Of friends, Of love, Of anything that blooms beautifully in the crevice of my heart
your body cloaks in the emblem of God’s love—
you caricature your way into my heart,
transport the love into my soul…
an old myth
…I awoke, a dead owl upon your threshold
I am the old myth
That rises and sets
Yet, a foreshadow of darker days.
I am the shadow that hides in light…
A Taste of Heaven
…My taste buds know no other taste when pain sits
Like a king at the bridge of my tongue
I have felt enough pain to master its taste
It is bitter-sour, it tastes like sand and despair…
The Future
Since I tasted my mother's milk, they whispered of my boundless potential,
Building expectations of greatness, as if it were quintessential.
But now doubts creep in, casting shadows on lofty heights,
Anxiety haunts my slumber, cloaking my nights…
weathering
…In loving you the way I knew how - the way I learned from the people who first loved me, so fully and completely, I brought the cloud and the sun and made it rain…
Uzoamaka
There is something scary about life, something disheartening about life, something exhausting about life. That thing sends chills down one’s spine, it causes the anger or happiness that was once in one’s body to suddenly dissipate, it leaves goosebumps on one’s skin and makes one still for a long time…
My War Story
My pose just like the prose,
we take a stand today again,
a peace keeping mission it should be,
“in and out” they said…
My Christmas Culture
Every year
On Christmas Eve, all the children make a bonfire
With the dried and fallen mango leaves.
We are setting on fire, old and rubbish items
That will no longer be a part of us.
God is Small Small.
Mama always ask God to continue to give her breath, but I tink it is her nose that is giving her breath. If I close her nose with my hand, or handkerchief, she will stop breathing.
The Rape Joke
The rape joke is that sixteen was a series of getting away and never telling your parents.
The rape joke is that you shouldn't have let him.
Late Sunday
it’s sunday, the first day
of our mutual friend’s
african and african
american film festival
here on america’s morning,
which is africa’s night before
a daydream
I’m dreaming a daydream this summer night in June
of a sacred ceremony beneath the moon
we jump over a broom we laugh, we share
stars are angled here and there
sable skies are everywhere
we cradle smiles on family’s faces
dance to hearts’ beat, gather friends’ embraces