Boys! When the night fell on the shadows of our grandfathers, they walked towards some miles away from the memory of darkness to find light. People labelled them evil and diabolic. Some stoned them while others got their throat cut off in the name of a new god. Our fathers could not fight back because, a little wagging of tongue can pull down a mighty tower. I started a fight and as a son among the seasoned weather in the eyes of the world, they labelled me evil. I decided not to pattern my ways into the forest but they cultivated my momeries into a basket of wailing. It might not be palatableprinted names. It might not favour you sitting down with me because everyone must leave. We must leave to find a way to gather moisture of hope against tomorrow. I am lost finding home and I don’t pray that for you. This letters are born out of fears and insecurities. They are not the usual epitles written backwardness but, they are classical string that stings the heart when versed. I may be lost in myself trying to find hope but don’t get lost like me.
Everything comes in twos and between our faith.
Find love and affections towards our longing home. Some people leaving to live again in different form and reshaping our true image brings the falsehood of who we are but; in the village where boys are meant to walk with ego so high like mountains would not have a glee embraces upon them. Like the sun unmasked from the figures of our eyes, the wind in a graveyard Finding solace in the bosom of flies, like the figurine carved out of pity. Like you in you; let your name bear not calamities on the first letter. I have scattered glasses. I have shattered songs of elegies untold to calveries of thought. The wind stood snatching hope and praying from the mouth of those who were competent to rule. Have me in mind as you glance through this pages. Nkporo is our home and we must not allow the ikoro sound in an unfamiliar tone. You are your own tomorrow hold on it, it may not hurt you forever.
There is only one option you make in life and those choices are your right as a boy. The Eze Aja is a man of grace and honour and he won’t neglect you. From Elughu to Etitiama to Obuofia to Amurie and Ndiagbo and other places shall you raise Nkporo up with a song of victory. For this broken silence treated like water are not deafening in passion. Keep prssing forward with a brave heart. Listen to no false rumour in the lips of lurking image. Do not invoke yourself with drugs for; they are ruptured viruses. I am up there with a decorated smile watching how the moon peeped through the celestial laughter that echoes from your chuckles. In my mind, I cuddled you into joy and happiness. When life feels like penetrating like a knife hold on to this epitle and never let go. The journey is still a little cripsy and friendly. Promise yourself that you will light up choices in blanket of perception.The choice that buttress the sweet lines which hype after the work tomorrow uses. Hold on, if there is no one to call during a good night goodbye. Not even those with silver spoon has a better option to rule. When you feel the doubt is creeping in be smart to avoid it, even roses withstand legs
waiting to be stronger tomorrow such is life.
You only have to pick and choose what you stand for and those things that would kill you. between mountain and hills, death and life. Nkporo depends on you who believes that it is only with her we shall every man see. Let your hand lay upon wealth like always, Nothing is gotten freely the gun must be shot rudely if only you dare the unseen. Like a dream in the eyes of a child
You have to fight to be out there, boys. Between your troubles are phases of glory.
Go to your oppressor face them with red eyes tell them your life is your canon that you paddle it to your fortune.
And who profits from the end of a human life?
Who dreams of conquering without starting first? I I love to stage a little drama in your life, ask questions without any answer.
For the government seldom seems to care, what abominations they make before the boys of this land. Descending into the choking mist of green,grey, black and white; we’ve got cancer of the brain, we’ve got to stage our names to burn our wills like the pages of a black papers. I am not here to scare you but the nemesis that plucked out our fallacies into realistic blessings are home again. Let your eyes love testimonies for we walk daily on ourselves to become dim forgotten dust and they call our lives atrocities committed not too long ago. my grand feelings are the favorite meal to the boys who stayed between dreams and passionate love. Nkporo is not lost but we have lost the taste of sweet things that once trickled down on our skins like evolution of music from fela to Tu face, for it’s always midnight searching for the gate that leads home in our heart.
©John Chizoba Vincent