"dapchi" poems - Hello Poetry

I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am a captive Taken from my home Away from love and care Now I live in fear In the midst of the unknown I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu Oh! You have forgotten me, probably I wouldn't blame you I am just a girl, you thought But I am Nigeria And I could be just your girl Yet you go to bed with both eyes closed Because I am just a girl. How do you sleep? How do you find peace? How do you laugh with satisfaction And Find rest? Knowing I am Leah Sharibu And I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu Who is she? I can hear you ask. Oh! You've forgotten? I am that "Dapchi girl" Kidnapped with her school mates But they are free and I am not They gained their lives back Because they are what I am not That's what some people thought But I am not just "that Dapchi girl" I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria And I am a captive I am in chains I am in bonds I am in pains And I am not free I am still missing I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu I am a Christian That's what you said But I am more than a Christian I am a girl child I am a woman I am a daughter I am a mother And I am a wife But I am more than all these Yes! I am I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria Though you called me a Christian Undoubtedly I am Was that not why you left me behind? Was that not why you've left me till now? How callous? How unpatriotic? You swore an oath to protect me But you lied You think calling me a Christian Will clear your conscience But you lie! I am Nigeria That's my identity I am Leah Sharibu I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I have been betrayed By Deceivers parading themselves as leaders By cowards parading themselves as heroes By liers who embraces you with a dagger I have been betrayed By enemies camouflaged as friends I thought they cared about me But all they want is a piece of me. So they don't care if I bleed I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am not missing You can see me But you've refused to free me You've made me your slave Everyday you **** me Everyday you **** me Everyday you brutalise me Everyday you torment me Despite the oath you swore to protect me You have become my terror My Kidnapper My tormentor My killer My captor My destroyer I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I can see, you don't care, who I am You think I will just pass away Like a shadow in the night Another figure among the many lost So you hope But you lie I am your fear I am your shame I am your story Ugly but true I am your cross You must bear I am your pain And I won't go away I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria You can **** me But I won't die Though ****** with many swords And bleeding on all sides You will always hear my cries Because I live on.... You can try to hide me Like a woman's nature call But I won't go away I will be your nightmare And walk the night in your sleep I will be your nemesis And follow you to your grave I will be your infamy Lay you bare for the world to see I will be the truth That topples your lies And I pray that I will be your end So you'd be no more I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria Another night has come And I pray for sleep Not knowing if I will see the dawning of a new day You expect me to be weak To break down and fall You expect me to be feeble and frail But I won't Everyday I see the sun I will grow strong Everyday I take a breath I shall be agile able Don't expect me to give up For I shall win at last I am Leah Sharibu I am Nigeria.

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Jan 24, 2021

Jan 24, 2021 at 7:13 PM UTC

(Holding fire and water together) I don't know why the rain keeps writing the name of Nigeria on the ground in every corner. I don't know why we are this broken and tortured like the fragments of the dust. I don't know why the Dapchi girls returned yesterday while their chikbok friends are still in captive. I don't know why every street in Nigeria is known with an imprint of good leaders. I don't know why we cry yet point accusation. fingers back to ourselves, who is fooling who? I don't know why the sun cry here with a closed lips. I don't know why we keep writing love stories while our brothers and sisters perish in shame! I don't just know why but I think you should know. Are you not the one that collected a cup of rice, clean notes and Abrahamic lie from them? I won't speak ill of this land again, I won't! I won't judge any one, no, I won't for the sake of my unborn children. No, I won't for the sake of what happened to Dele Giwa and Saro Wiwa. We poets are abnormal psychologically. We paints abstraction from the abstracts creating fears that might hurt those true patriots. My muse fell out from me yesterday night, When my television opened to a scene of genocide. Men on pants, women on trousers painting out the tears made for people inhabiting hell. Their laughters and smiles were printed to be archived among themselves. I won't speak ill of this country, no, I won't! Because of my unborn children, I won't! But I will tell just one tale for them to remember Of how monkeys carted away with our monies! Of how Snake swallowed our currency! Of how good our leaders are, I think you know! I have been holding these demons in me until last night they came out horribly in fierce protest to revisit this land again. To tell of those girls ***** under the bridge, To ask why boys like me are named after me, To speak against shadows of death lurking here and there. Nigeria is grey and black, red and violent, Retrieving this oceans of mysteries from the hidden abyss of grave corruption is the passport tabled on the pyramid top to recreate a versatile muses of a lyrics calling for a right to write our rights. Take a walk to memory lane pass your shadow, that of your father, mother & grandmas You will see a Nigeria in another angle trying to free herself from the grip of corruption, then, revisit her tears and struggles you will know we are the cause of our own misfortunes.! ©John Chizoba Vincent From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustrations

