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Reeest Verses Poetry Anthology - Poem by AFRICANS ARE WOMEN Poetry Anthology

Anthology of Poems


'societal illness'

Compiled and edited by:

Nibstears Poetry Cave editors
(Adubi Literary Cave)
February 2016.

Poet Loaded Akinwemimo Idris



Nibstears Poetry Cave is a literary platform under the literary organization, Adubi Literary Cave. This literary organization came into exiatence in the 2015 and her major focus in the literary world is to liberate the society with poems, prose and play. Nibstears, as popularly known is basically on the stance of promoting literature at all cost, so to extend the life span of literature in our societies where kids long for for platform to improve their writing skills. Nibstears uses this anthology to appeace to the sacred spirit of our society for a justifiable treatment of all the refugees at borthers, the beggars at the stream routes in villages and those at the wide lane of our glutinous cities. At Nibstears Poetry Cave, we aim at empowering the poor with our internal fund and with the help of our sponsor, Caprecon Foundation Development (Poet Dollin Holt) d the rest to come.

Lastly, we acknowledge the submitted poems by Nigerian poets and from other countries like Kenya, Ghana, United Kingdom, United a State of America, and other countries unmentioned for their originality. Nibstears literary project Is nothing else than to enhance the literary bent of the gifted within our communal literary world.

Poet Loaded Akinwemimo Idris
Adubi Literary Cave

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REEEST VERSES poetry anthology is the compiled literary book of outrageous words and verses of poets and poetess of Africa and other nations around. It is a mirror in which the cadaverous images of societal illness are being reflected to serve as a proof of sincere condolence we had towards ourselves for the flame of injustice, raping, theft, economic hindrances, democratic and political instability. This is not to depress the people of society from finding meaning of their living but is to stimulate their spirit of unity to fight against these societal tribulations.

As it was being early stated by the late Achebe, a literary man who separates himself from the political issues of the society, seems not relevant in that society. Based on the general survey, beside the impact of nature as one of the contributors of these societal illness, the ingenuity of politics contributes majorly and immensely to the societal damages also, and these requires the attentions of all literary men.
NIBSTEARS, under the literary body of Adubi Literary cave then thought it fit to make a collection of poems from all these punctured societies, so to reveal the pains of everyone, and the measure of strenght needed to address the issues with the words from our nibs. This is really the collective tears of the poets!

This literary book shouldn't be edited or being used illegally in any form!

Poet Loaded Akinwemimo Idris
Nibstears Poetry Cave; Founder.
4verses88@gmail.co m


Poet Akinwemimo Idris, (Parakeet) , is the founder of the ever leading organization named 'Nibstears Poetry Cave' under the control of Adubi Literary Cave, where words are being worded, where meters are being metered, where verses are being versed, and where stanzas are being stanzerized for the purpose of virtuous message delivery. He has gotten his literary works published in many anthologies of poetry, of which 'Who Shall I Make My Wife ' by Poet In Nigeria (PIN) literary body is one. His new anthology of poetry book on love, songs of esteemers, revolutionists and the rest, is currently at the last lap of race of delivery to the poetry lovers, the societies and the world at large. He is from Africa, the zones of the blacks, where bents are being practiced in outstanding style. He graduated from Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Nigeria, where he studied language. He is Nigerian (Ikire) , a poet, an essayist, a theorist, an author. Despite all, though he is a veteran in poetry, but he still engage in the voyage of knowledge.

He is the founder of Nibstears Poetry Cave in early year of 2015 which is being established to look inwardly to the challenges of the upcoming poets. The organisation has succeeded in organizing a monthly poetry competition among the poets of Africa and abroad, this year February is a typical reflection of what we do as Poet Scott Thomas Outler emerges first with his poem 'Kingdom of chaos ' Poet Awoniyi Olajide emerges the second with his poem 'I am also Almajiri. while Poet Ijalusi T. is the third with his poem 'Orphanage ' Also, the literary body had been able to establish a platform of consultancy in the field of literature through the publication of many literary articles. In addition to this, Nibstears do visit the nursery school pupils for literature classes with them which are always being covered by Nibstears Press Crew. Other literary programmes are also being documented in our archive on bases of invitation.

To complement the essence of literature in society, Nibstears had been able to pay visit to underdeveloping places like villages to comfort their intense minds with poetry and monetary aids. Nibstears is currently in partnership with Caprecon Development Foundation (Dollin Holt) for the actualization of charity entrenchment.

Nibstears... promoting our communal literary world!
We aren't the words, but we are the nibs


On behalf of the entire moderation team, sincere appreciation
from our little Cave that promotes and reveals the values in
literature, goes to all poet and poetess who have honored our
call for an anthology, those who answered our call and those
who didn't, nibstears under the control of adubi literary cave
will forever be indebted to you for heeding our call to use our
pen to clean and birth a new society through the tears from
our quill and nib.

Thus, this anthology 'REEEST VERSES ' I believe, will
buy a place in this dirty society of ours with different poems
that has been written by many outstanding poets both home
and abroad with society recognition to correct the illness with
our society hence, this compilation is a great move towards
cleaning the mess that our society has been facing.

The main aim of us in Nibstears a subsidiary of adubi literary
cave is to justapose and bring to the society the power that
lies in poetry, the good that poetry will do to our society
especially in this era where vices has becomes the anthem, .
Once again, millions thanks to the poets and poetess who
heed our call for anthology, our pen shall someday birth a new

Poetloded Akinwemiwo Idris
Founder, director, coordinator.

Awwal Karreem



Poetry came to me, or I came to poetry at a very young age.
When it is all quiet at home, I will steal into a corner and begin
to write down my thoughts in such a way that convinced my
hesitant mother to buy me that note book I have been asking
for; and that was my humble entry into this genre of writing. I
have never looked back since then. I am not a published poet,
which many people find surprising. But I have contributed in
my modest way to poetry by either sending poems to be
added to anthologies or helped to publish, or sponsored poetry
competitions, or sat as a judge in many. On behalf of
Caprecon Development Foundation, I want to thank all of you
who contributed your works for this completion; and to say
that you all won; except that some of you won more. Thank

Dollin Holt.



