We have broken those kola nuts on the family shrines. Shattered elegies here and there in templates of agony. We may be a plight on the body of this river, we may not but your gracious imagination of thoughts must we reserve in the morning of this ancestry ancient memories. broken tenses tend to write … Continue reading For Those Boys Who Returned Home As A Breaking News
Where dreams are gold of thought Where cloud are silvers of hope Where future husband the street Where ghost don’t crack bones of human. This colour of African night depict water A formless form of laughter tickling home If this history be made of Kinta Kunte, I will lit this weekend with a strange tune … Continue reading May We Meet Again.
Remember the street is a dryeR Easing out fears into a flat pastE Memories may be seen as an imaM Entering into convenant with hastE Minding the time he coiled on kiliM Beauties of the street are folded like bulb Entertaining the earth like lonely artistE Remember the street made you a fatheR Thinking for … Continue reading Remember The Street
My eyes pierced into her thigh Into the upper room of a hole Connecting hell and heaven I was introduced to infatuations Hanging my thoughts and prayers Through the imagination of her pride I saw her nakedness through her look Love spoke but lust became louder I erected my body like a ghost tree against … Continue reading Infatuations
create a golden route for a poet like me, let the embodiment of song carved itself in the palms of the world beyond till lyrics of faith light to ease the thought of my mind. If you die before me, tell papa not to cry. the shrine he left in my hand is still well … Continue reading If you die before me
My sister would always wait until the time lose concentration in the dead evening. She would tell mother it was time for vigil. Her racial church always has one every Friday. Mother won’t complain cos she thought her to be a good girl & we were the bad eggs. I became sick of watching her … Continue reading Those Things Girls Do behind Closed Doors.
After Amadioha went into sweet nightmares, he made us to breath through the chest of the sea. from the celestial bodies of the shrine, We shone our forefather’s smile with a mirage, a little littered mirage spelling words in ellipsis. these were the rose crumbs tailored in the sand castle of our glassful laughter, we’re … Continue reading Rituals
Out-li-er /-, li(-e)r/ noun this dance was dying of old age. until I learnt to move a toe. a dance of old woman trying to see the sun rise from the sole of her feet. her survival outlived a snoring nose. these holes were carved out from the thigh of a prostitute learning how to … Continue reading Outliers
(for chikbok girls four years after elegies of lost) And we opened the book of remembrance again Tickling all ears that are designed to be deadly. We filled the cups & buckets with tears of blood, Bloody tears as the cloud rises from dark night & the horizon of our lives radio out our prayers … Continue reading For Chibok Girls – The Book of Remembrance
(after Amadioha went to a wet sleep) . . For the Men who went during praises Let your tears be of cheerful dreams You are not forgotten in abyss The glory of death shall be re-shadowed when the storm is over This is the gullible of the vision-less attribute For those women who cried Ozubulu! … Continue reading For Ozubulu
Of those things that glamour for clarity Of those roads that sipped dead calls Of those shadows that retrieved retributions panache of the smoke that chased blunt images, We are here for the death of our dead ones, We are here to breeze out bodies from the ghost of our forefathers giving out beggars of … Continue reading Of Shadows And Spirits
There are those things that left our bodies when we were younger flying innocently… Those bridges of pretentious smile that we took to our mother’s dimples to collect glories. Those magic tears that once sliced loneliness off our shouldering lips, Those bite and bite of unwanted hunger that beat us in the presence of our … Continue reading Those Things we left behind as Boys
We opened a book that started with the name of our country. The right side was numbered corruptions and the other side was numbered greed & bad leaders. We burnt the stride of our bodies into aches and dreams waving away fire and foliage of silence. Women learnt to carry portrait of bodies of their … Continue reading Of Those Things That come In Black And White
Tell the moon not to complain, go to the sun and leave a note, We are not a broken piece of poetry campaigning for love and affections, we are crystals, lest you forget! clear rays penetrating into hearts and souls of humans that seek to make themselves gods into godhood. we are not grasshoppers to … Continue reading Lest We Forget The Boychild
what about the boys in Pakistan’s war front? what about those boys in Iran battlefield, those boys learning how to pull the trigger with a warning fingers on the crossroad of Iraq & Afghanistan? what about those boys raped in the street of Nigeria? those boys in the act of loneliness in the army, what … Continue reading What About The BoyChild?