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Jun 30, 2018

Jun 30, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC

john-chizoba-vincent

Re-Visiting Nigeria

(Holding fire and water together) I don't know why the rain keeps writing the name of Nigeria on the ground in every corner. I don't know why we are this broken and tortured like the fragments of the dust. I don't know why the Dapchi girls returned yesterday while their chikbok friends are still in captive. I don't know why every street in Nigeria is known with an imprint of good leaders. I don't know why we cry yet point accusation. fingers back to ourselves, who is fooling who? I don't know why the sun cry here with a closed lips. I don't know why we keep writing love stories while our brothers and sisters perish in shame! I don't just know why but I think you should know. Are you not the one that collected a cup of rice, clean notes and Abrahamic lie from them? I won't speak ill of this land again, I won't! I won't judge any one, no, I won't for the sake of my unborn children. No, I won't for the sake of what happened to Dele Giwa and Saro Wiwa. We poets are abnormal psychologically. We paints abstraction from the abstracts creating fears that might hurt those true patriots. My muse fell out from me yesterday night, When my television opened to a scene of genocide. Men on pants, women on trousers painting out the tears made for people inhabiting hell. Their laughters and smiles were printed to be archived among themselves. I won't speak ill of this country, no, I won't! Because of my unborn children, I won't! But I will tell just one tale for them to remember Of how monkeys carted away with our monies! Of how Snake swallowed our currency! Of how good our leaders are, I think you know! I have been holding these demons in me until last night they came out horribly in fierce protest to revisit this land again. To tell of those girls ***** under the bridge, To ask why boys like me are named after me, To speak against shadows of death lurking here and there. Nigeria is grey and black, red and violent, Retrieving this oceans of mysteries from the hidden abyss of grave corruption is the passport tabled on the pyramid top to recreate a versatile muses of a lyrics calling for a right to write our rights. Take a walk to memory lane pass your shadow, that of your father, mother & grandmas You will see a Nigeria in another angle trying to free herself from the grip of corruption, then, revisit her tears and struggles you will know we are the cause of our own misfortunes.! ©John Chizoba Vincent From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustrations

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(for chikbok girls four years after elegies of lost) And we opened the book of remembrance again Tickling all ears that are designed to be deadly. We filled the cups & buckets with tears of blood, ****** tears as the cloud rises from dark night & the horizon of our lives radio out our prayers in pleasure & pleas recording poetry into broken Rhythms of the kings bird' songs singing elegies untold. We recoiled this pages of cries into folded arms. Lost is our liberty ephemeral into chaos. This light of darkness are now printed in our palms of history tormenting our own feelings. they left home through the corruption of their father's land. You know, their lies ferried them into Sambisa to go & tell a tale of their crimes. the chromosomes of their pigments lacked the bravery within the wrinkled nose of their cheeks. Lives are buttered fireflies &worms of mediocre... We may not know how pains taste until untitled chapters of sorrow unfold in our lives to seek revengeful voyage of our sins towards our home. We televised their lies on the national televisions, tilted the head of our cocked brain into gadgets in a ballroom of miscreants clothing our beliefs. I opened this book of remembrance again, For my lazy sisters that struggles effortlessly amidst leaves and shrubs of looting leaders. for their tears composed a musical notes, for their fight created astraying street steer I held upto these fallin' memories in a graveyard into the abstract demon of my noble moralities, into black races, into an abstract journeys. brittle of the papers written in absence of our ourselves, in the pictures of our lost self issues. we will gather these soothsayers to the cloud to sooth out those prilgrim girls in the moon. till then, let this dance be of survival &revival, of those deaf & dumb girls kept in the ***** of emptiness. they made them voiceless like the pages of a blank books but we know all their magic tricks in the closet of their ignorance. No chikbok, no Dapchi girls but looting politics, Politics that has strange mouth & shadows. Until this madness is cleansed from our souls Point towards your chambers & crack your mind We are mocked movies trying to be seen by all, a documented fairy tale in the heart of all. ©John Chizoba Vincent From_A_Pen_Refusing_frustration

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May 1, 2018

May 1, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC

john-chizoba-vincent

Memories

(for chikbok girls four years after elegies of lost) And we opened the book of remembrance again Tickling all ears that are designed to be deadly. We filled the cups & buckets with tears of blood, ****** tears as the cloud rises from dark night & the horizon of our lives radio out our prayers in pleasure & pleas recording poetry into broken Rhythms of the kings bird' songs singing elegies untold. We recoiled this pages of cries into folded arms. Lost is our liberty ephemeral into chaos. This light of darkness are now printed in our palms of history tormenting our own feelings. they left home through the corruption of their father's land. You know, their lies ferried them into Sambisa to go & tell a tale of their crimes. the chromosomes of their pigments lacked the bravery within the wrinkled nose of their cheeks. Lives are buttered fireflies &worms of mediocre... We may not know how pains taste until untitled chapters of sorrow unfold in our lives to seek revengeful voyage of our sins towards our home. We televised their lies on the national televisions, tilted the head of our cocked brain into gadgets in a ballroom of miscreants clothing our beliefs. I opened this book of remembrance again, For my lazy sisters that struggles effortlessly amidst leaves and shrubs of looting leaders. for their tears composed a musical notes, for their fight created astraying street steer I held upto these fallin' memories in a graveyard into the abstract demon of my noble moralities, into black races, into an abstract journeys. brittle of the papers written in absence of our ourselves, in the pictures of our lost self issues. we will gather these soothsayers to the cloud to sooth out those prilgrim girls in the moon. till then, let this dance be of survival &revival, of those deaf & dumb girls kept in the ***** of emptiness. they made them voiceless like the pages of a blank books but we know all their magic tricks in the closet of their ignorance. No chikbok, no Dapchi girls but looting politics, Politics that has strange mouth & shadows. Until this madness is cleansed from our souls Point towards your chambers & crack your mind We are mocked movies trying to be seen by all, a documented fairy tale in the heart of all. ©John Chizoba Vincent From_A_Pen_Refusing_frustration

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