boychild
Image: Atlas Green on Unsplash

Boychild: Poems by John Chizoba Vincent

boychild
Image: Atlas Green on Unsplash

HEAL THE BOYCHILD

Dear boy:
Do not enslave your thoughts to the ashes of Eden,
Do not build your hope upon the tight pocket of mental women learning to wipe out their sweat against the wall of your voicelessness and fear.
Do not ask why the gods woke from the lap of
an harlot learning to be saved by Pope Francis.
That sagging sadness on your face shall wear a smile again when the healing balms come.

When the scorching sun breathes life to torn mouths of dying motion and starlet shimmer,
Unto your craving eyes shall bloodstained hill
Fail to glitter again to men of goodwill & love.
This light of ours shall shadow breakthrough.
They may call you a broken rib, but do not dodge potholes to kill a surviving fleeing rat in fear.
Until the world heals you from these viruses.

Do not spend your night at the feet of grief,
Sit at the fireplace to gaze at the moon belching.
Do not empty your dreams into leaking water jars
Your fate is not cracked, my boy, yes, it is not.
Stars lean to learn to speak million things in silence buttressed by committed compliments.
Don’t deny a woman her place for the world belongs to no man in particular but all of us who dream.
We will heal you of this hurtful plight created.

No matter the scars on your bleeding face
No matter how brave you think you can be
There is a race for your pace and place.
Always look out for a healing shoulder, my boy.
A shoulder that has no fire burning in the crossroad between her black and heavy thighs.
We all burn the same way but the society stereotypes some reasons why we burn differently.

till we roll up this suffering mat of summer pains,
Till we meet to archive those words for the boys,
Till the smothering voice of a young boy is heard above the drones of burning hearts & boulevard.
Till they understood the Story revolving around
The corner of the BoyChild’s testament burst,
This light of ours shall bring healing process
before the benefits of the sky, the cloud & our souls. Healing is paramount to self-survival.

——————-

LEST WE FORGET THE BOYCHILD

Tell the moon not to complain,
go to the sun and leave a note,
We are not a broken piece of poetry
campaigning for love and affections,
we are crystals, lest you forget!
clear rays penetrating hearts and souls of humans that seek to make themselves gods into godhood.
we are not grasshoppers to be chopped by lazy legs printing a false legacy.
We are the elephants of the forest of wealth.
Never slaughter the thought of our lives
We are the breath of humans & fire searching for what brewed within men.
We are poems inked with tears and sweat
But those tears are of our bravery, & sweat, a joyful noise made by the skin for celebration of our kind.
We thrust hope in the palms of children,
yet filled with love and its synonyms.
Our lives are the poets who rhymed & colour the sweet lyric they were made to be.
We are the boy children, the hope; lest you forget.
The moon of tomorrow,
The sun on faces of a beaming girl
The stars carved on the smile of the sky,
We are boys whose shadows recreate
We are boys whose palms are route of greatness & road trip of principles.
praise singers on the slippery wet floor,
nightingales singing lullabies,
bread feeding all mouth to satisfaction
When heronic names are carved look and see ours rightly placed.
we are braver than earth
we can pull it up and down like a tree.

we are the reptiles that wriggle down the hill of success and roar like a beast in a beautiful pail palm of dreams.
our fathers’ tattered sins could not hold us down,
our mother’s split fire guides our course of life!
We are the boys of tomorrow, the warriors of words hyping the hashtag of praises.
who has seen us has seen light,
He who beholds us has nothing to fear.
We are mountains in praise of hope
we are oceans of mysteries and hidden treasures.
Have our words and actions in your words for we are time bomb against failure.
BOYCHILD, the sun that glows on every face that needs help.

——————-

PHOTO-BOYS

We snapped memories into photobooks
Watching the edges of songful hedges
Draw a hopeful singlet of grace of
Testimonies conquered in neglected verses.
We played from the check of honoured
Dimples crossing routes of perfection.
Here are tunes playing from the photoshop
Of our hearts designing graphics cards
Filled with affections & bubbles of love.

Portrait of tomorrow carved amazing
hours in the street decorated with colours.
these are colours depicting greatness
freshness & bravery of the voiceful heart
Kitchened through the celestial laughter
Of a slighting mother to her joyfulness.
We are similar, singular and opposite,
We are plural of everything humanity,
Sweetness of every singing lyrics & verses.

Let this fondness remain captivating
boys. Sweet. Bitter. Acidic. Sour. Raw.
Reflection of the World Series of smiles
Printing names on carved pumpkin leaves
Boys carrying themselves in their shadows
Carrying themselves in memories of their
Parents’ pastoral culture and languages.
Boys spinning into crispy treats of white
dreams written on the stream of the skies.

We are fascinated about the rare cloud
journeying towards the stars of our souls
Harbouring our names in a bag of colours
Imaginations are doubtful unperturbed pictures
Painted in the innocent face of boys of tomorrow
After the sun bent the tremour of our rushes
The rain came like a troubadour warrior
Between veteran lips of boys who went & never
Returned, memories of their family portraits.

We are boys carrying our family’s loss
We are boys carrying our Father’s legacy
Bearing the pursuit of our father’s yesterday
Look into our eyes & see our imaginations
those imaginations created by our ancestral
ancestors for tomorrow to hold our peace.
We may not know that these sands are made
of ridges of boys like us who went carrying
Pictures of dreams that we could not retrieve.

——————-
Poems © John Chizoba Vincent
Image: Atlas Green on Unsplash

Written by
John Chizoba Vincent

John Chizoba Vincent is a poet, cinematographer, video director and novelist. He lives in Lagos where he writes.

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Written by John Chizoba Vincent

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