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Lyric to my drowning

By Naomi Nduta Waweru I feel God is a river, and when we want, we can run to him for drowning.– Akpa Arinzechukwu except, the waters never learned the intonations to my soft splashes.like the tides, i wanted to touch…

Only Sad Flowers Wither

By Aishah Ahmad Imam We were born into this fallacy. Utterly.Our fingernails are kept. Hair in an afro or dídì.Beauty is crude & souls, distinct.Behind every door was an àpàlà strung with a piano in debris.Meanwhile, the moths shall eat.…

The Art of Dance

By Adesiyan Oluwapelumi Somewhere in Orita Merin,there is a boy with kinky Afro-hairdo and willowy legs,waltzing through the kerb on Nike sneakers.There is a fluency to the rhythm of his feet.His ears plugged into headsets as thoughto unmute the ambient…

Monophobia

By Joemario Umana In Genesis, God, scared of silence, cracked itlike an egg, its yolk spilling into the void—light.Overwhelmed by loneliness, He gardened life,rib-boned companions. I trace His fears in mine,where quiet clings like cobwebs, gossamer-thinyet suffocating. I told this…

Echoes of a Wounded City

By Wash-Anigboro Harry Under a ceiling of ash and fractured light,The city shifts in its uneasy sleep. Each breath drawn from the marrowOf forgotten days. Asphalt and stone Pulsing through the veins of the metropolis,Carrying the echoes of faded footsteps.…

Sincere

By I Echo “haunting fevers strangers shared in the hulls,never to break after centuries on land”— Ishion Hutchinson, ‘His Idylls at Happy Grove’ Happiness makes a clearing for meto walk through the morning light with healing. A greyed conscience.The dotted…

Love

for F—By Isaiah AdepojuEverywhere I am is dark matter. Between us the concentration of distance.Afternoon carries on aimless. Panels of bodies trundle in the rust of sun,Bleak, pliant-boned. Equinox the ash of day. The ghost of happeningAnd death. Draw close…

Things I seek on a Christmas tree

By Olamilekan Wahab The flood is walking back to its shore,snail to its old shell,shame to its old self.Somehow,there are little feathers left on my body,there is a hope as raging as Santa red. I longed for flight many times…