AWKWARDNESS by John Chizoba Vincent.

carving their names on the world’s flesh like scars,

they won’t waste their breath on the news of dead men.

if there are things humans should learn, it is how to

leave their emotions out of the equations uncourtly,

Keep an eye on their flank, naturally and neutrally.

under a worried sky, the wind striped, blood shattered,

not in this rat hole shall children learn to sip passage of

rotten loyalty from their fathers. through sun and

through shadows, we’ll walk by the side of the sun.

the sky, the earth’s fate is bound till eternity,

If that up goes down, the other is a reminiscence of

forgetfulness which is seen in the heart of women.

we can heal each other, we can reclaim perpetuity,

a fable told from the book of Azra, trust issues but

not in the cuddled care of mother fate whose template

Of love swells and faints at the sight of an oblong face.

let’s man this forest of people that beloved hatred,

let this castle of cruelty home you after the night.

  

we’ll watch the black linen of the stars across

the eyes of the Eagles in the sky for boring of nature,

we’ll book Edom for the sins of Moses when time

takes part in the howling of the oceans could be

So devastating and a loved one ineptness delayed.

the clumsiness of the moon is what made the sun,

let those without mouth render a theme of odium

to another forgone yesterday but remembered today.

we are the fault in the skin of the humble stars.

we are back from where we began our journey,

we smelt the fragrance of yesterday’s fire now. the

slavery of every torn garment is awkward of peace.

you heard our voices through the wind when you

listen to it over and over again without a double ear.

every one of us that leaves finds a place in the skies’ body.

a curse. A spell. A magic. A bound. Every spell cast

was horrible and ghost hunting among men of the past,

yet, our fathers betrayed us with lack and backwardness.

take a walk pass memory lanes, we’ll leave our voices

at the back of the moon before morn awakes freedom.

how we built shatter for broken souls, how we pulled gorily

and miseries from their eyes, how we heard their agony

shrieked yesteryear was something unspeakable.

we’ll see our imagination again at their feet and eyes,

taught the flowers how to carry our smell to tomorrow;

we’ll not make the mistake of selling our children into poverty again

but, we’ll carve a new world around not in awkwardness  

John Chizoba Vincent is a prolific poet, writer, and cinematographer. He has written several books which include Hard Times.