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VOID | John Chizoba Vincent


Is there really a beautiful heaven?
Is there a red and black hell for sinners? 
Basking on this,  I told myself that the beautiful heaven is this we see now, argue with the sky and cloud on this. 
Father Francis told us that there is no heaven, 
Pope Thomas told us that paradise is within our hearts,
and those who fall and fall on the altar of deliverance are miscreants.
We believed him on a platter of Sunday school morning.
He gave us lies and lies of truth about the World Series of lies. 
In this pantful world where children wear disgrace, 
In this world' voodoo where sorrow back treasures of preachers, 
In this train of earth where girls wear tears, 
In this shattered world where our pride are whore,
Nothing is precious under the sun and nothing that the sun have not seen.
Man is home to himself and have choices about himself. 
The clergy men that had their skulls littered in the evil graveyard of my village can tell of this. 
To this voidness,
To this coldness, 
To this yonder of shattered images, 
Xylem of mannered eloquence of the devil, 
To the world demon's demonstrators,
To the Halloween and the Dejavu,
To the magical cloth verses of the Indian, 
To the cries of an unholy pages of those holy book tabled before we were born,
I have a way that seems so right to me;  and those are the choices I have made. 
To the shrine of Illinois of the Illuminati,
To the pyramid of underworld, 
To the coldness of death, 
We will escape from this drum of world,
This is darkness!
This is darkness!! 
This is darkness!!! 
Darkness of the black spirits.
Voidness lies in the bag of red colours. 
This gory miseries of the world keep us in the fold of grey. 
We don't know death but death knows us, 
We don't know life but life speaks of us, 
We don't know abstract painting of demons, 
We don't know the abstract imageries of  sins;
The beauty of sin lies in the consequences that lies aftermath. 
We are train of shadows,
We are feathers of spiritualities,
We are blood of feelings,  emotions. anger. Carcass.  Faded colours.  Sadness. 
Pains.  Revenge. Vengeance. Evil. 
Emptiness. Vacant. Void. 
We are the opposite of  day, synonym for good.  
Is there really a beautiful heaven?
Is there a black and red hell for sinners? 
Search your soul and answer to its voidness. 


John Chizoba Vincent
is a poet,  novelist, cinematographer  and a director. His works has appeared in many journals which includes Storried,  Naijastories,  African Writes and more blogs.  He lives in Lagos,  Nigeria.

Most of the things he loves doing is filming,  writing and reading.  Adventures are part of his life.  He can be contacted through

for free publishing on Philip Peace Literary World,  CLICK HERE FOR SUBMISSION GUIDELINE


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For Ikeoluwa.

I have sailed in the ocean — on
your body's warm drenched spot axis,
and i have felt the touch of your
freezing burning hands and cold words:
you said some soft words gently in
my ear on a cold night. and my
body is a tree, it rustles
when winds beat. winds like your mutters.

I have a whirling desire
that we are over the 9th edge;
grabbing, rocking, licking, tasting —
and the passion flows 'n' action shows.
your whole body defines a lot
even when i see nothing but
the voluptuous pillows of a
tired bed, calling me to sleep.

Slowly, this pace beats rapidly
like a running fire. and i'm
burning coldly on a meet with
your whitish round thorax muscle.
glorious! your body is a bike
and i'm good at riding roughly.
slide and glide, make a symphony
of our salvation on this cold night.

Akinwale Peace AkindayoPhilip Peace