Poems by David Chukwudi Njoku

Poems by David Chukwudi Njoku
Is true the world lieth in wickedness,
so much wicked of wicked by the wicked,
but is not a guarantee for you to be wicked,
choice is right there in your front,
better still in your hands.
Why think you that you will never be helped,
are you better of?
Search your heart,
listen closely to your heart beat,
It’s begging to give a help.
Arise, take a step and be of help.
Take a look at this picture,
Does it inspire you,
or expire you?
Lend a helping hand
to him that is in need,
not just your love ones
even your enemies
by this God will be pleased with you.
Lend a helping hand,
put a smile on someone’s face,
always see tomorrow today.
September 2018
David Chukwudi Njoku
What a shame!
Why still enjoy this slap on widowhood?
When shall they breathe liberty?
How come you are amongst these
ones with a stony hearts?
Speak out for them,
don’t allow them to rot in this pain
of forgetfulness.
Let’s arise and horn our love
of humanity to better their lives,
adding value to their destinies.
They’re still useful to the society,
not a broken bride but future peace makers and blessings to our world.
They are not push aways,
though they appear broken
but houses hope and virtue for all.
Why these Sati in India,
and these solitude,
as well as outright rejection?
Even here in Africa it has become
a disease amongst all customs.
Truth be told to widows also
refuse to remain at the side of
your husband’s grave,
rise to occasion and
trust in God,
and take up the challenge and
be different, add value to yourself.
Let’s wake up and
put a stop to this barbaric acts.
September 2018
David Chukwudi Njoku
My mother,
she’s the best of the rest,
always there for us,
never wanting to see pain,
pain of brokenness in us,
my mother best of the rest.
My mother,
always talking tall,
about never to fall,
a virtuous bride to our father,
never lacking the words of correction,
my mother, the best of the rest.
My mother,
adored by our neighbors,
society’s greatest model,
a nation builder,
never failing to speak the truth,
my mother, the best amongst the best.
My mother,
her gentle touch is like that of breeze,
that blows away dirts off my hair,
ever ready to teach,
always patient and bold
to lead us to the path of glory,
My mother, the best of the rest.
My mother,
a sister,
a comforter,
a godly shelter,
and a home builder,
my mother, God’s grace for my grace.
My mother,
now the strength of my writing,
a shinning beauty of my rising,
a pride in my work of art,
My mother, the teacher of teachers.
September 2018
David Chukwudi Njoku

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