And the Poet Wept

He sat among the broken Calabash With a broken red lips weeping. His elephant like muse hidden behind The earthless atmosphere crying like a child. His venom birthed sadness among the sadist, He watched the parrotted parrots parrotting by; They were writing on the papers instead of him. He saw the Eagles talking to the astraying crowd Instead of him playing the game to his people. He had been beaten twice in the face of Injustice, His penless pen had failed him and the looters Has once laughed at him because he could Not stand as a man to fight for his people. When he looked at the mirror and saw himself; The shadow that showed the rejected fellow; The grin on his wrinkled face, he wept and wept. When he saw the reflection of injustice on his Eyes, he cried, so sad is the world to him; so sad! He could not fight what he should have fought for, Many saw the scars of disgrace buttered on his Life, he hid but couldn't hide his flowing pitied tears. It is sadness that anticipate freedom when fellows Are driven in sanity of silence, silence that kills. He has watched the people shed their seasonal Tears and wept at the time when the clouded cloud Frown at the inhabitant of the clayed earth where he Belong, upon his divided eyes, the earth is cursed. (C) John Chizoba Vincent Voice Of Vincent 2016