GREAT POEMS (2025)

17/07/2025

PAINFUL EXIT
(DEATH IS A BLOODY THIEF II)

It’s been six years,
but the silence still screams.

Six years since December 2019,
when we last stood in the same space,
hearts swollen with pride and anger,
boys divided by fire, but brothers all the same.

You were always the calm one.
soft voice, gentle soul.
The type of peace that didn’t shout.
I remember how you’d wear my good clothes, outing shirts, just to go to school, like they were yours.
Like home meant nothing was off limits.

And I was always the mean one, the quick fuse,
I’d bark, threaten, explode,
but mom would just smile and say,
“Let him be. He’s your brother.”

And she was right...
you were more than a cousin.
You were blood, my brother.

First son, the pride of Uzondu.
You rose,
Graduated with dreams wrapped in degrees,
Engineer, Architect, a man becoming.

And I was proud, bro.
so proud even from afar.
Though I didn’t say,
distance made me quiet, but never cold.

So when the news came,
that brutal alert, that soul-breaking sentence: “He’s gone”
I couldn’t believe it.
No goodbye, No warning.
Just a sudden painful exit.

Why now?!
Why so soon?!!
How can purpose die unfinished?!!!

I still held on to hope,
that one day we’d meet again,
that all the boys would laugh again,
In Disney joy, In grown-up peace.
But now...
All I have are memories that cut like glass.

I miss you, brother.
Your presence, your light.
Your quiet strength, your soul.
I’m sorry…
For the words unsaid, the hugs un-hugged, the days unlived.

Rest in the shadow of the Almighty,
where no pain can reach you.
And if you can hear me from where you are…
Know this one truth:
I LOVE YOU 3000, CHIDERA.
FOREVER 🕯️🕯️🕯️

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

16/07/2025

GONE TOO SOON
(DEATH IS A BLOODY THIEF)

It’s been six years, bro.
Six long years of silence and shadow,
of birthdays passed like strangers in the rain,
of moments that should’ve been ours, laughter lost in the cracks of time.

December 2019,
That was the last chapter we wrote,
when anger burned and the boys disbanded.
But beneath the smoke was always a bond,
you were calm, you were kind,
peace wrapped in a soft-spoken soul.

And I hot-headed, wild-tempered,
would rage when you wore my best shirts to school
Like they were nothing more than skin.
I’d threaten war,
And aunty would say, “Let him be, he’s your brother.”
She saw what I didn’t say:
That I loved you.

First son of the Uzondu dynasty,
Your name carved in promise,
Engineer, Architect, Dreamer.
I saw your light from a distance
and silently clapped from the dark.

But now...this.
a phone call, a cruel sentence with no punctuation.
You're… gone? Gone where? Why now?
Death, you bloody thief, what have you done?!

You were too young to fold into silence,
too bright to be buried in night.
Purpose still danced in your bones,
dreams still called your name.
I can't breathe this in.
Somebody wake me from this nightmare!!
Let me find you on the other side of sleep.

I was saving joy for a Disney reunion,
a moment to say, “I see you, bro.”
To laugh again.
To heal what anger once tore.
But now,
I can only whisper into the wind,
Hope it reaches where your spirit rests.

I miss you more than language allows.
Your presence, your soul, your everything, your scent on my shirt, your voice, your smile, your words.

Sleep well, Chidera.
May your soul find refuge in the shadow of the Almighty.
Until I see you again,
I hold this love with both hands.
And bro…
I love you 3000 ♥️

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

16/07/2025

Life is a Sigh.
Death why? 😭

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

15/07/2025

THE DEVIL’S PLAYLIST

I was bobbing my head, just catching the beat,
Not the lyrics, just the rhythm kept me moving my feet.
Then the song said, “Pop bottles, chase cheeks, live free!”
And I paused like… Wait, that don’t sound Holy to me.

But my head kept nodding… my foot still tapped,
While my spirit whispered, “Yo! You’re under attack!”
I mean, I call Gospel “dry,” say church songs are weak,
But I sang “Peru para” for a whole dang week! 😩

Eight speakers in church? I still fall asleep.
But a nightclub's whisper wakes me up from deep.
And when pastor says “Turn to Leviticus…” zzzzz
But let Burna or Cardi come on? Bro, I speak in litness!

The devil ain’t dumb, he’s strategic and slick,
He knows how to hide poison in a party hit.
He’ll wrap rebellion in a 4-minute bop,
Put hell in a hook, and you’ll sing non-stop.

