nice poems

Friday, April 22, 2016


As the captured air accelerates into breath;
Breath that was placed in bad health,
Like those animals in the zoo,
Reacting like they live in the loo.
Where their rumbling stomachs kill their hopes
To hang crucifix on them with ropes.

They need to taste the aroma of freedom,
Cos they've been tormented with boredom.
A war fought different wars with spittle,
Graves died since they were belittled.
Indigenes become foreigners in their own land,
Their futures have been covered with sand.

Stones blocking the air in tombs,
Many with no life in their wombs.
Trekking to an oblivion near abyss and purgatory,
Like they suffered the life in evil dormitory.
Their heads were used to break the alabaster,
As they were flogged like the last bastard.

When freedom is summoned,
Their two hands go wide and murmured.
Their faces talking with breeze,
Mouth open like volcanic eruption without ease.
As air of freedom sleep in their brains,
Just as the sun cried out rain.

Their tears turned blood,
And their eyes become blur.
They were spat on as if they were weak cats,
Same way they were trampled on as if they were spread mats.
Smile seize to jubilate with them,
As they pray to witness death.

They need freedom from this dungeon,
They've suffered even more than a surgeon.
Their faces have been clustered with stripes like tribal marks,
Canes created zebra crossing on their backs.
The only song they want to hear is that of dirge;
Yet death refuse to come.

#Sunsampaul d Philosopher

SAVE THE SLUM by Sunsampaul Egwu

They're suffering.
They passed through excruciating pains.
They were beaten, battered, shattered, scattered, and battered.
We always say they're leaders of tomorrow.
But they're living in sorrows.

I'm tired of waiting
for the melancholic news,
our tears and blood has failed to break.
Our truncated imaginations failed to trace
their agonies that split at dust.

But turns our eyes to oceans of sorrow.
Our homes a graveyard to mourn our daughters.
As scatterings of stars all over nation watch night race.
Our closed-open eyes harbour the sorrowful stories of sambisa gods.

Let placards embellish streets and shrines to bombard squares.
Let the echoes of our voices not be held by hiccup.
Let not our drop-down tears,
fall on deaf ears, so they won't say they didn't hear,
all because of fear.

I'm optimistic that I'll fight those
who steal sleep out of our eyes.
And even though my dreaming-sleepless night,
refuse to achieve its aim.
I'll sail through the deadly moon
of our ancestors, to appease the gods of the lands.

The slum is where souls eat once in three days.
The slum is where futures are destroyed.
Mentors can't be seen;
yet talents are found hovering in the air
Babies breastfeeding babies
Brothers fighting brothers.
While others are dying of cholera.

We all need to save the slum.
We need to save the lives of our brothers and sisters.
Poverty hijacking their lives.
While the rich are with wealth,
they're been bombarded with bad health.
Sending email as grotesque dust to them.
Their stars are now coal.
We need to extend our hands to save them!
Save the slum!

#Sunsampaul d Philosopher