Chukwu Emmanuel: On This Side, I Call My Body A New Name
my therapist calls me fragile/ meaning after she checks on me/ she still concludes i’m broken.– for N. I have never been afraid to tell my story/maybe this way I will know this body better/& my fears made easy and accessible/like how it is a…
Gabriel Dkings: Slavery
Once we were slavesSold to the tragedy of lifeBeaten by the rain of sorrowSailed on the boat of difficultyLost in the forest of fearFound in the middle of confusion Where frustration became our new names Our minds were chained with liesSo we sang songs with…
Gideon Emmanuel: Cobwebs
How do our lives dangle in the scale of fate, Scared of a balanced end in the trap of death How does our conscience lay ambush to our trust And our mistakes like preys, lay When shall our thoughts be free from lust And our…
Naphtali Festus Adda: insomnia
the night is here again, my body is perfumed with a cologne of thoughts, of grief, & of grief still – the rain of the eyelashes is falling lightly lightly on my cheeks it’s 10:39 PM already & my brother – a sleepy-snorer is calling…
How we Spell Home, A Poem By E. Ogwiji
‘How we Spell Home’ is a gripping poem about the chaos and unrest in the poet’s home country. What else should a poet do when all the synonyms of ‘home’ she knows are words that unsettle her? Trapped in this poem, are many stories of…
The Editor’s ‘No’ or Nod
Last night, the editor looked through a pile of poems, where mine hid, with a smear of mama’s anointing oil, wrapped in the first prayer I mumbled after my last rejection. (Is there even a thing as last rejection? Is rejection not a long endless…
A POET’S SOLILOQUY
“When tears are in your eyes, It’s time to look inside, Your heart will find another way” –Enya Are poems not the pallbearers of a poet’s dead dreams & hopes? I am awed by the way they donate their shoulders to bear the pain Of…
THIS IS HOW I MADE MY WINGS
With sunken eyes in tired sockets, a girl ran after her father’s sigh; seized it, slit its throat, hid the blood-stained knife in a lawn of solitude & became the dream her father had on the night of her conception. She remembers her mother’s words,…
AN ECHO OF SILENCE
Because we do not preserve memories from decay By immersing them in vessels filled with formalin, I tried to remember you today- your smell, your kiss The beats and lyrics of the songs you said your heart Sang for me, but I can’t remember any….
THE NEW DEATH MANUAL
Pain is like alcohol. I do not know how many shots gets you tipsy, But the first time life served me shots of pain, I staggered home, entered into a poem & passed out. At dawn, mother dispelled the hangover with these words: “Daughter, pain…
English