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Best Poems Written by Victor Ernest Osong

Below are the all-time best Victor Ernest Osong poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

Weeping Gun

My palms are growing wet
Sweat has covered my trigger
Night and day in enemies nest
Operating like battalions of mere singers.

I fight 21st century with 20th century bullets
Blood on my face, wounds yielding deeper
In shattered body my brethren in uniform rest
Unjust funding makes our defence wall weaker.

Father, I am in a wilderness fighting a shapeless war
No back ups, no one is watching out for our fall
Like we are dying for those who don't care about us
Our enemies are in golden armor while we ride on horse.

Mother, did the demise of my gun brothers makes the headlines?
I heard the 'next level' was lunched on that day
And my superiors disown us to dine at the front line
Well, don't cry yet, I'm still alive at least for today.  

Oh, my palms are wet and my hopes like a thread
My eyes shed more tears than the blood my gun sheds
We are too weak to keep pulling these triggers
Aso Rock, upgrade us now or take us home to our fathers.

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

A Recalling Woo

Divorce me
Marry my dreams
I dreamt I was loving you for eternity.
I know your beauty is a hoax
I don't mind falling a million time indeed
As far as I end up giving a toss
That forever we shall swim in love streams.

Love is blind
But your beauty won't let me pretend to be
Love hurt like knife
But the weather of my love is too hot for that indeed.
Anything good comes with a price
I want the best in you, I will give it a fight.
You ask me if I can die for love
I say if we will be buried together I have no choice.

Do you still want to leave my love
Go with my dreams at once.
Yes, I will die happily when you are with my all
I shall be waiting at the other side
To continue wooing you to fall.

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

At 58

I am 58
I was forced to three wives
That always feed on hate.
My offspring are millions of lives
Only united in sharing my cakes.

I am 58
I can't feed my children at my age
No, their elected elders won't let me to
Despite the plenty, they are left with little.

I am 58
Once a pride now a disgrace
Greed of few turn my honour to shame
Oh, my offsprings are disowning me everyday
From their quest for greener pastures, they return to me in chains.

I am 58
Every first of October they gather to celebrate me
Then abandon my dirts to beautify my competitors'
At my age, I am still a dumping ground; a land of generators.

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

Wetting My Helpless Pains

On my desk again
Crying through my pen
Wetting the heavy pain
Life has thrown to my chest.

Living in a hopeless cloud
Is worse than death sentence
It's me against the crowd
And mercilessly the strive is intense.

Have you ever faced the devil?
I'm in a ring with one
Sleeping and waking between God and evil
Trying to live a life in front of wars.

The altar I'm looking onto for help is helpless
My groaning voice can't be heard.
I have been taking my needs to the needy to address
Their whine only help to triple the ache in my head.  

Trinity of necessities of life surrounds me 
Trapped in the middle not knowing the one to foregone
My hope my only friend is angry that life is mean
It is threatening to dump me at once.

How useless it's to dare nature 
Tuning and turning me in the name of destiny 
Giving me knowledge of everything except for the future
Forcing me, devil and god to strike some harmony.

I pray for His second coming to meet me well
Only that I'm waiting for except a miracle happens in between 
The paths have been too rocky for me to keep trying to dig wells
My flesh has surrounded for fate to win.

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

This Time

In the face of war
Loudly our fears drum.

The lioness ready for a feast
I heard Lucifer is angry against God
Battling to get Him to His kneels.

Blood is reigning
The blood sucker awaken
In pieces the sky has fallen
The moon now a commoner  
And the sun a drunk wanderer.

Where are the innocence
The black cloud acquires,
Vultures need the flesh of the angels
Their bone the dogs also desire.

The dragon has been unleashed to flood the world,
This time, no one is right enough not to be wrong,
Yes, No saints, No Noah,
No ark to sail to a new world.
Death our creditor, we the borrower
The covenant can't be erased not even a word.
See what we have done to ourselves fighting our creator
See how we successfully drive ourselves to our destructions.

If God finally conquer the Armageddon
In the recreation of a new kingdom
I will want to be the Adam without eve
Dying to see what difference that will make indeed
Because this world is such a complicated trip
The returnees will hate to repeat.

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

The Fight Within

Sometimes we try to hide our fears
By trying to fake a smile
We take pleasure in shutting down people
From unnecessary facets of our lives.
Due to the unfriendly moments we are caged in,
We cannot even pretend to be there anymore
Neither can we keep faking that smile like we used to.

We fight and quarrel about every little thing
No, we kill ourselves in loneliness fighting against the love we have for them
Slowly, steadily, and surely our love for them grow to be hatred
But deep down within us, we stop loving ourselves thinking that we have succeeded in killing our love for them.
And then emptiness set in
Bitterness that was never anticipated starts to overwhelm us.

Everyday breaks and birth more regrets
Leaving you wishing that you have a time machine to turn back the hands of time
And that time machine is never found
And that time machine keep forging forward
The avoidable moment has been created
And like a healed wound, the scar never leaves your heart
And you keep waking up to a wet pillow every morning
And every laughter around you begin to sound like mourning
I should have done better 
No, I should have faced the little things that matter
Maybe, I should have been more considerate and more flexible with my principles 
I shouldn't have been too scared to be disappointed
I should have just listen a bit more and talk a bit less 
I should have sacrifice my huge ego on the altar of happiness with self
I should have known that nothing last for ever but moments do.

