This poem beginsNot in the daylightor on beautiful morningswhen larkssing and crickets chirp sounds like jazz music,Not when there’s a rainbow and the sky is beautiful. This poem begins at midnightWith the screech of owls,the howls of wildcatsand squeaks of bats. This poem begins at the intervalsbetween the strikes of
A Night Without The Moon – Poem by Akinbola (K)hadijat When the stars were obstinate And the lightnings were overbearing;When the waves were ecstaticAt the detriment of my life;When the sun became fieryAnd set me up ferociously;The breeze became stillBut the wind unrestrained,Blowing off all countenances of rigidity. I was
Home;An embodiment of scary things –Like lies structured as the truth;Like violence tucked into the chest pocket of a 5-year-old boy;Like fear painted on the face of anything beautiful;Like silence planted on the tongue of a voice. Say home is an irony –Of happiness;Of freedom;Of anything smashing our minds against
After PACT wore the veils of failure – I mean Presidential Aspirants Coming Together, It became evident that interest aggregation is the most difficult task in human society. God is aware of the potentials in human cohesion, little wonder the reason he took the historic decision at the Tower of
Here comes the gallant troop of the third force Making a boisterous call for the mantle, Disregarding the stratifications with their file. Here comes the gallant troop of the third force Having an abundance of tools yet lacking the personnel, Thus looking up to the people for help. But these
What Happened To Peace? Brothers from the north; Farmers of wheat and sorghum; Mothers from the south, What happened to peace? We’d traded together, Brushed shoulders once a while, But nothing this serious. Introduced to civilization, we did accept. But still; What good did it bring? More divisions we have
Drained. Tired. Like a dog Left off its cage For the first time – wild. Bloodshot eyes. Strong weak veins. Like a clipped bird – broken. YOU’RE READING; Shades Of Poverty – Poem By Sanusi Emmanuel Fixed vibrations. Empty sounds; a thousand sighs. Like a dammed river – Hindered; unhoned; dead.
His hands, tied With legs let loosed. See; he can, but still can’t – A man named nameless. His sonorous voice turns unsoothing, Deafening the gods towards him. Men gulp his tears like beer, Twerking endlessly to the sound of his wailing. You’re Reading: Melancholia – Poem By Solomon Temitope