---

John Chizoba Vincent | + Follow Poet |
Narrative | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

---

Poverty

Look at the stormy wind coming,
Can you see the strong hands/
Can you see it mouth so wide and deep 
The mighty wind it came with scattering all manners of things desperately?
Things which people gathered for years 
Rendering them useless and leaving the naked in public.
some are left homeless but not hopeless.
How did she came here, through the door or window?
She came like a thief without invitation.
Is it my weakness or selfishness that invited her
Or my Inability to take good decision and steps?


With pains, i struggled to get rid of her
But it refused to let go perhaps she loves my home.
She would never be here in my home, no.
She had thrown my home into confusion ,
Took away my humble wife leaving 
Sorrow and agony within my heart.
You only heard the song of the dead in my throat
She is so strong like the mountainous rock.


My Mother foretold me of her,
as old as man you are.
As ugly as the chimpanzee. 
You killed my father and took him beyond weeping.
And now my mother and sisters, in sickness.
You can't take me like others.
Igbokwe household is gone in tears,
Our forefathers had abandoned us.
Some dared point at us 
They slapped and spat on us us because of her.
I must get rid of her in my home.

 You kill silently more than death,
Death is better than you because 
It takes one away where he never remember his past nor his sorrow
But you keep us here with pains.
The smiles in my face you took away 
and left me stranded 
My sorrow had grown wings whilst the battle field is in order.

Now i will rejoice like the birds of the air,
And dance like the priest behind the shrine.
Because i have conquer you.
I will be telling my generations, how i over came poverty.
Will i write the story down or tell them orally?
Writing it will be better for them to read 
and learn the art of fight against poverty.

Copyright © John Chizoba Vincent | Year Posted 2014

Please Login to post a comment