Poetry from Uchechukwu Onyedikam


position to the east with bowed knees
touch the earth with your forehead
repeatedly, count your beads, mumble
prayers to the wailing walls, search
through the holy text & make pleas

go to the gate called "beautiful" 
and you'd find there a woman
read her her sentence to the
wide congregation from afar
but are there afoot for the
water and wine

for signs and wonders
for 5 loaves & 2 fishes
for the miracle that raised
the lame fisherman from
his court of penury
for the woman with
the issue of blood
and for the woman
stoned to death, that
her scream was stuck
in the passage of her throat

her body is sanctified, sacred and
worthy of the faith evident in her heart
flooded with pure charity of
un-forgetfulness with 
supplication in deeds
always with


Give Thyself Grace

midnight hallowing from the pages 
of my poems like a cat meowing for
cuddling from the arms of its Lover

I don't let my eyes fall asleep for the
time to stay up awake and witness
the birthing of a brand new Order

that day is now — for I believe and
hear the howl of the wind tender her
soft whisper to my ears, of windy tales

blowing my mind with surprises of the
moment as envisioned in my heart
in my mind, and soul — I pay attention

unrelentingly I pay heed not to the 
unheard-of but to the negligence of
my destroyed identity haunting each
footprint I demonstrate my words upon

I am not that tall black, silver fox man in
those jeans, polo t-shirt, drenched in
Versace Eros at the other table for two
waiting upon the arrival of his date

I am not what you perceived. Nor the 
abstract imaginings you've painted 
on this empty canvas...

I am simply a holy-preying fugitive
on the run with a stolen identity —
running away from the captors 
hiding behind another man's

torching my way unto his form
of eternity with his 

give thyself grace
oh thou bunch of
derelict bag of


Uchechukwu Onyedikam
Lagos, Nigeria

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