DR. SONIA GUPTA (BDS, MDS) hails from Dera Bassi, near Chandigarh, India. Though, a doctor by profession, yet poetry is her passion. She started writing in 2006 and her journey of poetry continued afterwards. Her many poems got a place in various Hindi magazines and English anthology books. Recently she became an established poetess after getting her two Hindi poetry books published. Her three English poetry books are releasing soon. Besides poetry, she is fond of paintings, singing, cooking, knitting, designing, stitching and embroidery too! ! !

NAME: DR. Sonia Gupta
MOBILE: 08054951990
E.MAIL: Sonia.4840@gmail.com
FACEBOOK ID: 100004964983747@facebook.com
BLOG: http: //drsoniablogspot.blogspot.in/


What has happened to today's life
What this world is doing to survive
Is this really what is called ‘life'?
Or is it just a "mirage", not ‘life'!

Everyone is running here and there
Unconcerned of their near and dears
In the craze of earning, human don't fear
Shedding blood of relations just so near!

Hurting feelings of others is a common sight
Rampant corruption is we cannot fight
About rapes and stabbing every day we read
Something is wrong with the human seed!

Smiles and laughter turn into tears
Killing innocents gloomy atmosphere
For selfish longings exploit the poor
In this rat race man lost grandeur!

No brother nor sister relations now frost
In foeticide affectionate mother is lost
Piety of filial relations is now at stake
Marital relations are generally fake!

Honesty and sincerity are at discount
Bribes and sycophancy rule the ground
Teacher and taught relations gone away
Faith and trust are commodities very rare!

What has happened to today's life
What this world is doing to survive
Is this really what is called ‘life'?
Or is it just a "mirage", not ‘life'?

********************************* ****

Everyday I see him
With a great dream to live his life
In his those innocent eyes
Though he never speaks anything
But his silent face can say everything
Only one voice I can hear from him
That is; I also want to live my life!

He also has a wish to hold that school bag
He also wants to wear school shoes and tag
He also wants to open that lunchbox pack
But on those shoulders, there is a load of luggage
His bare feet are covered by garbage
He bears all this to survive with a single wish
That is; One day I too will live my life!

He also wishes to float that paper boat
He also wants to fill colors in his life
He also wants to cheer up in life
But he has to bathe in that gutter water
He has learnt to hide his innocent tears
He does all this to survive with a wish
That is; One day I too will live my life!

He also wants to listen those childhood stories
He also wants to grow further and marry
He also wants to make his future bright
But, he keeps on smiling, when someone talked about "childhood"
He even has experienced what is the pain of being "old"
He is doing all that to survive with a wish
That is; One day I too will live my life!

I do not have courage to describe more
Only one question arises in my mind and soul
Who is responsible for his miserable life?
What is the fault of that innocent child?
Why GOD you treat the world with partiality?
One side there is a misery, the other side luxury?
One side a beggar, begging for food,
Other side someone wasting food?

A child is said to be a reflection of you O lord!
Then why is such a situation O God?
A miserable, cry my ears hear everyday
A hopeless face I see everyday
He is trying to survive, but still with a wish
That is; One day I too will live my life
When will he live his that life?



Poet Loaded Akinwemimo Idris


Robin sighs, cries
It's beak picks dry shrub,
Though in forest-midst,
Though often rain sheds.

Nib sheds joyful tears
Of good times memories.
Nib sheds salty paint,
Paints devalued monument.


Drums, gongs, snail-shell
Accord freedom feast call.
Breasts, waist, thigh dangle,
In shadows the night cast.
Tonight the feast calls.

Kids hurl rags in ugly smile,
Tits toast in dirty dainties.
Men diverge at liege's huts,
Converge, in despair, hang,
Like bats awaiting night.
Tonight the feast calls.

Ngozi sings, dances on toes,
So does Ajike in bare nude.
Indecency, a natural fate,
To appease the sitted lords,
Black lords in whitish collar.
Tonight the feast calls.

Shortly drums fade behind
The voices of whitish collars.
'Though to here we belong
Our land must but to them be'
Tonight, the beasts call.

* Ngozi: Igbo tribe female name in Nigeria.
* Ajike: Yoruba tribe female name in Nigeria.

Adedayo Victor


Adedayo Victor O is an undergraduate of English in the prestigious Kwara State University. He is a creative writer and a poet. He was a participant at the Nigeria Centenary quiz competition (2014) . He is currently the National Director of Information of the National Association of Students of English and Literary Studies (NASELS NIGERIA) . He is one of the fast growing literati in the literary world. The urge to excite positive transformation through the art of poetry has prompted the compilation of his anthology titled "Bleeding Pens". He has authored numerous poems, short stories and articles.

It is time
There they sat
Expecting from me the care they gave
Hoping to reap that which they have laboured
The meal of bone; they have enjoyed way too long
Even in discomfort, they enjoyed satisfactorily
It is time

As she prayed
I saw it in her eyes
But what is it I can do
What is it I have become;
A newspaper addict
A wanderer
My cry was always heard in church
The mosque became my friend
Even the oracle was not left out
Let alone friends and family whom I clung unto
Oh! Smile, why art thou expensive on my face
Oh! Tears, why art thou filled my eyes
Oh! Sorrow why have you no other place than my heart
My thought could not hold itself together
As I wandered alone, screaming aloud;
Where is my reward for education
Where is my reward for education
Where is my reward for education

Shame will not let me live
Even death avoids me
It is time
The bell beckons to me
It is time
It is time to wake up from my slumber
It is time to soar like an eagle
It is time to explore beyond limit
It is time to empower my arms
It is time to swim in the ocean of creativity
It is time to rise amidst variables
It is time
The bell beckons to me
It is time.

Forsake me not

You live in paradise
Beautiful flowers surround you
Money; not a problem
Food; not a problem
Your nakedness is covered expensively
And you live exorbitantly
You have forgotten that we slept on mats together
Till favour smiled on you
And you rose to sleep on decorated beds
I hold no grudge against you
But I beseech you to retrace your steps
Wealth has led you to stupor
But do not forsake the cry of the needy
We are your brothers who slept on that old mat with you
We are responsible for who you are today
Do not forsake us

Adesoro Segun Emmanuel


We once saw the frightful flood of tear
Running down the cheek of the earth
In the days when hatred reigns like hefty rains
When the rejected celebrates their death
In the cold palms of evil from dawn to dawn

Then, the glebe hymned like a mournful mother
Whose hope has been buried in hopelessness
With faith domiciled in homicide and genocide

The winds felt the erroneous heat
The hitting heat named hitler
Who scares the moon and the stars
Bids farewell leaving memorable scars

And now, he dwells in the heart of wickedness
Butchering love in the presence of silence
With the sanctity of life seeking refuge
From hope, who's yet to be rescued.

