Man of Dreams – Obongofon Etuk.
Man of Dreams If wishes could materialize and bloom, I’d gather them, a handful or maybe two, And weave their magic through my restless soul, Granting solace, contentment, and grace, For dreams, when realized, bring joyful thoughts, Transforming life’s canvas with colors true. Each morning, I beseech the heavens true, Imploring divine intervention to loom, To guide my path, to shape my thoughts, Bestowing upon me a blessed gift or two, A sprinkle of serenity, a touch of grace, Enveloping and soothing my weary soul. But who am I, this humble wandering soul, To fathom the mysteries of what holds true? Yet, I shall persevere, seeking elusive grace, Chasing after dreams that dance in the loom Of my imagination, where possibilities brew, Whispering secrets, inspiring hopeful thoughts. A man of dreams, I weave a tapestry of thoughts, A dreamer, forever yearning to find my soul, For in the realm of…
The Visit – Popoola Ololade Aderemi.
The Visit I saw a ghost yesterday – a little seven-year-old girl. She wore a red jersey with matching ribbons adorning her hair. I was surrounded by people with their different noises and scents, all of them bumping into me like they could not see, yet there she was, poised in the middle of the road like she was waiting to be seen. She had dark skin that seemed to glow from within, almost translucent. Even with the throngs of people bustling about, I could see from where I stood, transfixed, a familiar glint in her eyes. I knew who she was. I died on the 2nd of October, 2009. It happened in my father’s living room. I had just returned from school with my brother. He was two years my senior, but we were often mistaken for twins because of the striking resemblance. We were the only ones home,…
The Wolf Howls for Her Death Mission -Enit’ayanfe Ayosojumi Akinsanya.
The Wolf Howls for Her Death Mission hearth i’m stuck where indigo shadows play & the light is terse & half glimpses dance like prints of a dark blue moon or like leaves leaving a lonely sky when branches are too weak to carry the stories of night sway, sway i don’t know when i will become it, but i feel it earth i listen to the doors closing o p e n i n g speaking the rain is sand on my soul bury, bury if these bones & stones do not smother me, then i can catch you in her bed, in her deep i can clutch winds of new watch altered longings leap to flame in me—feral i am the wolf that will howl her death mission that will hear the gong of wisdom somewhere in the thick of these moon-deadened leaves that will say: don’t. quiet!…
I Now Bleach – Adedokun Ibrahim Anwar.
I Now Bleach It is in your loss I mastered the alphabets of silence, & this one here bleaches me into memories and memories and, memories, pardon, I lose count every time I get emotional. This memory is almost silent, but, I hear it, sometimes ago I learned photos to be the fastest way to run backwards into time, I learned them/ to be louder than voices in fact/silence. There are moments I turn to God without mentioning your name, forgive me – I do not mean to do this. It’s silent here, my heartbeat matches the defibrillator in your ward last week. Here you are the memory every instant summons, and I the body that bleaches into you. The silence here transforms me into everything. I keep your photos for days like today, this time I will not forget to say your name before God. This time, I get…
How Fast Can The Heart Spin? – Ikechukwu Henry.
How Fast Can The Heart Spin? At first, he thinks she is merely scouring for what to buy next as her eyes comb through the rice lane of Eke Eziachi market, her hand fiddling in the black handbag on her arm. Then she shouts but not enough to attract everyone’s attention. “Wheelbarrow!” Ifeanyi sees it coming as he jolts to his feet, scrambling to get his wheelbarrow to her before someone else will do. Luck eludes him. He tries to squeeze through the throng of crowds scurrying back and forth at every pathway of the market. A boy is already grinning at the woman before he reaches her. He sighs, daubing away the sweat that’s now coursing down his cheeks like tears. The first time it happened to him, his stomach churned, anger misted around him that he nearly fought the little boy that got to one of his customers…
Portrait of a Bleak Future – Okoronkwo Chisom.
