Williams Emmanuel

Biography: Emmanuel Chidiebube Williams is a young dynamic focused writer and poet.He hails from imo state in isi-ala mbano local government area.Although he hails from imo state,he lives with his parents in Rivers state of Nigeria.He is a product of an inter ethnic marriage between Barr E.C.Osibie and mrs Rachael emmanuel.He is the first of five with an unquenchable intrests in literature and poetry, although he hopes in studying law and becoming a legal practitioner.With his brainy and witful capabilities, the poet W.E.C by short had drafted many poems and quote and has many literary works on literature in edition.

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Williams Emmanuel
Tuesday 26 May 2020

Who is behind whispering?

Oh!,mr death, you are here again,

For whom have you come?,

As you are always thirsty of blood.

Of this I tell you,

But be not fooled,

I have no fear for you.

Grasp me if you like,

As you are a bad reaper,

You harvest unripe fruits.

But be not fooled,

I'lld rather have arachnophotia,

Than to have fear for you.

Your claws are so weak,

And light like a feather.

I doubt if you have a father,

As if you have of one,

You won't kill so ruthlessly,

As you just have done.

If your fist scratches you,

Why not scratch them on walls,

Than to place your hands,

On sacred human lives.

Life you cannot create,

You take so ruthlessly.

Oh!, your powers are delegated,

But why not kill wisely?,

See the goats up there,

But you choose to lay,

Those filthy hands of yours,

On the sacred sheep's life.

Of a truth I tell you,

You lack wisdom.

My advice is that you go,

To the wisdom well,

And fetch for your temples,

For you are not wise.


Williams Emmanuel
Tuesday 26 May 2020

Covid-19's delicacy

A precious delicacy lies,

On Earths dinning table,

Covid-19 has served it.

The souce is decorated with,

Vegetable sauce and beverages,

Let our savana tongue come forth,

And lick of it's fabulous delicacy.

The meal seems sour,

Our days come with misery,

All of Earth seeds are falling,

From harshness of covid-19 meal.

The delicacy tastes bloody,

Pushing our ocean head,

Into the grave of blood and death.

The meals milk spill our intestine.

The soup scratches our throat,

Like a razor to a wood.

Our mouth is full of blood,

As our table is full of corpse.

The dinner comes with a blade,

That slice thorough our throat.

Today's dinner is worst than death.

It's venom is terrible,

Than the slaps of leprosy.

Our intestines are all spilt,

And blood congest our throats.

The floor is spilt with blood,

Corpse lie around for covid-19s meal.


Williams Emmanuel
Thursday 21 May 2020

I'll write about i

Poetic shackles wont let me be,

If I fail to write about I, 

It might force breath out my throat,

In such a rambunctious deliquency.

So its none but lovely I,

An admirable brown skin guy,

That bears a mesmerizing eyes,

A star lying on Africa's globe.

Its I,

A lovely shiny little star,

That hopes to pass the sky,

And shine incredibly up there.

Its I, the spectacular guy,

Who holds poetry as a like,

And adores literatures bike,

Wishing on it to one day ride.

Its I, who would ride,

Literatures silvern bike,

Down to poetrys city,

And exxlaim it as my like.

Thats lovely I,

The hunter in poetrys city,

That yearns for it golden crown,

Of which literary folks had worn.

Its I,

Who would love to die,

In poetrys golden castle,

And beburied in its sincere tomb.

Its I,

Would be I,

Must be I,

Wallowing in poetrys glo


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