The pre-born are now citizens of holocaust
Whose place of safety; hijacked
Made an abattoir of death
Free of smell and bliss of breath.


Our future be flaunt like flare fire
Was the lullaby at age of suckling
The soil seedlings shall grow and glow-
Flimsy tales told to tell at striplings
When shall it again be heard at moonlight?
When will picture of framed future be featured?
In the ageing young that's old to go

Will propound promise of old come to hold
And be as amorous as floribunda
Netting nightmare to ponder
For faith is harshed in ashes of mirage
With soothing sight set on itty-bitty hope

Will hearts ev'r dwell in un-forseen storyland?
And faceless fate be unmasked at village square
Won't copeing hope die of patience?
If dusk remain don at dawns

Young shall grow and glow-
Mellow fairytale of meltless snow
Destined to reach but the rich
In abode of inheritance et conquest
And prime pretence promising providence
Not unveiling the face of faceless fate
Condemning us to island of famed faith

Our future be flaunt like flare fire
Was the lullaby at age of suckling
The soil seedlings shall grow and glow-
Flimsy tales told to tell at striplings
When shall it again be heard at moonlight?
When will picture of framed future be featured?
In the ageing young that's old to go.

Karen King


Karen comes from Bedfordshire, England. She has been writing for four years and started off by writing poems as she had so many nature photos and wanted to do something with them. She now writes nature, romantic, humanitarian, paranormal and horror poems and often has a photo to go with the poem. Karen also writes short stories. So far, she has written nineteen books. Her pre-recorded poems are played on an American radio station and her poems are in an on-line magazine called, "The Creativity Webzine", on a weekly basis. She also runs three poetry groups on Facebook as well as having three separate pages of her own on Facebook. Her work is already part of two anthologies, ''Feelings International, A Book of Artists, Volume 2' and 'The Red Balloons, a Journey of Love'.

Anorexia Nervosa
It leaves you weak, it leaves you small, it leaves you looking like nothing at all. You look in the mirror and see your old self as you shrink away; it's so bad for your health.
The models and actresses, so ridiculously thin, you think that is the way and try to get trim. Food pushed aside, food in the bin, you are starving yourself - to please him?
Clothes hang off you, for there is nothing there, you try to hide, but people stare. You still have your obsession with food, you look like a coat hanger in the nude.
Wake up and see what is really there, once a shapely woman without a care. Now a form of control, you dieted just to fit in, you see yourself as fat, but are painfully thin.
Follow your spirit and be your true self, for this conditions is bad for you and your health. Be who you are inside and out and true people will love you, there is no doubt!
Karen King Copyright January 2016


A form of addiction that keeps you calm,
but this habit can cause great harm.
It stains your teeth and taints your hair,
costs you money, leaving none to spare.

Another form of taking drugs,
easily obtainable, like tea in a mug.
Both wake you up and give you a buzz,
but they leave the brain in a terrible fuzz.

"Is it worth it", I hear you say,
"Perhaps there is a better way? "
All the money spent to relieve the stress,
leaving your finances in a mess.

Why not go out in the fresh air,
in the countryside? It's for all to share!
Go and get a natural high,
See sumptuous trees in a splendid sky!

Karen King Copyright January 2016

Aremu Adams Adebisi
Aremu Adams Adebisi is a poet of distinctive, classical, lyrical and indigenous poems. He was a day winner of the 'SPIC's' 7-day 'LovePoetry', a runner-up to the 'The Talented's' maiden competition, a shortlisted poet twice in the 'Brigitte Poirson's Monthly poetry competition, and he recently was considered for the 'EriataOribhabor's Competition' sponsors' shortlist. He is a member of variegated poetry groups among which are the WRR, the FOS and the Poetic Elephants (Ayanmo) .

Speak to me, child of life;
Speak to me in your battered soul,
Pummeled like a drunkard's housewife.

Speak to me, young lady,
holding my hands in your tiny palms
Which have been grounded into fine pieces,
So weak and small for all its tenderness;
A hand that says more about life -
Of life impudence and brutality.

Speak to me, my dear;
Speak to me in your shaking voice
That holds traces of unseen sadness.
Tell me the battles life won against you
And how it had raped your soul to bone.
Tell me young lady as I promise to tell no one.

Speak to me, will you?
Speak to my soul as a sister would.
Open my eyes to the thorny hands of life.
Were you not orphaned at the age of three?
Were you not raped three times a day?
Let the blast swim off in tears; tell me your past.

Where are you, child of life?
Can you speak to me this last time?
Why your carcass carelessly lying?
You left your word to me, why not your soul to God?
Why did you pierce your past in blast
When your blast war will soon be past?

Speak to me, I hear you not.
My speech wobbled in the silence of the wind;
Are you now the free-flowing breeze?
My words shattered upon the lightness of the sea;
Are you now the moving current waves?
Finally, you are hunted into exile by life.
Speak to me, child of life;
I wouldn't tell no one
Of your senseless action;
I wouldn't tell no one.

Kayode Afolabi
BuijMy name is Kayode Afolabi, am 25 years old. Studying mass communication at the federal polytechnic, Offa. Kwara state


They look down on people from their high horses
Carried away by their peer's praises
Viewing others as men
with no thoughtful mien
Boastful with their words
Acting like they own the world They forget we are all human… Born by a woman
Greatness is a height
Which many has fallen
Their deeds forgotten
One thing cometh before a fall which is pride
Everyone is not a camel
which you can ride
There are a lot of birds in the sky
Some fly while some soar
But none can roar.

Oluwarotimi Olamide


I go by the name, Hamzat hammed oluwarotimi, I am a your fellow who writes poems, short novels, music's, but yet to be published. I can be contacted on 08078971610,09094502120 or oluwarotimi @gmail.com. I love poetry and my role models are William Shakespeare, Professor Wole and Poet Loaded Akinwemimo Idris

OGBANJE (abiku) .

