Saturday, 22 November 2014

A Hero's Tale

Hello Hi,

I hope you're doing great. I wrote a short story (300 words) for the Etisalat prize fiction. Please read, share and vote for me; you can also vote everyday. Thank you. Here's the link:

I was going to put up a short story today but my friend sent me a beautiful poem which I could not resist especially as I find poem-composing very challenging. He chooses by go by his pseudonym - ucsmile (some of you may know him or may have seen his other lovely works). So please enjoy and leave your comments below.
photo credit:

A Hero's Tale

Such stories are often told
By the wizened ones of old
Who with backs steeped in age
Recount battles fought on life's stage
Reminiscent on the eternity of youth
Toes tingling for dancing shoes and boot
But with a lesson to impact
On those with bodies still intact

This story has never been told
For none could conceive something so bold
Or even perceive the workings of a man's heart
Determined to play a part
In utter disregard of the applause
Which some need to stay on course
When placed on the spotlight
In a quest for the fairest and white

This is a tale of man’s bravery
One whose end can vary
Depending on the path that one should tow
Or the mouth from which the tale is told
Of an adventure in the Jungle of Ardor
Whose key is strength and valor
And the price the rarest of all
The lone bloom in the Fall

She is like a flower
Which some see and cower
Words fleeing down parched throats
Sweat dribbling down hot clothes
Feet tapping in a confounded pattern
Wrapped in shoes spick-and-span
All set to dazzle the fair maiden
The pride of the garden

Her body was enshrouded in vanilla
Which sent each warrior to Nirvana
Her voice that of a nightingale
Piercing each heart and mail
Her touch was the gentle wind
For which each warrior yearned
Her eyes a seamless deep fountain
That a multitude of warriors cannot drain

Each warrior sought her
Leaving behind a grisly nightmare
As they tear through the jungle
Every step, a pleasant struggle
Undaunted by the prick of the thorn
Nor perturbed by armor that is worn
With shredded skins they went on
For the maiden is just for one

Some turned back the trail
For their pace could not match a snail
A few fell on the way side
Content with another as bride
Others went off to a new quest
Convinced that they will fail the test
And alas our hero is left
But with the bravest and heft

They searched high and low
Till they came on top a brow
From which summit they could see
Our maiden bathed in a sea
Of golden rays of morning sun
Reflected in the eyes of a python
This was poised to end the life
Of a creature with so much love rife

Without a pause our hero moved
And enwrapped the maiden as she stood
Even the pain of the python bite
Could not weaken the hand that held on so tight
And with eyes misted with love and warmth
He strove to say with his dying breath
My love, I die joyful knowing you are alive
With the thought that one like me did live


Have a great week ahead.

Twitter: @vivio_gogo  IG:ugochiukah

Sunday, 9 November 2014


Hello Hi,

It's been a short; thank you for your patience. Last week Bella naija published an article of mine:

So this week, I am posting an article from a young, talented writer - Etoh Collins.

Please leave your comments below and share. Enjoy:

 Photo credit: Grupyolddeafies

As usual my eyes quickly ran straight to this young boy that was always around me. He was always in the same house with me, showed the same affection I did show to my parents, slept in the same room with me, entered the same car with me when we went to church, eats on the same dining table with me and always smiled at me like it was going to make my day. I was surely older than him, because he treated me as such; at least he was always getting me everything I needed, and ensuring I lacked nothing when he was around. He greeted me every morning, and sometimes bowed his head in respect when he came asking me for something but the most significant of all was that he was smaller in height compared to me.

Although I wasn’t there when he was born, I had gotten so used to his face in the house that talking to him wasn’t as important as getting to see him look pitifully at me; we had this chemistry which proved we could connect even in silence. Even when he looked upset and seemed to be shouting, I would always smile at him and show him I didn’t care if he was angry. This I did because I noticed that anytime I got angry at him, my parents would act displeased and disappointed at me.
It wasn’t easy being an elder brother even when I doubted my position in the house. I sometimes never got to know what was been served for breakfast or lunch until I was at the table. I never was told anything until I saw it happen. I never was to go anywhere unless someone accompanied me. It was more like I was much cared for, even beyond my expectation. Most times I felt relaxed in troubled situations; at least I always or never was aware of it until days or weeks after, in some occasion months after, and other times I never even got to know. And these things beat my heart so much that I would almost want to give out a loud shout but what could I say?

I was the quiet type and I didn’t care if my being quiet was something that was to trouble me. The times I felt uncomfortable and uneasy was anytime I was out of the house and mostly in areas with so much people; because I was quiet, people won arguments I was involved in, even before I uttered any statement. One of the few times I went out alone, I boarded a bus and made sure I paid the fare as I always do  when I was alone, but my change wasn’t given to me. I guess it was because the man thought I didn’t care, or that he was bent on cheating this quiet boy, or probably like my daddy would always illustrate with his hands gesturing in the air the unrealistic nature of how things have gone hard in recent times. But I guess he took advantage of my quiet nature, and made the most part of me by refusing to give me my change.

So many times I have tried to speak up at injustices and about the evils people perpetrate in my presence and sound absence, and still I all the time choose to be quiet and watch in awe. So many people I think misuse the idea of speech in today’s world. Everyone wants to speak up all at once, but the bad thing is that they all speak either of the same thing or of nothing at all. I watch my parents talk and laugh, I see my brother shut his ears with a rope-like thing as he seem to be talking in a style that resembles one singing, and my mom would always have to hit him before he noticed he was being spoken to. I notice people talk hard and then fight and then laugh and then talk some more; but no one seems to be changing anything. As for me, I still wait for my chance to say so many things on my mind. I await my great chance to speak out even for one day. I plead unto the omnipotent to grant me the power just like Samson in the bible to use just one more might to exclaim something…anything just to ease this burden I have carried since I was born. And until I do so, this world still remains the quiet world it has always been to me. And as I count on my eyes to also do the hearing and the talking, I still brush my teeth daily, and use the cotton bud on my ear holes, hoping that someday, they would become useful, and I would no longer be referred to as the ‘deaf and dumb boy’.

Thank you and have a beautiful week ahead.

Follwo on twitter @vivio_gogo and IG; @ugochiukah