndokwa!!!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent.

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