'O' ye promiscuous children
of the second phase
Why don't you remain loyal
to your realm?
Why patronize ours when
all you could offer is just
tears but tears alone?
why don't you leave our mothers
to their sleepless nights
and hunger strike?
Why bring forth momentous hours
Leaving behind mournful tone?

'O' ye unreliable children
of the underworld
Why stop offspringoffspring of our kind,
Inhabiting peacefully in our 'MOTHERS' uterus.
Must you interfere in our lives?

To all 'OGBANJE' of the seven seas, rivers, oceans, hills, mountains, heaven, and earth, call i
Torment us nor our mothers
no more
Visit our realm or that of others,
no more
For your presence here is not
by invitation so, by that you
are not welcomed
Why not admit that no matter what, water and oil would never become one.


Neither am I insane
nor talking nonsense
but, from experience
and true facts
speak I.

Here, great savouring aroma
comes from offensive smell
Also, from good savouring
aroma comes offensive smell.

Here also,
religious becomes pagan.
Literate turns illiterate
deeds far from common sense
becomes tradition.

Blame I not them
nor, mock I them
to me it is
a nature's debt that should be balanced up.

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Indunil Madhusankha

Undergraduate, Faculty of Science
University of Colombo, Colombo
Sri Lanka.
Email: bhindunil.sl@gmail.com
Mobile: +94725361970
Mail Address: No 155, Balawinna, Pallebedda, RN 70 170, Sri Lanka

Indunil Madhusankha (B. H. I. Madhusankha) is currently an undergraduate in the Faculty of Science of the University of Colombo. Even though he is academically involved with the subjects of Mathematics and Statistics, he also pursues a successful career in the field of English language and literature as a budding young researcher, reviewer, poet and content writer. Basically, he explores the miscellaneous complications of the human existence through his poetry by focussing on the burning issues in the contemporary society. Moreover, Indunil's works have been featured in several international anthologies, magazines and journals.

A Portent Warns a Soldier's Wife

The gutter of the wrenching lamp flame
twisting itself wildly
made a warning
It jumped, skipped, pulled
and spun round and round
And was,
in the end,
dragged away by the roar of a brisk wind
Her pulsation was hit for a moment…
Throughout that night,
she was armed against her heart
The next day,
it was late in the morning
as she learnt he was gone, Gone with that very flame of her lamp.

The Death

"That nāki gaeni is at the jaws of death."
The commonly mouthed typical phrase,
she often applied to describe her mother-in-law
who was about to leave for heaven
She was admitted in the hospital
Chronically unwell old woman,
more dead than alive, on a bed in the ward,
looked like a torn out slatternly mat
With a wheeze her breast bobbed up and down
She was the hapless victim of the constant condemnation
dispersed by the daughter-in-law
who reviled the Crabbed age
as incessantly as a radio

The latter's mother was of unimaginably good health
The energetic power of a young woman
the possession of which drove the others to envy

One day the postman knocked his bell
to give the daughter-in-law a telegram
That was from her mother's home
convening her insistently sans a reason
So she did it
As she stepped on the verandah
she exploded into an abruptly pervasive screech
of which the reverberation repeated
for about a minute
passing from ear to ear
among the dumbfounded participants
who were like vertically grown sticks

Crashed on the floor, at first,
the bag gripped in her hands
she herself, all of a sudden, as if shot

Her mother,
hacked to death due to a motor accident,
was laid on the coffin
like an actress masquerading as dead in the television.

Nāki gaeni An informal way of referring to an old woman in Sinhala

David Amore
Graduate of IRGIB Africa University.
Studied Mass communication.
Amore David Olamide, is a revolutionary columnist and a poet that writes literally in parabolic style, orature genre and seen see scenes in epical dynamism of traditional epilogues, eulogies and captivating artistic poetry, in coded fashion.


He had ring her fingers for years.
Afterward the matrimonial cheers.
Her cheeks has witnessed consecutive tears
Against the vices of her barren distress.
She was never relentless,
From the harshness of Iya Ọko torments.
She has tasted the bothering fury,
Of Baba Ọko coaxing jury.
Ebi Ọko opted for second wife,
For the gain of their son's sexual strives,
Cannot be truly define,
When he has no child to fatherly preserved.
She had tour helplessly for resolution
From churches to the Selim mosque.
She has speak forth her condition.
Of those pain that had her mind punched.
She could no longer redeem her heart to fun,
Not even a hearty joy for a day.
Betwixt her movement, the name Agan,
Is eavesdrop from what people say.
She had forsake her realest God,
By adhering those little gods.
She had walked on stream for Iya Ọsun mercy,
And she lifted sacrifice for Iroko Oluwere blessing.
She was lost in her menstrual shadow.
In the absence of transitional marrows,
Of sequential drift of blooding tentacles.
That signals aiming signs of miracle.
And there she goes with her man.
To where the medical doctor sojourn.
To have her test in systematic run.
If what she called dream will make two couples, clan.
And thereupon when the doctor comes with conning smile.
She knew she had victoriously thrived.
It was then she realised for sure.
Wipe! Ekun ti dayo.
Ekundayo! Ekundayo! ! Ekundayo! ! !

DIDIRIN the dullest human being.
That runs for his shadow.
Are you not obviously stupid?
For trying to reach height by bending low.
Vendor vended your senseless acts,
And some of your weirdest pranks.
As your dullness made you pundit.
For what wise men seems to published.
You will never see
Your act as a mental defeat.
You never try hard to recreate
Your act that's nostalgic.
I recognised you as a fool
With those things you do.
When you tested the depth of a river with both feet.
And consumed food with a plastic potty.
You had no friend.
So you took selfie with a squirrel.
Are you not an empty barrel?
Descended from the nincompoops planet.
Oponu! Afesejo.
That thinks he had everyone cajoled.
By fetching water into basket.
Saying the drops on ground are excess.
Where hence your help comes from?
From the behestment of the gods
When your twerp finally becomes brain.
Betwixt the shades of wisdom gain.

Adesola Oladoja


Adesola Oladoja a.k.a Peterberyl aged 23. Lives in Ibadan, a 100level Communication and Language Arts student in Unibadan. A god-fearing christian and a poet who believes in the power of the pen.


