Mother

Mother, who puts me to sleep, 

The moonlight, 

The darkness disappears after receiving the caress of mother’s hand.

I listen to the story of mother’s face, 

In the land of the princess, 

I get lost in the dream, 

In that unknown land.

Mother, who is the smile on my face, 

The happiness that makes my mind forget, 

When I get mother near me, 

There is no more sorrow. 

Mother, who is full of my love

The bright green sheet,

I was born in my mother’s lap

All my love.

Mother is the language of my mouth

Mother is my land

Holding mother’s gentle hand

I walk with the happiness of my heart

Born today 

From an idea that suddenly flashed 

Among the cherry blossoms, the enchanting spring arrived with the rosy rain of the first kiss to welcome the new life generated today before the poetic triumph in the city cradle of wisdom and creativity.

The open lips to bud color of cherries golden impassioned cherries yearn to join the instant to crown the fleeting moment.

Challenge and play have merged into one to highlight, in the final touch, the eternal skin incarnate on which to write our prayer of love as a hymn sung while hearts dance to the alternating rhythm of sweet melodious notes that reach Paradise.

I will be born with you, raising my goblets to toast 

timid and smiling eyes 

as we say congratulations 

So be for now and always.

Uchechukwu Onyedikam (italic) 

Christina Chin (plain) 


 

harp-lute

a run of melody 

widening 

the baby lulled 

to sleep



watching

two shadows

behind the stacked 

wood pile

newborn puppies 



the soul

entwined with

Gángan

the rhythm of pounding 

prophecies 



harmonic 

phrasing of a dialect

unfamiliar jargons

scripted in my 

prescription slips



twilight corner 

all the memories 

in the shade 

skylight glimmers

the illipe nut canopy 

Orchard of Knives

In the orchard of knives,
the trees whisper your name.

Mouths full of rotten fruit
cackle at the blistered moon.

And you walk through, barefoot,
picking the sharpest blade

to slice out the loneliness
rooted in your throat.

Funeral Shoes

I bought
a pair of funeral
shoes today.
Black leather,
stiff as a scream.
The assistant

smiled
like a woman
flogging coffins.
Thought about
returning them.
Didn’t.
I’ll wear them
everywhere.
To the bar.
To the fights.
To the last
slow dance
on earth.
You never know
when the ground
will open up.
And it’s best
to be ready.

My hero is my father

My father is my hero. For me, my father is brave, a hero and more than any other warrior. People always praise our fathers. It is true that they were also ready to give their lives for the country. But the person always sacrifices his life for you, his children, his family it is your dad. Do you know our saying “My father-my country”?! This was said to our selfless father. When did your father say no to you? He says the truth, but he does think about your future. I love my dad so much.                                                       

About my family:

There is five girls in my family. But my dad doesn’t separate any of us and treats us equally. I have the only dad in the world. Everyone’s dad is a hero for himself or herself and this is absolutely true!

This essay motivated me and I start hard-working.

I want to see this hero like my right hand.

This is my Light and I defend this with my life.

‎Egotism
‎
‎I have no pen to compose a poem
‎I have no paper to draw humanity
‎I have no conscience to judge
‎I have no eye to see anything
‎I have no heart to feel other’s feelings
‎I have no mouth to protest
‎I have no hand to hold
‎I have no leg to walk
‎I have no brain to think
‎I have no risk to die
‎Because I am a dead body!
‎My soul is not with me
‎I have no power to stop war.
‎I have only egotism.