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

My Perception

It is hard to make sense of the world
When you are stuck in my wall.
I have ran so many races 
That only earned me a broken face.
These words are the reflection of my woes
I can't but keep watching my folks turn foes.
Unarguably, my today is not a reflection of my past
Because in my yesterdays, I faced all battles, I didn't pick my tasks.
But my gold is often given the price tag of coal
Leaving me no choice than to clock-walk alone.

You see, it is hard to make sense of the world
A place where the best are left to eat their words.
I gave my blood when my sweat was not enough
My dream in their noses like an African snuff.
I give ears to their worries, none to mine
My visions are like lads stories that should not be taken to mind.
My case is before a judge desk
Who sleeps and dine in my accused nest.

Still, they want me to make sense of the world
Where the best gets the worst and the corrupt gets the award.
Is there any sense to really make of us?
Are humans really worth making sense of? 
You see, don't waste a lifetime trying to make sense where there is none
Instead, strive to make something out of what can be done.

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

Babacracy

I am no king, yet here I stand,
A puppet bound by Baba’s hand.
He lifts me high, he pulls the strings,
He owns my fate, he crowns my wings.

He whispers soft, “The throne is yours,”
Yet locks my soul behind his doors.
With stolen gold, he paves my way,
My name, my face, the price he pays.

He calls me son, but brands my skin,
His mark runs deep, it burns within.
He buys my men, he bends the night,
He clears my path with blood and might.

His wealth runs thick, a poisoned stream,
A silent curse, a fractured dream.
I must win—no, he must reign,
The debt is his, the cost my chain.

Mark your votes and play your part,
Or watch him tear the world apart.
For if he falls, then flames will rise,
The streets will choke on shattered cries.

Two years his, then one for me,
One for you, but never free.
Four more come, the pact may change,
The balance shifts, the vows rearrange.

Take your crumbs, be still, be tame,
For baba must feast, his only aim.
It’s Babacracy, dark and deep,
I do not rule—I watch, I weep.

For if he turns, the storm will break,
And all I’ve built, the wind will take.
Your voices drown in hollow halls,
And I must bow when Baba calls.

It’s Babacracy—no light, no grace,
Just power’s hand upon my face.

Oh, your cries are weak, your strength too small,
So take what’s left, if left at all.
It’s Babacracy—I don't serve you,
My oath is sworn, my path untrue.

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

Today's Seeds

If the voices of the voiceless remain unattended to,
In our tomorrow, will there be a dream to run to?
They cry in silence as their dreams are being tattered.
They speak in their heart because their words don't matter. 

They didn't ask to be born 
But they are here left to tick away like a time bomb.
Those who help them, take away their pride. 
Those who ignore them, jest with their strides. 

They are made adults before adulthood.
They are made worthless like bitter truth.
They groom their offsprings without a groom. 
They are only needed to choose an umbrella or a broom. 

My people, what we have seen don't scare like the unseen. 
The hate we give today, are just fruitful seeds.
We have their pairs as children and wards.
Yet, we left them for the rain, the sun and the world. 

Ain't we worse than the worst virus?
Ain't we creating what will devour us?
Now tell me, if the voices of the voiceless remain unattended to,
In our tomorrow, will there be a dream to run to?

Details | Victor Ernest Osong Poem

Who Are the Politicians

I chuckle soft when people fume,
And blame the lot in suits and gloom.
“You see those leaders? All a scam!”
But who’s still selling free yarn?
Was it not your own cousin’s name,
On that campaign with matching frame?

The nurse who sighs, “This ward’s a zoo,”
Still checks her brows in selfie view.
She posts, “On duty, Lord be praised,”
While someone’s gasping, soul half-raised.
Yet when they moan the state’s unwell,
She nods, “It’s true,” then rings the bell.

The lecturer, with paunch and tie,
Reads ancient notes with weary sigh.
He shares some grades with knowing nod,
Then says, “This country’s truly flawed.”
He blames the youth for lack of grit—
While half his class just pays to sit.

The copper parked on potholed street,
Asks, “Where’s your licence? Papers neat?”
He grins, “Let’s talk,” with greasy grin,
While tucking morning bribes within.
By noon he’s shouting on the news—
“Society’s gone down the loos!”

We roast the system every day,
With memes and gifs in strong array.
Yet scroll past queues to dodge the vote,
Then mourn when goats are running boats.
We ask for change, yet shift no ground—
Just echo tweets that spin around.

The tailor swears, “Your cloth’s near done,”
But dances at his niece’s fun.
The mechanic says your car’s in queue,
But joyrides round like Fast & Few.
Then tells his mates, “This land’s a mess!”
While wearing shoes you just redressed.

The market lady shifts her scale,
And bags your rice with hidden shale.
The youth who screams, “We must rebel!”
Still ghosts his friend to chase one belle.
We all want justice, loud and bold—
But sow deceit like coins of old.

The pastor thunders, “Give and live!”
Then buys a Benz you helped to give.
He claims the Lord approves his flight,
While dodging tax in holy light.
He’s not alone—we’re in this stew,
From deacon’s pew to bus queue too.

So when next time you curse “the throne,”
Recall—it doesn’t stand alone.
That golden seat’s not self-assigned,
It’s built from all we’ve undermined.
To mend the roof, don’t shout and frown—
Pick up a spade, rebuild your town.

You want clear roads? Then drive with sense.
You want fair rules? Then stop the fence.
It’s not by screaming, “God will run it!”
While jumping queues with cheek and sonnet.
The mirror’s clear, it doesn’t bluff—
We are the system. That’s enough.