Our wrongs will grow stronger
Our cries, louder
Bellies; hungrier
Dreams will seem farther

Visions, blurrer

If our course will course on this way
If our hearts won't make a stay
Our lips forbidding to say
If for our good wishes, just ours we pray

For why is there a you without a me?

Why is there a they and not a we?
Why can't I be the they that'll bring a better day?

Why rush to nowhere?

And run while we still should crawl?
Aim at flight when we only can walk?
For our simple treks to freedom get longer

The suffering we dodge gets worse

Why point my finger to them?
Without a balm to soothe
Or watch them feast on poison
Whilst I can be the antidote

Until our 'you' becomes 'us'
'Them' becomes 'we' and

'I' starts in UNISON
We'll live on in derision

For I am the last piece of the puzzle
I am the answer that I demand
The man in the mirror needs to stand
Each man his house
And own up to his duty
Then will we see a path
Worthy to trace
A future brighter than sunshine

F awole Immanuel Taiwo


Fawole Immanuel Taiwo is a Nigerian writer of the three genres of literature: drama, prose and poetry. Of the three genres, his dexterity on poetry is more profound. His writing experience started when he was eight years old. His first poem, 'African Or What? ' was written in 2013. Fawole was a Science student who later forgoes Science for Art due to his love for Art. He writes his poem, 'Solace Place' after leaving Science to reflect his action and state in Art. The likes of Wole Soyinka, Niyi Osundare, Akeem Lasisi, Chinua Achebe and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie are his role model


This place seems dry.
It's but unusual.
What has gone wrong with this field?
A place of pleasant cacophonies has gone mute.
Why has this field turned desolate?
Why are the slides resisting friction?
Why are the teeter-totters on rest?
Why are the playhouses lonely?
Why are the swings not oscillating?  
Where are my playmates?
When will their holiday to Sambisa due?  
Will I remain recluse till they return?
Television is getting humdrum.
Theatre and cinema are in their doldrums. 
I'm fed up with the beat of drums.
Get my playmates back to the playground. 


Perambulate I feature in a trance,
In it I was flaunted duo phases,
In them I eye twain factions;
Differ in looks and operations,
But similar in objectives.

The first phase is an anthology of scoundrels
In black appearance as of agents of hell,
Looking ghastly when looked upon.
In hands are weapons
Desperate for directives.

They are the visitors unwelcomed
Who dare not be spurned,
With amity with night
And enmity with light.
They visit and impinge with startle.

This sect never abhor your handwork;
They are also paradigms of hard work,
Your reap, they want their part.
They are the ones who depart
Making the sower a vanquish as of battle.

On the other phase of my trance,
Coterie of political patriots I discern in reluctance,  
Though with this post they aren't sweet.
In air-conditioned official suites
They administer their masked aspiring doom.

In hands are pens
That bleed against their yens.
The pens are approximately mesmerized 
As the unsung penners through them materialize 
In response for solo boom.

A pen can but be acknowledged with its bleed
When it is not styled a weed.
A poet can but be gay with his penning 
When he is sung to the growing.
The unsung penners deviate the orthodox.

Through the compromised pens
They lay foundation for their yens.
Undermine, the unsung penners will reap from the world.
The pen they non-sensically broadcast a boss to sword.
A perfect imperfectly flaunted paradox!  



Adegoke Adeola (Pseudonym - PoeticOla) is an essayist, poet, blogger, songwriter and stage word activist who hails from Iseyin local government area of Oyo state. He has featured in local and international anthologies and won various creative writing contest. He was the runner up in the just concluded Onkowe poetry challenge and bagged CWAN pengician of the year award for 2015.


This smelly armpit
reek of harm pits,
for the forger of a new iron
and the blacksmith that wager his manhood,
this is our own orbit
digged from our habit
of man manning man
and women mating dogs.

This coming kay horse
with our master on the back reeks of chaos,
inside our two top royal hut,  
we hurt the feelings of horses
when our wives decide to sleep over.

This angry day knocks unannounced
and seek to speak
of our crooked manhood,
cuddled in the man-wood
and chained by the lousy mouth of the burning fire.
our but' is bought.


S-how me the prison of death
and sadnes-S,
I-n there where tons of body obligat-I.
C-an you point the unfilial
K-indly kick out the bloodban-K.
L-est my soul can tel-L,
E-xplain why sickle kills by
In here, we want the gate of
Open and hold the knob to
In here, we want to tell the sickle,
Not to dribble our dreams again.
In here, we want the soul of
To widen our wisdom-
For in here, we are against the toll of sickle.
B-reak the binding bond of each
R-elate our deep constant
message and,
E-xplain we sell no more sickle
A-nd we cease to bear the name
'sickle seller'.
K-eep our faith real and move on
the prophecy.
I-n here, we know no more sickle
T-ry to break the bondage of

Ogunsanya Enitan Olalekan

I am Ogunsanya Enitan Olalekan a.k.a. Enistik. A poet, student of
History and Diplomatic studies Olabisi Onabanjo University.
I hereby forward the below poems for the ongoing february contest.


She was left alone that very night
all by herself as she lean against a
withered tree,
she had her blonde hairs restless
following the waves of blowing winds;
the songs from trained nightingales
with steps from the feet of
experienced silence
gave her heart a resting place
beside what held her strength.

As she sat enjoying nature,
came a flash behind the
she stood up to see what was
and there she found yesterday having
a discussion with future.

She looks sternly at them both
to savor their conversation dearly
missing not a single words they pour
from their sincere heart of thought.

Yesterday warned future
never to trail the short path
left alongside the bush with few
rather to give space and let destiny decides the routine.

Yesterday told future
never to fail and fall where she missed it
yet to run through all even with a grey bald hair
but to make a good fortune and put a smile on her face
future then promised to do her best
and bring out the best in her
and then they both disappeared.


