If I took a brush and painted the world,
I’d fail to describe how joys are withheld,
How anguish is spread by the cruel war engines,
But one thing is sure, I’ll portray the Vengeance.

the Vengeance I preach is food for the weak,
the lost and the tortured whose futures seem bleak;
to give them back courage and help them to speak,
and light up their faces; put smile to a cheek.

Vengeance-“Is mine”, and so says the Lord,
It will be mere folly to question his word,
So put down your guns- he’ll make wars to cease;
and quell all your sorrows, your troubles do freeze.

this Vengeance, this gospel,
Is freedom, good God’s tool,
So loosen your bondage,
hold freedom as hostage.

This vengeance is clean; the air that we breathe,
This vengeance is green; the plants that we eat,
A vengeance inexpensive; the best things are free,
This vengeance is locked; survival is key.

When life drops before you, a plate of cold stones,
This vengeance is recipe for ripe fruits and scones,
Should pupils be painted, the colour of hatred,
Keep your fingers locked, this vengeance means patience.

For brave men and boys, whose curse is to war,
whose lives are, to freedom, what red is to blood,
For the dead and the dying, that demand relief
-this vengeance, for widows, is good handkerchief.

“No finger is equal”, a cruel word hindrance,
On this life you see, we all must take vengeance,
Be vengeful and wroth, but what is our foe?
-the classism; segregation, that is our deepest woe.

For the weak and the feeble, those helpless and poor,
A hue and cry, an anthem to live for,
Do not despair, nor regret- continue in your war,
To survive- not forget- is what vengeance stands for.

For Kene.


Artwork by Kenart



Ardour of the hour glass,
Silences ‘the fates’,
Pregnant with forecast,
Heavy as dark ale.

Of a trader in passing;
Fallen birds cite too late:
“Tease the man of artful classing
-a foul trick; absquatulate!”

Let Sinister chide and entangle,
Along with Clandestine;
Will sit as judge over all wrangle,
Who dares foretell our next line?

A little here; a little there,
Clothe them all with Sadness’ hue,
Whence there will be tear; Death borne with despair,
Sell ‘em grand fabric the colour of Blue.

Oh Nefarious Playwright,
Contemptuous Coveter!
All wrongs, steer right,
Dark wisdom preventer.

Who makes Knight?
Whispers, “Credence”?!
Great ones spites?
Blames ‘Providence’?

Leave ‘Him’ speak truth,
Lest he despise that gender;
Let’s name him a ‘Ruth’,
Still, we wrongly engender.

When it, our feeble minds fail to control,
We watch it slip: “Alas, have a go!”
I know of its nature: Time is a Troll!
The fabled ‘Blue Merchant’: Keeper of “Long Ago”.

In all might, with all grim,
‘Tis not close to ‘almighty’,
Though it the Stars and Sun adore,
Shall bow low to one; ‘tis messenger of God!




Covet the “goblet of the gods”,
Withhold the ash urn,
Dissolve the enigma of rats and frogs,
Seize what you shall not earn.

Rip apart what you cannot build,
Forget “God makes it grow”,
Loosen the earth with ‘Reapers’ Guild’,
Plough through- hate in a row.

Of all the evils necessary,
To kill another- excess; airy,
Berserk with ire, they ruin and go,
They splash with fury; Murcielago.

Slug and counter; head of the arrow,
-Graceful, benign, recline on fodder:
“Gazelle! Raise up thine Sombrero!”
-Behemoth, malign! King of the Order!

Cultured and luscious; great haystack,
Once in boots, now strapped in a sack;
The Gnu shall devour, so-called Wildebeest,
Truth be austere, man is the beast.

" has dominated man to his harm..." -Ecclesiastes 8:9

“…man has dominated man to his harm…”
-Ecclesiastes 8:9

Artwork by Kenart


Shine down in fluorescence,
Calm all my pertubance,
Lest this world break my every sense,
Heal me at a glance.

The watery deeps, you paint blue,
My thoughts; the dominant hue,
Bless me with this cresent,
My pain let me vent.

It’s time I defamed great Armstrong,
Time I mocked this Noel,
For journeying many miles strong
-With Mama, I need no fuel!

For you I greatly bless Providence,
You shine and I am grateful,
Give light, make bright with your essence,
Hold my cries; they’re hateful.

You grace the skies with silent fame,
Your lips be silent, your eyes would tame,
Dispel dark cravings with your light,
Your cane; my every fight.

Though you be stone, blow high and cold,
I’ve felt your warmth; I’ve seen your dark,
This love, dear Mama, it won’t smell old,
I know One Moon; ’tis listrous black.


“Some have stood as mothers- some are.”

Artwork by Kenart


Wisdom is dark
– the soothsayer’s tongue,
Muse is the Cock’s cry,
Strength is from tongs.

Magnificent; son of a Mammoth;
Royalty is born as a Maggot,
Admitted as Cadillac,
Mediocre is Cadaver.

To see the world in multicolour;
Accept the feat in variety;
This too, is delirium,
A drunk’s tale; a fallacy.

Domestic- a beast of burden,
Remote are the feats of the Donkey,
Construed as the woman’s place,
Illustrated as without grace.

Wood and Stone- the Primitive,
gods are of ‘the elements’,
“creators of antiquity”,
“To foul the holy- negligence!”

For strength, they call the Buffalo,
Oblivious of the Aurochs,
To hold on to dark ego,
And call forth wisdom from rocks.

To tame the ruinous Bull and Ox,
And flee before the Windmill:
“Let Light and Knowledge laugh and scoff,
And Wisdom- let it bid will!”

“The gods shall give a jubilee,
Let arms give of their strength!
The fields are green and lush with glee;
Make less the hunger, lest we fret!”

“We like the Yams atop our tables,
They quench our sorrows with Love and Fables;
Fortify our Faith in Love and Mirth,
Why ask for ‘Daily Bread’?”

“Unleash a new and ‘golden age’,
In Cries and Chains, let them pay Wage,
Take away their Jollity,
Let Pain become their Polity!”

We have heard of ‘Liberty’,
Sweet tale, told by ‘Luther-cy’,
When finally, Freedom we see,
It- in our Dreams- certainly will be!

When shall we ever earn this license?
Debasement- this now takes our incense!
When shall we lose this Depravity,
Come now, help with Alacrity!

“‘The Fates’ now our souls tease,
You must shorten our Solstice!”
You with eyes, help without fail,
Do not wait, “Black” is a tale.

"Freedom is a gift."

“Freedom is a gift.”

Artwork by Ken Nwadiogbu (Kenart)


Head of gold,
Eyes as bright,
To quench my ego,
Bereave me of pride.

Flare up the envy of my blood;Sit as my heart’s sovereign,
Make me content with wisdom broth,
Hold candlelight to my pain.

Though liquor may gleam,
Foods fill me to brim,
All leave me melancholic,
Love drunk; alcoholic.

Enliven this heart, behold; a request!
Lest I melt in fervor, knight me with this quest!
Contain this great sorrow; devour my regret,
Lest I echo as hollow; collapse in neglect.

Engulf me in this alchemy,
Close up scarred thoughts engraved in me,
Should mortal man enslave this prowess,
Become my pride, I’ll make you goddess!