See, music ain’t just sound, it’s spirit and soul,
It’ll preach to your flesh and take control.
It can plant seeds: lust, greed, or fear,
And you won’t even know the lies you hear.

You say, “It’s just vibes, bro, it’s not that deep,”
But demons dance while convictions sleep.
We scroll through reels, say Worship is long,
But remember lyrics to every “booty call” song!

So next time that beat slaps and you start to groove,
Ask: “Is this drawing me closer… or making me move?”
Because Satan was heaven’s Top Choir Director,
Now he engineers souls straight off the vector.

But there’s good news too, God still got bars,
He drops truth in verses and heals in guitars.
And no lie can stand where praise is loud,
Even one voice of worship can shake a crowd.

So I switched my playlist, realigned my tune,
From sin-made hits to songs sung in the Upper Room.
Now my spirit dances, not just my shoe,
And even my Spotify knows I’ve been made new.

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

14/07/2025

JESUS AT THE DRIVE-THRU

I pulled up to the drive-thru, late night and hungry,
Craving some nuggets, maybe fries, something crunchy.
The speaker crackled, a voice said, “Go ahead”
But the menu was blurry and messing with my head.

I said, “Umm… I’ll take Grace with a large side of Peace,
Mercy to go, and guilt release.”
The voice said, “We don’t serve that here,
Try the next window, it should be clear.”

So I rolled up slow, thinking this was a joke,
But there stood a man in a Blood-stained cloak.
No apron, no name tag, no hat on his hair,
Just eyes that saw through me, yet still full of care.

He said, “You’re ordering Peace, but you’re holding on to pain.
You want Freedom, but stay chained in shame.
You’re asking for Joy with a bitter receipt
Trying to pay for what’s already complete.”

I blinked. “Wait, Jesus? Is that… You?”
He smiled, “You wanted Truth with your combo too.”
“Here’s the deal,” He said, “No charge tonight,
I already paid, back on Calvary’s site.”

Then He handed me a bag that felt oddly light,
But when I peeked in, my soul felt right.
Inside: forgiveness, love, and a napkin that read,
‘This meal is eternal, because I rose from the dead.’

So if you’re ever lost, just driving through life,
Craving quick fixes or a shortcut from strife…
Pull up to His window, no cash, no card.
Just a heart wide open and a soul on guard.

Because Jesus still serves, day and night,
Not burgers and fries… but mercy and light.

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

12/07/2025

Hi there! Lets just keep it simple.
You're welcome to this little light of ours. Yes! I said "Ours" because there's no "I" in team. So let's grow together 🙂, Selektor Opm, Alexis Dan, Mavrick Bóy, Sunny Wang, Rebecca Behar

11/07/2025

POETS ARE LIARS II

Poets are liars.
We see things that aren’t real.
We speak in riddles, wrap lies in metaphors, and call it “truth.”

We stare at empty skies
and claim we’ve seen angels.
We hear silence, then write a storm of meaning.
We are guilty of dreaming aloud,
loud enough to wake the sleeping soul.

They say, “That’s not real,”
when we describe pain with wings
or joy as a river of light.
But how else can we explain what the soul feels but the body cannot name?

We give sorrow a face, give hope a spine,
give grief a voice and love a language
no map can trace.
And though we twist reality, bend it into verses, we do not lie to deceive, we lie to reveal. We lie to tell the truth that facts often fear to carry.

For what is truer: the cold report of loss,
or a poem that lets the bereaved breathe again?
What holds more weight: the math of heartbreak, or the song that mends the soul?

It is not easy, carrying this gift.
To be a poet is to ache beautifully,
to bleed with grace, to feel everything too much and still choose to speak.

We are the ones who dive headfirst into sorrow, then return with pearls of hope.
We swallow stars, so we can breathe light into the dark.

Ours is not a lie of escape, but a vision of becoming.
We do not write what is, we write what could be.
We do not speak to describe,
we speak to awaken.
Our lines are not landmarks, they are lanterns, not signposts, but soul-posts.

There’s a divine touch in our deceit.
We make ashes speak, we give silence a rhythm.
We set despair to music, and it becomes healing.
We turn fear into flame, and call it courage.

We take shattered things, fractured memories, forgotten prayers,
unspoken longings, broken dreams, lost hopes and weave them into wings.

So yes! we are liars.
Holy liars. prophets of the unseen.
Whispers of what lies beneath the noise.
And if our lies have led you to some hidden truth, if our fictions have fed your faith, if our dreaming has drawn your soul toward light, then let us lie again,
and again, and again till we can't no more.