Faded torment laments trails us
sorrows aimed clamors at us
words said on platter of pains
grief masterminded by lost memory.
Gory tales that relished our heart
with spices painted with tomorrow's colors
when posterity were sold
on the confrence table and seat
sat upon by men of internal reasons
for prosperity meant for their families.

i send these impulses
through the messenger -WIND-
to pass through thick and thin
springing in them feelings of hope
to slice through all rooms-
filled with boiling steaming heart
sweeping the atmopshere with calm moves
like trees planted by rivers of waters.

i proclaim the feelings of these
who had their flowers cut off
by men masked under dead
cleansing their soiled hands of joy into pools of sadness.
the expression of the feather fathers
for their shoulders are weak
to lift up their responsibilities
of which turned them into
irresponsible men.

the taste of flesh
satisfy our hungry bowels
florishes our heart as pasta packages with seasons
to season this season that withered seeds before their seasons.
I can see clearly
the flow of stained blood
running through arteries of guys
who took charge before their
destinies became mixed with mud
after being trampled by their fathers
who sold it years before their birth
for bags of rice and cowries.

I tell you of the girls fury
whose door were opened ajar
without their willful signatures
pools of red wine surrounding them
as the oupour of Yahweh's wrath.
Oh! ! I can tell of yester-years
it's effects that made us who we are;
people of no conscience.
So forgive us for whatever we'd done
for it's never our fault
but wait on and rest let tomorrow
relief you.

Michael Stephen
man at the right hand side of twenty. He hails from Okposi, Ohaozara Local Government of
Ebonyi state in the eastern part of Nigeria. He is the third among the six children of his family. He is an educationist in making. A comrade always in
struggle. He is always happy when his pen dances to the rhythm
of his heart. He look speechless but speaks volume.
He is lover of CHRIST and a defendant of HIS gospel.


Where were you...
When the bell rang
Beckoning for your hands
Against the plague befalling humanity?
...When the mightiness
Of your mighty mights
Were silently seeked
To forge our curved mentality straight,
Where were you?
Where were you...
When our agony and pain
Were trumpeted into the air
But could not be heard
Cos of our voiceless voices.
...When the paedophiles
Hanged the tiny legs of our falcons
Fixed the nozzle through the valve
Pump and pump till fully gauge,
Where were you?
Where were you...
When the deaf and dumbs
Are deceived with smiles,
The cripple crutches cremated
And the blind sent to the war front
To fight out their doom?
...When the widow
Was casted out through the window
To go and perish in the meadow
And join husband in the world below,
Where were you?

Now, arise!
Arise and cling into your full strength
Murder every crime against humanity
Flag up the banner of peace
And pacify the raging war.


The chimneys faces, faces the sky
Exhaust from homes and streets
Contributed their strengths
Paying their dues at the tick of time.

The kisses of the soot
Soften the thickness of the veil
That shielded me from earth
With pores scattered on my veil
Revealing my naked eyes to the earth.

Someday, I shall look down on earth
Through the perforated holes on my veil
And leave your head with no hair,
Adorn your skin with wrinkles, melanoma
And cause your eyes to see blur.

I shall empty your sea,
Suck the juice of your fruits
And the sap of the trees
That bears the fruits
Wreck the xylem and phloem
Of the maize and wheat
And scatter diseases
And famine on the face of earth.

Lest, you appease me with trees
Planting it within and without
Dress my gaze with flower
Strings round about the homes and streets.

Cut short the use of devilish gases
That create pores on my veil.
Then, I shall forgive you
Of all your trespasses.

Tanimonure Richards Adewale
TANIMONURE RICHARDS ADEWALE is one of Nigerian's finests poets of this generation. he paints words passionately, leaving awe of admiration on minds of readers. He is based in Abeokuta, Ogun State, Nigeria and his other works can be viewed on his facebook page: www.facebook.com/artface
EMAIL: moviart636@gmail.com
MOBILE: 09090544393

If I should decide, in my life to go and steal
I think, I prefer, I will do the steal that kills
Steal that I am massively supported to go and act
Steal so real, so thick, so harmless in execution fact
Steal that demands no gangs; its a one con fun show
In coolness of atmosphere, pleasures of life in glow
Steal so smooth, richly black or blue it sweetly pours
Of any amount, size or nation, it gleams my eyes of course
Steal that dwarfs nations, makes a first in Forbes creation
Steal that can halt, silence or get rid of any nasty situation
Oh! Steal that stuns satan, he screams madly, 'Ey man,
Will you stop it? You want to be smarter and sharper than
Why? '

Coz its a steal that kills the acidic anger of the mob
A steal that sweetens, at my sight, whenever I come
A steal that makes gari and groundnut so madly hurt
In painful anger, he is the one bearing the brunt of the lot
Who crucify him for the miserable steal he stupidly did
And for crumbs of naira given, free me to mockingly speed
In my mass killed steal of my 'heavy' ride, chants trailing me
'Sai Baba', 'Twaile sir', 'Ijaya Senator', 'Oganla 1 of money'

If I should decide, in my life to go and.......... steal? ? ? ? Me? ? ? ?
God forbid! ! ! ! The act, the curse, the end of this evil irony.

World Leaders, World Powers
I want to thoroughly thank you
For this bliss that gives you deep kiss
The merry of your cheery high heart
The clinks of drinks in fulfilling sinks
That you have won it all, got it all
In my misery, In my half life
Your coveted goals and dreams
An expensive brutal purchase
Of my blood, my peace, my peeps
Our sweats, our toils, our riches 
Our tomorrow, our dreams, our life.

But I dare you these questions to ask
Let not your bloods run hot of horrible angst 
And spit venomous words, spray me in wild attack
Do you think you have won it all?
Do you think you have got it all?
Is your bloodied happiness not a fraudster foe?
Is your teary fulfilment not a romancing woe?
The riches dripping with deaths, gleaming with sufferings
Is it not your confident time bomb, mockingly loud to explode?
You might of power, cruelly colossal to crush and cringe
Is it almighty than the Almighty?
Your ostentatious living of greedy acquiring
In deceptive world peace meetings and global aligning
Using unneeded wars as a great tool of achieving
Your open secret heart of one world massive slavery
Refined, redefined as one world government of fake unity
Tell me, is it not your sick, stink, maggot of mentality
Demonized by satan you blatantly exhibit?

Keep your horrid, riches of wars going.
Keep making pixies of me like this flowing.
Let the massive deaths too keep growing.
And your deepest ambition rise, overflowing
But do sink this in your think
Your suffering will be more potent than my suffering
Your pains more soul wrenching than my pains
Your death, how sordidly grimful it will scare death
Who kills you and shudder how the nerve your life he ends.

