Author Archives : Admin

Two Poems by Bola Opaleke


TALKING ABOUT CREMATION              Ede, Nigeria 1966   as their hair fly in all directions in the restless wind, white, almost wool-like (not greying), they float like deities, their stainless skin glittering like snake’s, who, then, would not think of them as gods? what man   would shut his eyes to such divinity? they said they read it in books…

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Two Poems by Pamilerin Jacobs


verdigris bones frail, light as a thread every time i cough a vein snaps, organs splinter. call me a catacomb, i hold death in my mouth like an oath. to kiss you, is to suck out your soul as marrow from bone. skip with me, this existence of half-eaten breaths. pry open your ribs with a crowbar when you see…

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Nursery Rhymes by Ann Christine Tabaka


Nursery Rhymes   A childhood full of nursery rhymes, as violent as her past.   Restless sleep with monsters under her bed.   Nightmares fill her days, as memories creep back in.   Now morbid, unreal images wake her in the night.   Her heart races wildly, as sweat pours from her brow.   Forgive, she has done, forget as…

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Issue 6


Editorial Wale Ayinla   Don’t Forget Me Dika Ofoma   Two Poems Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale   For Things That Became Part of Us Amao Williams Praise   He Wasn’t That Scared Okwudili Nebeolisa   A Late Tale of Bemusement Madukwe Anthony   Two Poems Elisabeth Horan   Two Poems Gaamangwe Joy Mogami   All the Lights Going Out Gbenga Adeoba…

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Desolate Room by Mbanefo Chibuike


We understand hatred for the first time when he puts his cold hands upon the one whom we love. Zikora’s hatred for me began when he found out I was responsible for mother’s death, when father told him he had sold everything he had to keep me alive. Enraged, Zikora cut himself out of the only picture we took with…

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Two Poems by Echezonachukwu Nduka


INSIGNIA (for Christopher Okigbo) The first is Okigbo’s pipe. His puffs were verses and songs rendered con spirito.   Idoto’s son dropped his pen, closed the piano, and picked a gun.   At Opi, bullets cut short a poet’s verse, leaving his pipe and pages as witnesses.   Spilt bloods are death’s signposts but a dead poet’s blood is history…

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When the wind was heavy on the borderline by Chisom Okafor


after Yusef Komunyakaa The voice that comes with the winds at nightfall is a refuge seeker’s, dying inside my head. His socks; two burning cities, rise like carbonsmoke. The wind undressing him, is best served cold best unveiled in the space between full-light and sundown. Beyond closed eyes, he sees the world again a drift of bodies; an elegy to…

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