At first, I knew who I was
But as the times passed on, I became ashamed of who I am
My mother is Chinese, My father is a Nigerian
Who is a Chinese? Who is a Nigerian? And What am I?
I can sense you feel my predicament by now
I don’t know what to call myself
At first, I knew who I was
Whenever the lights were put out
I suffered an insanity bout;
I was thrown in a claustrophobic frenzy
as if giant walls were collapsing all over me,
I shivered like a hen in the rain
as my nerves sent poisons to my brain,
then every draft of air stung like an asp
and could well have been hell’s very gasp.
I loved her before I met her
She was older but it didn’t seem to matter
I yearned for her to love me
But it seems her love had gone on a journey
I loved her when I met her
my eyes opened to view the world of her beauty
At that point I was overwhelmed with feeling
Nothing more perfect, the ignorance of not knowing
My writing and reading (reading and writing) have ‘suffered’. Everything I have posted here in this young and prestigious literary website for naija youngsters (and oldsters) are select “refreshing archives” got from my storage of literary works. When I first saw NS advertised on FB, I thought to myself: Why not? Try it! I had … Continue reading FAVOURITE-BOOK DILEMMA (and then some)
When I was a girl I believed in True love.
I anticipated that feeling of butterflies in your tummy.
I dreamed of my first kiss! how it would feel.
I saw my future through innocent eyes
True love did exist and she was beautiful.
She asked for only one thing from a person: Your heart.
she kept it tucked at her breasts and warmed it with her blood.
she truly was beautiful.
I don’t believe in marriage. Not really. I like my space, so having one special person for the rest of my life is scary and too close for comfort. My sister, Hadiza, got married two years ago. I enjoyed watching the women dress her up. The dark purple indigo marks on her palms and feet, … Continue reading Love, in a mortar…
Athena sat in the British Airways VIP lounge while waiting her flight. It was a busy day at Muritala Muhamed Airport, but she could have been there alone. She heard nothing, only the timed sequenced of her breathing. In and out, in and out. She had to keep breathing, it showed she could keep living. … Continue reading Sunstreaks of Sunlight at Dawn 7
Every day I go to work on the bus with the other sleepers, workers whose days begin early, whose commutes are long. We sleep when we can. Some people complain about their working conditions. Some swear never to return to their offices again. But the next day we are up together before the sun. Look, there, even the bank executive sleeps in the back of his car while his driver faces down Lagos for him, like our driver who faces Lagos for us. For family. For nation. For love. For love, we are up for work before the sun.
Angered by her 8 month long unemployment,a young lady denies faith,aids and abets a hit and run crime to get to a job interview on time.
EXTERNAL/ morning The shadows thrown by the branches of a garden tree dances a silent waltz on the walls of the house from within which a loud squeal is emanating. The constant fluctuation of rush hour traffic masks this wail as it descends to a barely designable whimper. Amongst the shadowed branches, a single window … Continue reading The Enemy within
It was a dream
It was not a dream
But it was a clear trance
And I shall write it down
From outside, it kept coming
Jarring from a metallic symphony
Of mangled notes, tones
Pace and lyrics into my cell
The wondrous gifts tells a story
A story of beauties unmasked not looked
Many may have heard it in history
But the truth is hidden in parchments
It was like a framework, nothing bought
The laughter of men and beasts
It was as the beauty of the garden caught
But not all see the hands behind
Passion blows like the wind
Are you ready to fly?
It burns like a fire
Are you ready to try?
Love is a lamp that is meant for a seasons
And strong enough to take the eyes and looks
Go wherever it goes because
That’s what it takes to be in love
Smile so hidden between the lines of the forehead,
Fading and musical dimples behind shy shells,
I see pillows in your pupils;
My desires pour as a landslide of emotions
Rushing down into the sacs of my arrowed pulsations;
You are my son’s teacher,
A nun beneath the kindergarten umbrella of a convent;
A villain you are not,
Confused and unsure you are,
A tottering toddler
In these concerns;
You’ve fallen down, gotten up,
And fallen again