I look on at you in bold separated eyes
A strongly weak body and heart stares at you defiant
Bloodied appearance stands, asks, 'is this your worst? '
And the world watches, reads this poetic voice of mine
Asks you too world leaders, world poisonous powers
'What da heck is the crime of this young lad?

Micheal Ace

I bought myself a golden watch,
I love the glassy screen so much.
So i got a pad to guide the screen
to keep afar scratches on the fringe.
Safer now but the beauty dropped,
Nudity, a style or storm? .

Daddy bought me a precious shirt,
with shinning stones on the outskirt.
But it was summer with lots of dirt,
So to guide it i always wear jackets.
I hid the beauty but saved the worth
Nudity, a style or storm? .

Bones and blood are streamed in pipes,
Pipes clothed by musles in neat lines.
Muscles covered with feeble flesh.
Flesh weaved sweetly as a body.
But body left naked loses worth.
Nudity, style or storm? .

Come closer my lovely daughter,
Of what glory is a skin uncovered?
Peel the onion of it's leafy skin
then with time it will rot and wilt.
Beauty in epitome lies in cloths
Nudity, style or Storm?

Three virgin sisters
I raped her elder sister and she got so furious,
she cleansed the stains of blood chaining down her thighs
and rained a curse on me.

I ran up to her, knelt and held her feet for blessing,
but she spat mucus on me,
I dragged her back, pin her to the ground,
open her legs wide, and forced myself in.

Then their little sister came, she was just five.
She saw her siblings gasping for honour better than breath,
she cried.

I drew her close, slapped her to fall, I raped her too.

Then I heard their virginity cries,
better than the wail of Abel,
They shed tears of revenge,
there were cries from angels

But i left in peace, maybe God was busy,
I saw them lie lifeless now, they are dead with their eyes open,
I took it as honour, walked back and shut the lids for them,
I wiped their bloods, and buried their shame.


Mama gave birth to me, it was the birth of a star. People loved me as
i grew in their sight.
But when i wanted to live the life of a man,

I saw the three virgin sisters, they said to me.
Come to your grave in-between our legs,
Bury your head in-between our breast.

I fled from them but they were my shadows,
papa said to me.
Kill your shadows, shine a little light on them.
But my life was a hell of darkness,

I tried to marry in my father's house,
I went to princess, she fingered my ring,
I forgot my sins

But on my wedding day,

I saw the three virgin sisters, they said to me,
Come to your grave in-between our legs,
Bury your head in-between our breast.

Princess left, my in-laws fled,
All was red at the intense of their slaying threat.

The three virgin sisters
The first was Trust, the other was peace
and the little sister Love.

I detest my deeds and I got myself killed,
I buried the blade of the knife right into my throat
and made a gentle slice

And right on my grave
were the three virgin sisters which cried all day
Come to your grave in-between our legs,
Bury your head in-between our breast.

(to who that may never see the bones in my words, this is my message:
A lustful heart is of a doomed life.)

Who will help in maintaining the truth of Love?
Who will curb the menace of sexual urge?
Who will save me from the three virgin sisters?

Micheal Ace, a native of Osun state, and  a computer science student at
The Polytechnic, Ibadan, Oyo state
A writer and poet and an engineer of all parts of literature

Rebecca Lyle
Ever walked into a pain clinic and see the people sitting there?
I call them the broken people, the ones with pain so great,
Dark circles under their eyes, because sleep is denied, night after night,
Sometimes you see some who just sit there and cry.
People old, young, all ages, seems no one is spared,
And they live in despair, wondering will it ever be better?
Some were born into it, some are from accidents, doesn't really matter,
They all have the same cross to bear, pain,
I see some at the end of their rope, they no care
I heard them say, if they can't help me, wish I die,
I know they do, it is easy to understand why.
See, pain steals your happiness, you have no life,
Simple things become major, and causes so much strife,
They think death would be much easier to handle.
I heard them beg for pain medicine, only to be denied.
Now some may be addicts, looking for a quick fix,
But, I see real pain, for it hits them right in their soul,
If the real drug addicts had not made it so difficult,
By selling drugs on the street, the Doctors could help more.
So, next time you see someone with pain that is hard to bear,
Remember, it could you sitting in those chairs!
The clinic is never hard to find,
Just follow the trail of tears that were shed and left behind.

Build yourself an arsenal, with every gun, bomb, ammunition you can get, then stockpile all the food you can, might as well buy cans, oh they are terrible for you,
But, who cares, buy all the bottled water in every single store, and cans of gasoline,
A house generator, will be nice, because, if they take out our power grids,
None of these things will be available to you anymore.

If you are ill, take all your pills, because you are not getting anymore,
No pharmacies, no hospitals, no doctors to prescribe them.
The material things you own, won't mean a thing, and the things you like to do,
Might as well, forget about them too. I mean our society cannot live without the net,
Cell phones, any technology, because it won't exist anymore.

It will be back to the time where people lived without,
‘Electricity, Gas, Running Water, will be a thing of the past.
The foods you love, won't be available anymore,
Climate change will be so radical, you may wish you were never born.
You will see things, you thought could never exist.

When I was a kid, they taught us to hide under our desks at school,
In case of a nuclear war, and people built bomb shelters.
What for, ever see the films on the cities we bombed?
There was nothing left, and just in case you did not know,
The bombs they have now are fifty times stronger, and that is probably low.

Social networks, know who you are chatting with, could be anyone,
Don't think people lie, they were born to, just the way of the world.
Remember the three monkeys, do not hear, do not see, do not speak?
Is that what we were are, a country at great as the United States,
Did we invite them in, the terrorists to our soil.

They don't discriminate, they just hate, and will do it the name of Religion,
So lock your doors, as you have locked your minds,
When they come for your family, that screaming, that will be you,
So now, you know what the guns are for,
We have been at War, since the beginning, and that will be the way we will end!

Akinbode Oluwatobi Israel,
Akinbode Oluwatobi Israel, is a growing poet, singer and teacher of God's word. A graduate of chemistry from the University of Ilorin, Ilorin, Kwara state, Nigeria. He hails from Ipokia local government, in Ogun state. He loves to write in simplicity to influence this complex world of ours.

