The toils of our heroes – Aderibigbe Ikmot Olaitan.
The toils of our heroes When darkness took the throne, silence became the day’s voice. The tender gaze of the crescent & stars—emitting faint glints put us in the shape of a ball. We espied our progenitors clothed in scars from our elders’ mouths. In the belly of thralldom, they buried their heads. A peek into the tomorrow’s soil, the greatness it didn’t swallow turned them into well-built drums for the flail to happily dance on. Their strife couldn’t wear tears from torture; rather, it gifted its tears as manure to the soil. These stories were waters springing through my eyes, sprinkling hope like a beam of light, awakening the dead flowers. This land! Sleep not! Our heroes’ toils must live! Contributor’s Bio Aderibigbe Ikmot Olaitan, a Linguistics And African Languages student at Obafemi Awolowo University is a dedicated young poet who aspires to be better in the art. She…
Ashawo Glory – Joemario Umana.
Ashawo Glory Within Mama Wire-wire’s drinking palour, the bamboo walls wear the garment of night, the air the smell of tobacco breath and palm wine belch. Flavour N’abania’s ashawo blurts out from the speakers and everyone cheers. Littered here and there are men, drowning their worries down their throat with kegs, some bottles and some smoking, as if to say to their troubles, there, vanish with the smoke in my lungs and in the air. There are women here too, those who make blood rush between a man’s thighs, and are ready to milk a man for a price, maybe a meal. From a distant corner, a man’s words nibble my ears, I could read pain in his words, like a palmist divining destiny, from the lines etched on a palm. There’s a proverb among my people that says, it’s condition that bends the crayfish, so I call out to…
We Disappear – Joel Oyeleke.
We Disappear into prayer and everything unholy dies every syllable of faith becomes a phoneme of light morphemes of grief is the phrase of glee I look at worries and smile – they are the Egyptians I see today and un-see tomorrow sometimes, all a metaphor does is teach hope to peel stone with a knife & place heaven on gravity someday, my body will be a sanctuary of miracle – inferno of glory The Lord dissolves into my mouth & I swallow Him. Contributor’s Bio JOEL OYELEKE is a member of Hilltop Creative Arts Foundation from Osun state, Nigeria. He is a poet, literary enthusiast, God-addict and Literature in English undergraduate of Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Osun state. Author of THE THEM IN ME (Direwords, 2022), Co-author of LET ME GRIEVE (Arting Arena Magazine, 2023), Winner of the Arting Arena Poetry Prize (2022), Publishing Officer II of the Association…
A Birdsong -Fasasi Ridwan.
A Birdsong I want to make more memories with you but it seems I’m fading into the ones we had already. — Fasasi Ridwan The apparatus that made my body stay in hibernation throughout those years must have been living like a prey standing miles away from hope. Or It must have been that I have become adapted to being an outcast all my life. I mean the weight of these haunting memories must have pulled my soul away from my body. Every night, we filled the air with Fireboy & Joeboy songs, dirges for lovers whose night is covered in imaginations. Your body was rigid —rubbing against mine, against time. How my lips used to get drown in the river of your mouth. How the night watched us in admiration. How the moon was jealous of our shadows that it casts away its light from us. Say, the night…
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 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…
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…