Portrait of a Bleak Future Today, I held a clandestine meeting with the voices in my head & they went berserk. The disarray disrobed me of light. Say, my heart assumed the silhouette of a woman nurturing her aches like a tender tulip in the dead of night. I’m docile to nothing but growth. Once, I was faced with a conundrum that has the shape of my father’s demon. To escape, I mounted the back of a wind ferrying away my fears. There’s no safety here. Every danger that confronts me comes with a dagger. There’s a sun scorching the leaves of my hopes to make them wither. Don’t blame this heart when it rejects a hope capsule. There’s not enough water to irrigate the florescent petals of my dreams that fight for survival in this land. Yesterday, I broke through the barricade of my future & lost gusto. To bask in…
Exit – Emmanuel Yamba.
Exit for Uncle Lawrence because you have investedall of your time searching for anaccent to call on God with, that only himunderstands – you empty yourself of words.for there is no taste of prayer on your tonguebut you managed to unravel it like a gift somethingthat resembles the silence bury within your heart,at night – when the moon sends the sun to bed.every part of you keeps calling God with differentnames like marketers begging a buyer.in this poem, there is a black boy who wantsto survive this dew of pain falling& wants for God to do with grief what ease does to pain,what light does to darkness – to plant lifein a body that knows not how to live.he moves beyond doubt & waits on God for an answer; faith.this boy still sees his father counting his breath& wants to learn how to peel sickness off his father’s skinbut there…
Alone in the Dark – Oladimeji Olatunji.
Alone in the Dark Alone in the dark, I’m scared of the imaginary beings spawned from make-beliefs and deepcontemplations. That eerie beast of the night lies in wait, ready to haunt me to death in mysleep.Like many others, I have awakened to the cruel realities of my past deeds, relentlesslystalking me. The skeletons, big and small. who walked to my doorsteps unheralded, have letthemselves in. I cannot undo them; I have remanded them to a wooden prison by my bedside.Yet, it won’t hold them for long.The emissaries of my mother’s probe will come knocking but fail in their attempted jailbreak,as her unstable emotions cloud her pursuit. She drifts into oblivion, lost in a world where Iwas everything but herself.At sunrise, they broke free, forcing me to mouth-pouring confessions, my skeletons revealedto a cynical world, exposing my failed grand scheme. My lover’s cat is out of the bag,running for safety, and…
Portrait of Home as an Indefinite Pronoun – Solahudeen Ridwanullah Olalekan
Portrait of Home as an Indefinite Pronoun In English class,Our teacher said redundancy flaws a paragraphWhen the sunrise in the evening,I call it a shadow of every legMade to walk away from whereThey used to call homeThat is the only pronoun I know for reluctance. Home is the only place we leaveWith pockets suspended by memories,Eggs we do not want to break to distanceOf faraway landsWhere displaced birds drenched by rain,Gather on street wiresAnd watch the storm cart away their nestsFor if it were home,They would’ve borrowed fire from the neighbouring kitchenTo warm the food. At home, no one beats a masquerade for trespassAt the worst, they’d show him the way back to the shrine. Contributor’s Bio Solahudeen’s writing evolves from thought, and so, a thinker was born in that land of virtue, Osun state, Nigeria. Ridwanullah is a lover of God and His creatures, including nature. Thusly, this preoccupated…
When Mercy Bids the Eye, Goodbye – Odunjo Azeez.
When Mercy Bids the Eye, Goodbye. Today, every eye spells evil and smells evil like the silenceworn by our nights. Out there, aubade greets the morningfrom a man’s stomach, and he dances to the tune—likehe buries his sadness into the joy that will never come. At the market, a preacher is preaching heaven with the blazeof hell in his mouth. We have pecked at the sea in hell andgraffitied its taste on our subconscious so that our ears, eyes,tongues, legs, and hands are all testaments of what we want and hate. Here, a liege leads his folks into days that are not smiling;flails them by bastinadoing till stars fall off their skies. We read and memorize the tongue of the sky, but rescindthe lessons or tell them off into the mouth of oblivion afterward.What rules our souls, our world is a rule: “if you want to rule, follow no rules!”…