Pa. Pius Onyeche Poem by Vincent Onyeche

(In memory of a son of Onyeche (Pa. Pius Onyeche)


​Life and death has its own budget
We are all born into the market,
To trade, wait for tenures and turns
In queues of sadness, joy and fun
When our trade is done, we return....


In mats, caskets, I bet we forget
Every bit of heart beat we got.


When our trade is done, we return
To account for the windowshops
And the number of sown sleeves
Not as Adam and Eve to the leaves
But as impact to that we believe


When the trade is done, we return
Leaving behind the dry and burnt leaves.
Upon the sands where the body sleeps,
Motionless beside the deepest of life hole.

When the trade is done, we return
To answer questions irrespective of race
Like... Pa., what did you purchase?
Did your heart pick only the black paints?

O gentle heart, that...you've traded,
Shall guarantee the fate of your soul.


When the trade is done, we return
To beyond, where spirits scare the kids
Restocked into the market as improvise
For every souls that departs...
...... Day and night....