Because sometimes, only the lie knows how to speak the truth the heart needs to hear.

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

09/07/2025

Dear Soul, it is with great joy that I welcome you to this little light of ours, where tears are dressed in metaphors and grief is turned to gospel, where pain is laid to rest and joy echoes your name.

Your presence is such a blessing. I hope you find peace, love and light in what I share.
Let's break and build with every verse we spill, each poem a pulsing heartbeat that dares the world to hear 🙂 Abu Sayeed, Selektor Opm, Alexis Dan, Mavrick Bóy, Sunny Wang, Rebecca Behar

08/07/2025

POETS ARE LIARS

Poets are liars
we see what isn’t there,
speak of what never was,
and dress dreams in the garb of truth.

Yet somehow, in the web of our words,
there’s a strange and sacred honesty,
a glimmer of the eternal in the fiction we weave.

For though our tongues shape myths,
our lies are laced with healing,
our illusions hold light,
our songs lift the soul.

We write of worlds unseen, but in doing so, we guide the lost, soothe the broken,
and offer hope wrapped in verse,
not as fact, but as something deeper.
a divine kind of truth only the heart can understand.

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

06/07/2025

(A RECAP)

All Praise To The Most High for the gift of words. The just concluded project was a great blast.
Each day had a clear vision and purpose, from Seeding Vision to Claiming Voice to Reflecting on Progress. Dang! That's wonderful in itself 🙂

Plus, the truth spilled, every piece was my life on a page, an open book for the world to read. Self-doubt, hope, fear, discipline and boldness, this is my story.
It takes more than determination to show up everyday to craft a meaningful piece. That's purpose followed-through and I'm grateful for Grace.

See, this isn't just a 6-day poetry arc, it's a Personal Psalm, a story of my internal journey. I made a commitment and saw it through, that's GrEaTnEsS 🦁
This is just a scratch off something bigger than a 6-day run.
We've just began a rhythm, a truth-telling journey, we're building legacy here.

We started off July with grace and poetry, built a 6-day poetry series that tells a real story, wrote about seeds, fire, rest, voice and proof.
This isn't just a "thing" it's a blueprint.
You can follow, too.
Because we ain't done yet.

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

To Be Continued

06/07/2025

DAY 6: PROOF OF PROGRESS

July 6

Six days ago, this was just an idea,
a whisper, a promise I made to myself
in the quiet.
And now, look... Do you see the proof of progress?

Not every piece was perfect, but every piece was proof.
That I showed up, that I didn’t fold,
that I honored the gift with presence, and grace, not pressure.

This is what growth looks like,
not always loud, or speedy but always real, and consistent.

I didn’t need a million likes, a thousand reactions, or an organic comments.
I needed six faithful days of choosing Discipline over delay,
Purpose over perfection, and
Truth over noise.

And now I carry something stronger than momentum. I carry Grace, light, love, and evidence of Divinity.

Pages written, Excuses burned.
Voice reclaimed, Rest honored.
Flow followed, Seed planted.

But this is not a full stop.
It’s the echo of something greater,
of a rhythm I now know how to keep.
This is the Genesis of an unfolding Revelation.

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

Day 6 of
I have proof, not just in words but in presence.
I showed up, I created, I grew.
This is what progress feels like, steady, sacred, and mine.

05/07/2025

DAY 5: MY VOICE, MY VOLUME

July 5

I’ve been quiet for too long,
with a thousand unspoken words.
Whispering truth when I was born to thunder, softening edges so others could stay comfortable while I stayed invisible.

But not anymore...
My voice is mine, not borrowed, or broken, my words proceeds with distinctive sapience not waiting for permission.

I will not lower my volume to fit into someone else’s silence.
I will not apologize for the echo in my words, or the strength in my sound.

I speak with the fullness of my name,
with the weight of every “No” I turned into growth,
with the rhythm of resilience and the melody of truth.

If my voice shakes, let it shake the ground.
If my message offends, may it also awaken.
Because this sound, breath, this blaze in my throat is mine, and I’m done hiding it.

© GrEaTnEsS 🦁

Day 5 of
I’m not lowering my voice to be palatable.
I was made to speak in full volume.
My silence was survival, my sound is now freedom.

GREAT POEMS

17/07/2025

16/07/2025

16/07/2025

15/07/2025

14/07/2025

12/07/2025

11/07/2025

09/07/2025

08/07/2025

06/07/2025

06/07/2025

05/07/2025

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