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Showing posts from July, 2013

This Love Is Death ( by Echezonachukwu Nduka)

Dry petals, broken filaments and anthers
Make mockery of my balcony,
These frowning flowers tell poignant tales.
On Val's eve, they bloomed.Their scents wafted beyond my rooftops as love;
Now, death is theirs and on me,
They also beckon.

Death hides its face in love's lyrics
As these songs melt my heart;
I follow the tides and crash in the arms of death,
This love is death; I'm free from its embrace.

When love storms the hearts of men,
What weathers it?
When the hearts of men break in love's battlefield,
How are they healed?
Death knocks on our hearts after love's sting.


This ticklish passion sang Calypso's* dirge as Odysseus** bade her farewell;
Romeo and Juliet embraced death in love's paradise;
Love is death and death is love.
Let it flee, I shan't sing its songs.


*Calypso: In Greek mythology, a sea nymph and daughter of the Titan Atlas. She fell in love with Odysseus and died of grief after he left.

**Odysseus: A Greek Hero who Calypso fell in love with and kept him a …

"WHY IS FATHER IN JAIL" by Light Majesty

"mother!
Where did I come from?
When will I wear long trousers?
Why was father jailed?"
~OSWALD M.M


* * * * * * * *
Today is exactly two weeks father was taken away. The image of him being led by those dark googled soldiers into the Black maria is and will continue to be fresh as long as I live.

Today, I make yet another page -a full page of life without father. Today's entry is not different from the previous ones. It will still be as full as the rest; sad and heavy; prayerful and suplicant. This is how our past fourteen days have been. This is how my memoir will read.

No one expects to make ecstacy out of sorrow.
Life without mother has always been unusual but, we have learnt to adjust to her annual absence. It has become a routine for her. And everyone,even Ugoo the last child in the house,knows it that mother takes Grandpa abroad yearly for his Checkups and medication. Mother's month-long absence i…

" We all are stained by experience." - AN INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR OF "DAPPLED THINGS": IWEKA KINGSLEY

BBR - What inspired you to write this book?
Kingsley – At the time I was writing mostly flash fiction pieces that revolved around several socio-cultural issues that are common in Nigeria and then it hit me that I could actually fuse these stories together to form a fuller piece that is now DAPPLED THINGS.

BBR - Do you have a specific writing style?
Kingsley – I’m not sure what that really means, a specific writing style, but I find that in my works I try to make the language and grammar as common and simple as possible. I think that it is important that my readers understand my work as much as possible. So, talking about my writing style, I would say I like to keep it simple.

BBR - How did you come up with the title?
Kingsley – Well, ‘Dapple’ means spot or dotted stain, and the book reveals how as humans we all are stained by experience, although in varying degrees, so DAPPLED THINGS sort of captures the essence of the book I think.

BBR - What's this book all about?
Kingsley – DAPPLED TH…

Malaria Symptom (by Edoziem C.V. Chisom)

The evening had grown older,the clouds had gathered and the sun had almost gone into oblivion. Emeka starred keenly,plying his focus on the fascinating lady beside the stream. He laid down the bunch of firewood he'd gone to fetch at the foot of an udara tree.
"Can I help you my mistress?" He asked. She smiled, without force and viscosity. "No thanks." Emeka's lips spread broader, insisting on helping the stranger. "Let me help you." He grabbed the clay pot from her and went down to the bank of the river and filled it with fresh water, managing to avoid the fingerlings that swarm by the river bank.
"Thank you so much." She said, winking and Emeka couldn't help noticing the long, coquettish eyelashes.
"Don't mention, its nothing"he replied,though he was out of breath and sweating profusely. "I am
Emeka, and you?"
"Adanma". She said with a pout on her lucious lips.
"Wow!, that's my mother's…

WHEN WE SHALL STAND. (LIGHT OBI)

When we shall stand,
shoulder to shoulder
to measure time in retospect
and view tracks stained
with our soles.
We will know whose song
to sing.

When we shall stoop
on the eve of our departure
and search through our
entire oddments;men will
bleed like the plantain tree.
Men shall set like stones.

All will stare at the fragments of our vanity
which wore our humanity;
staging us like clown,with
no pause to ponder,
no quite introspection!

When at last we shall stand
shoulder to shoulder
with our receding shadow,
we will know if a dirge
or carol should be sung.

Light Obi, is a poet and shortstory writer. "when we shall stand" is culled from his forthcoming poetry collection,titled, "a mourner's mantra".

RAINDROP (by Light Obi)

Dried skin,
cracking like rusty hinges;
crying in subdued protest,
against the tyranny of the
sun.

Parched earth-
contracting before the
harsh hamattan haze-
her pores,petition redemption
from the sky's wet part.

...my dry skin.
...the dead earth,
Petition relieve from above!

The sky thickened in response
and hid the smouldering sun
and healed my scalded skin
...the cracking earth-
with the soothing kiss of
a raindrop.

*Light Obi is a poet and shortstory writer. "Raindrop" is culled from his forthcoming publication; "A Mourner's Mantra".

SHADOWS OF DIFFERENT COLOURS (by Olisaeloka Onyekaonwu)

Distant souls we are
connected by sight,

shadows of different colours
that is our flag's stigma.

Like the flesh and the grave;
spittle and blood
our understanding are strangers,

Misunderstanding unites us
rocky interest sustain us;
vanity embraces us stiff
Alas! We are all shadows of different colours.

Two Love Poems (by Rasaq Malik)

WAIT

Wait like the eventide
Praying on the mat of darkness

The moon will come tonight
Only if this love is real

Wait my love
For the promise of I do
And the ring of tales
Only for you

Wait like a bride
And count this rosary to see
The secrets of this sloppy road

Wait for me under this tree
For the July’s wind will
Sail us across the coast of love
Where tomorrow
I will read to you; this weighty poem

Only if you wait
Like the eventide on the mat of prayers



IN YOUR NAME

In your name; I see hopes in the spirit of affection
That ignites this intense love
As I lost on the track of return
In the web of your beauty



(Rasaq Malik is a young and prolific Nigerian poet)

(Image:wallsave.com)