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what journey can your feeble legs take me?
What thing would your eyes see for me?
Look, let me take you to Memory Lane:
when the sun and the moon were friends; 
a jolly good friend of rice and stew brothers,
they birthed Africa in the eyes of the world. 
Now, separated by envy,  they birthed corruption. 
Love soured in their laughter and smiles, 
the sun built Africa and the moon, America. 
This is the brotherhood of the cross of sin, 
masked in the bloody circumferences of hatred, 
that is the brotherly spirit made in the sky, 
a shredded spirit of oneness beaten in the field. 
a carved inch of love that stays not so long, 
a silence voice of the chipping silent that speaks, 
a thousand heroes in that grourded animatistically
In the heart of genius as sunny as the shining 
singlet of the sun which gives light to us in us. 
Our lips birth greatness in laughter,
our eyes are brotherhood seen in amazing 
Helm of a saint jerks off from the sky above. 
Behind this close doors women shall scream
again of a child birth for captivity and lost. 
Behind this closed door, tomorrow shall come, 
behind this closed door, history shall be made;
a history of two hands and triple legs
that would sustain mankind till eternity. 
this is my last will,  testimonies of my lips. 
Take it to the moon in your nightmare, 
draw it close to the Sun in your trance, 
even if the enemity continues let the know
that America shall birth peace of illusion
and African dreams shall come to mind. 


©John Chizoba Vincent

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