African Literature and Lifestyle in One Pot
My mother’s hut is worth speaking of, So perfect and peerless, Many a times and oft, You know not the wave that draws you to her bosom. The grass looks lush and lusty as- I held on to this staff and papa’s green laced bag-…
Dear Ronke, Cuddle me tonight, for last night my mat tried, but not as lovely as yours stroking my back with timid palms. Cradle me today, for I missed your silk palms, caressing my skin gently right under your arms. Sit with me tonight, and…
On the days we clung to our mother’s bosom for the fear of being captured by vultures, you released your child – an heir as a sacrifice on the altar of freedom You walked through the most dreaded path into the vulture’s nest to…
Tell Africa, it’s time to wake up The yellow-skinned boy with hair like the white man’s chalk Is an albino Not an ingredient in the native doctor’s concoction Nkechi who lives down the street Is a beautiful girl with dreams Not just the little person…
Maybe we do not know how to write love poems for our fathers because language repels, holds us by the hand & leads us to the mere sheerness of a violent memory. Maybe a father is never an island but a bridge. Where a bridge…
{In memory of Chadwick Boseman} This rivulet and rivulet of salty drops flowing down my cheeks, blotting the calligraphy of the memories of the nights we sat on greenery at the heart of town under a lone moon, arms entwined like string…
The biology practical class came to an end and I heaved a sigh of relief. My classmates and I spent three hours in the laboratory studying the distribution of stomata in the upper and lower surface of leaves and the rate of respiration in flower…
It’s going to rain, and from the occasional hissing and rumbling in the sky, it sure promises to be a heavy downpour. The wind blows through your baggy clothes, sending freezing chills down your spine. Water droplets disperse on your forehead and trickle down your…
A REQUIEM TO MY FATHERS SHADOW IN MY EYES I am a fracture of water from my father’s eyes – like a drop of rain in the mouth of a spacious stream / I fetch my father in my vein – and named him D…
I can feel your disappointment At me, at what you have become You had so many plans and goals That 100 days writing challenge The stories you wanted to publish All of which I seem to have fallen short of You were so happy, so…
