He was either looking for a home in his mother’ thought; A place where lost freedom is found to be a lurking land. He was either searching for the colour of a new song, a song of colour and crystal ray from the shadow of her heart. We define threnody with a moonful of sadness … Continue reading When a boy left his town through his mother’s eyes
Get rejected by publishers and magazines, feel the rejections and bounce back.Get abused but never relent on it. Let them squeeze your manuscripts for once and throw it in a waste can, yes, for once; It would make you better, dear boys. Allow a publisher to kick you out and allow your heart to cry … Continue reading For Boys Like Me Who Are Writers.
Our ancestral home would not forget your perfection. On this ground shall we plant your names also for those who are to come. We will gather firewood, we will gather soothsayers, we will gather seekers of fate to get into you. Life is meant to be spent in joy. Having Nkporo on your lips is … Continue reading For Those Boys Bearing Nkporo Names On Their Lips.
This dream fell out from my eyes last night when I tried to find a related body to passionately tell all that I have being through but could not. This dream was the light of my skin but fairer was the colour of its miseries. Coming home is a tribulation you should never dream of. … Continue reading For Those Boys Who Were Aborted
Boys! When the night fell on the shadows of our grandfathers, they walked towards some miles away from the memory of darkness to find light. People labelled them evil and diabolic. Some stoned them while others got their throat cut off in the name of a new god. Our fathers could not fight back because, … Continue reading For Those Boys Singing Of Nkporo Land
Silent! Open your Bible to Saint John 11:35 Somewhere at the junction of fate and survival let’s see the guiltless tears quaking this messed land! Old sweat of the saints gathered Ancient blood of the cross stood And the curtain broke into two Cracking the raven of the blind side of a land pouring an … Continue reading And Jesus Wept For Nigeria
(Holding fire and water together) I don’t know why the rain keeps writing the name of Nigeria on the ground in every corner. I don’t know why we are this broken and tortured like the fragments of the dust. I don’t know why the Dapchi girls returned yesterday while their chikbok friends are still in … Continue reading Re-Visiting Nigeria
(For my Jos boys) Jos was not just just to all of us. Plateau made the chaos that took away your pure souls to where torment is.we would purge out all our sins for this. I am not happy at all. I am not! some feelings keep chasing me like a hound dog back into … Continue reading For Those Boys Who Went Crying Blood And Water
When I saw this picture, I remembered how boyhood hurts. How we were planted in the hands of abuse; lost sisters and uncles. How our parents thought we were old enough to man ourselves, to find our way; so they gave us a weak freedom. They gave us freedom to our doom. The freedom that … Continue reading Boys Are Not Stones I
let’s dive into the thought of that Benue woman. let’s see through her sorrow carved separately, how many children are born to die before noon? 1966 saw this on the tail of her skins proudly, till 1977, pogom of lunatic fringed our thoughts, We enslaved our reasonings to the ashes of right, everything without a … Continue reading Genocide
FOR BOYS LIKE ME WHO GREW UP IN THE SLUM Dear boys: Makoko was never a better home for boys like us. Akala made us forget our skins to the burning sun. Ajegunle set the remains of our feelings on fire then it’s burnt into ashes. Then, Uvureke came hand in hand with scarlet letters … Continue reading For Boys Like Me Who Grew Up In The Slums
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