Jude Uchella
Jude Uchella

There is an appointed place for you to be,

a position that suits your personality.

There is an office calling on you to man,

a staff waiting for your plan.


There is a homeless child with nowhere to go,

except a home to him you’ll show.

There is a poor youth uncertain of the future,

this you can help him nurture.


There is a boy in your class with poor grades,

others avoid him as if he has AIDS.

There is no better time to help this lad,

a gesture he’ll not easily discard.


There is a soul out there you need to win,

and rescue from the clutch of sin.

There is a message you need to preach,

that’ll prevent someone from entering a ditch.


There is an incentive you need to give,

to spur others to greatly achieve.

There is a speech you have to make,

to help one avoid a mistake.


There is an apology letter you have to write,

if you get into an unanticipated fight.

There is an ‘I’m sorry’ you have to say,

if you have wronged someone today.


There is a smile you should have on your face,

That those around will be happy always.

There is a positive attitude you need to have,

that your relationship with others will thrive.


There are a million things you can do,

to help myriads of people or few.

There is a reward for selfless service,

only a few know this!


1960 Aftermath

By Jude Uchella


Each passing day reminds me of 1960

Of the ironic jollity of independence,

Of a people who falsely foresaw a city

With glory and power and resplendence.


For many it was apt to celebrate a well-won liberty,

For a mischievous few – a time to plan to loot,

And yet some, in reminiscence of the past- sobriety;

Perhaps, some did not even give a hoot.


Soon they came with deceit tagged over their faces:

Saints on the outside, sinners on the inside,

Till date like that they have come in many cases

Only for the masses to later learn that they lied.


For how long will this brotherly betrayal last,

How long will penury plague our land?

How much more are we to pray and fast,

Before this fallen giant takes her stand?


How much more poetry should be scribbled concerning this,

What other songs should be sung in bitter sarcasm?

When will all be well, someone, tell us please,

For the polity is losing patriotic enthusiasm.


Let all those that have stabbed us in the back weep.

Even them that have shared in their pursuit.

Someday the cruel eye will shut in eternal sleep,

And a million fold reap the horrors they built.


Hope is a notion one cannot claim to have now,

Still, let the old and young work for resurrection.

Let us go to the farm, and challenge the lazy farmer’s plough;

Fight for what is ours that they’ve held in detention.

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