Come Watch Me, Dance Naked
Jaachi, I am the tree which died in the seedlings you refused to tend. I am a memory you cannot drown in a keg of palm-wine, for like a feather, I will float upon the rivers of your thoughts till you recall and regret the night when you abandoned a broken flute at the village square, for I am that flute and wholeness found me in the hands of a drummer boy who lost his drumsticks.
A TALE OF MIGRATORY LOCUSTS & HOLOCAUST
They said the moon would weep with us when death eats supper in our huts but as soon as the sun slept off, she sharpened the claws of the stars &led them to our huts Watch how you hold the words of this poem ‘cos…
Derivatives of Silence
. a lady is holding god’s obituary- she painted it on a canvas of pain with the crayons of his silence she is saying; “i’m not an artist but i watched god die in the tears of a little boy, who was born with a…
Solitude: A Poem By Ehi-kowochio Ogwiji
On the shelf of solitude, silence is a book, with black & white pages, telling stories which died on their way to the village square; like that of Enem Ogodoo, the one who spent a lifetime, oiling a flute which would play the first note…
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