The Rolling Cross
The cross stands for no ones mentor
Except a person who people call a debtor
Jesus died on a cross which stood upright
Peter died twice on a cross which stood upside down
Who will like to be hung on a rolling cross?
Who will like to die thrice rolling?
Such person's destiny is bent
Then there shall be lots of open doors
Open but narrow
And only the few that let theirs roll could pass
Their lives shall be like that of the rolling cross
And so shall can they change their fates
Now, who shall like to be hung on a rolling cross?
Therefore, who shall like to die thrice rolling?
Is there not change of opinions?
No one wants to die without gain
Until there is gain
Then one can withstand the pain
That is why man's mind is like that of the cross
Man is a rolling cross
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poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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Why I Can Hate The World
Lots of times, I was molested
More often, jested
My image was dented
Even when sainted
All because I am better
So I am treated as a litter
But how soon shall I overcome all this?
How soon can I be forgiven?
For doing nothing wrong
The devil I prefer to them
Because they are blacker than the devil
They should lecture the devil
They say I steal
They turn around and steal
They say I kill
They begin at each other to kill
And worse grew their feelings towards me
And my downfall they want to see
But easy have been my hands on them
And my death troubles them not
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poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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My Distant Cry
Why did you leave me?
Why forsake me now?
Had I not waited enough
For us to be together
My ego melted with you
I knew no pride again
I knew the meaning of love
Because I met you
What of the time we spent
Come back to me
‘Cos your light blinds my sight
And your voice clouds my thought
If thou rejects me now
What shall my fate be?
My destiny is hooked with you
And now, the light that lightens my soul is gone
Without you is suicide
Not seeing you, genocide
I am like a piece of rock in water
With which water has no effect
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poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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He's Bothered Again!
Where are they?
Do they have him?
Will they know?
And troubled is he
Disturbed is he
Am I troubled?
How much bothered can his soul get?
Bothered about his own life
Bothered about bothering about his life
Bothered about wealth
Bothered about bothering about wealth
And weaker and weaker he is as the day go by
And worse still shall be his story
Because he is bothered about nature
And things in it
But he is never bothered about aiding nature
Or the things in it
Such person,
I am bothered about
Because he bothers to effect no change
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poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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Negros debate their lives back
In the great forest of South Africa,
Moves a black shift
With bare feet on the imperata
Voices lay low with ancient tongues
But the strong limbs of precambian evolution is displayed
How long can any other survive?
Without the gene of the Rwanda river
Or the thorn foot of Damascus
Wonders of the world
Is not the pyramid of Egypt
But the rough skinned builders of the pyramid
Through proud and dedicated hands
Enduring through torments
They toil night and day to feed their maidens
Who call them slaves
But spit at their faces
The black panther
Of acute wisdom with undeniable knowledge
Inability to name but recognize
And beauty in their eyes
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poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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The Power In My Hand
Let the bold get bolder
The weak, weaker
The poor, poorer
And the world bigger
But the powerful shall exceed the earth
And the powerful shall stretch his hands wide
Across the face of the earth
Then the powerful shall be more powerful
The power in my hand, I limit
The power to rebuild the earth
The power to speak to other powers
The power to fall in love
The power to seal volcanoes
To trouble storms
To do the undone
And undo the done
The power to gather knowledge
And solve world mysteries
To reach to the needy
And build better lives
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poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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Counting Hearts
I guess…
We x-ray hearts differently
Pints, love, pity, bangs and chess
No conscience walking confidently
Blue stained red and black as an awful dress
Bad versus evil, good is knocked out completely
Plunges, blood stained, wet grasses in sour vex
Burdens, sorrow chipped correctly
Poison arrows, bands and clamps make life a mess
Emotions not drawn from senses sniffs deadly
Curie might have started the problem, but who will end this dance which seems endless
And the clay He would smash and start off again coldly
Mother, this world is for counting hearts
Not your game to say checkmate
The frog roars, the bird howls, what louder noise my mate makes?
Till everyone's funeral is in their diary up to date
Coarse hands yank life far away in deaths
Of countless, stubborn, stiff and cold hearts in a suitcase
Whence does music calm troubled breasts?
But frenzy all tied up for theirs to use
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poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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Mind Travel
Has anyone ever thought of life after death?
I don’t think so
But I thought so
When the supernatural life and I met
I was away from my foe;
In a world to bring up a new foe
I might have made friends before
But it was impossible here, from what I saw
I was in white
A garment as bright as light
Resemblance of earth wares to it might
I was upheld in through the clouds at height
To gaze down or up, I was in fright
On earth, my heart was heavy
Not because I was a needy
But fights sprung up consequently,
Requiring me to act immediately
But here, it was heavenly
I moved not in my own velocity
I finally arrived at an area more brightly lit
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poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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