When grandpa had an afro,
Seas hide under blankets,
Canoes floats on water,
Fishes sink beneath.

When grandma was a new wife,
Little storm blew,
Canoes began to sink,
Ignorant passengers rejoiced.
When my father turned eleven,
Canoes dated the mermaids,
Following her love down the river,

He drowned lustily.

Father married mother,
Mermaid baptized her groom,
Revealing nudity of fishes,
Gradually, blinding eyes.

Now I am twenty,
Nudity is praised in public,
Sagging, a worthless pride,
I cant phantom what my son will see?


The maid in Maiduguri,
Loosed my 'sokoto' in Sokoto,
Casting on me her charms in Kastina,
I cried Haba! from Aba.
Her name is Ada from Adamawa,
Cooking, her centre of excellence,

Unknown to a poor me,
Another centre has she, Abuja.

Why visit Ogun's shrine in Ogun
Or the river goddess in Cross river?
Her caress made me decide,
Standing still in her beneath(Benin) city.
My every penny to her pocket,
My every wine to her calabar(sh) ,
Now am 'On Your Own' -Oyo,
Stranded, grounded and pounded.

Paddling my canoe to Kano,
She made me empty.
This maid is everywhere,
She is Sin.

Ajibola D. Fowowe
Ajibola D. Fowowe was born 25th September 1993 Abeokuta. He is an undergraduate student of Mass communication at Moshood Abiola Polytechnic. He is a passionate motivate speaker, and a very confident person.

The call is but a political case
To fulfil the mission of ending military slavery
Poise to get the gold of gaol with great pace
Like messiah bolt buzzing in Olympic Calvary

Twist and turns all over the place
Gold of gaol glitters in the treasury
Men and women sworn to have a taste
Of milky maggot but not with robbery

Tyrant authority an ultra-race
A hidden book from distant stationary
Golly gold glitters jump gun to keep pace
Messiah of death acclaimed as visionary

Messianic creed flaunt this days
Upon assuming perhaps resuming the throne of misery

Forgotten men and women who laid in maze
To cast veto for boulevards of this country

Leaders of handsome and beautiful face
But serve food of corruption on the plate of slavery
Footstep on the rock who can trace?
A prayer for the leaders will I write in my diary.


Birds flew away to their nest
Bees dance their way to their hive
Thuds keep our eyes from sleep
As heads cannot find a place to rest
Everyone shaves when that wind blows
Children cling to their mother's breast
Young couple flee romance
As the boom of doom
Crush the terrestrial room

Ants gather to meet
But our children cannot stand to great
Since fear shakes all mortally
Even our leaders gather for a feast
They rest in unrest gathering
Are this politicians or beast?
Gainsayer's sons of Lucifer

Africa oh Africa
Mother of creation are you relief?
That your children can't hold your breast
Our lips are too dry to kiss our wives
Insurance capture us from our homeland
We become Normand
Our farmland lay in waste
Mother Africa gives us your blessing
A painkiller for our reflecting sore.

Ojo Blessing
Ojo Omeiza Blessing(The Ink Spiller) is a self-published author from Nigeria with a novel entitled 'cry of an orphan' in his name. Some of his woven words have surfaced in tuck magazine and lunaris review. He writes prose, poetry and drama. He enjoy conversing with literary minded people.

Violence a-marching
Egg of love is broken
Kinesthesia is dead.

Look at the falling leaf of that tree
It was his brother from the same parents
That struck him a deadly blow,

Ah! a halt is needed
Else, the dead will be left unburied,
Rollicking rhapsodic putrefaction-
Dance of the dead.

The king
Eat delicacy to satisfaction,
His nakedness covered with fine attire.
His servant
Feeds less on remnant,
Nakedness covered with rags.

Tributes gotten from a war
Fought by us-servants,
He has sequestrated.
A righteous infliction
Comes upon him, a trip abroad
For safety he rushes to embark.

Is that what equality means?
Obviously life is bias.
What then makes man equal?
Death is answerable!
Liberty and equality to be found in
Democracy are chiefly found in

Awwal Opeyemi
Abdulkareem Awwal opeyemi(ibnmudeer) is a rational poet who writes mainly on society issues, , his love for poetry knows no bound, most of his works are reviewed on Nibstears.blogspot.com, and tuck magazine and also the 'NIZAMIAN' an India college magazine and other Facebook page, he contested for the. Nizam college poetry competition and other numerous competition, and he has so many poems to his credit, including duels with other poets too # my life is poetry he loves to say #

In the tarmac of peace

Our dear nation has once sailed

The sheep and ship, grazed and

sailed on field and sea of peace

The soil of it, has once allowed the

flood of unity to flow on it

The seed of it that grows unity and strength

Has been dispersed by the wind of war to a far away land

Blood has becomes the rain that showers our plant

Even in the dry days

Peace! Where do you elude to

From our land, that was once your leisure spot?

When will you return to dry away the

stream of blood that has become the juice of our Land

All hope we had in your return seems dashed,

I wonder, if our home land you still remember,

If return to our land, you still hope

Return, for all men of country home is awaiting your arrival.

Banquet of honor in expectation of your glorious return

Come, and let arms and ammunition

be burry in the stream of forgetfulness


Was it not this same abode?

Where humanity was valued and unsold

Was it not this same planet?

Where humanity was the true picture of God

Was it not this same place where the moon counts age?

Where blood and flesh were Sacred

Was it not this same geo?

Where caution and piousness was all watchword

Or have we abscond to another abode?

Where these traits are for lost and prohibited?

I wonder who was he who packed all

these mother of characters to 'OSA' to be washed away.

I wonder who burnt these in the 'nyanya' blast

I wonder who had killed

these traits in the 'Ileya festival'
Or has
'anini' and 'oyenusi' carted them away in their raid?

If there is another planet

Where these are sold for paisa

Let go and sell for them

They want it,

they need it

Maybe in the Pluto

If there is another planet

where these are sold for crore and lakhs

Caution, love, peace and humanity

and blood and flesh as sacred, let's go
buy, let's go pickthe globe of peace

and shyness is brokenthe world is tasting the sour salt!

: paisa: the lowest currency of India lakhs: the medium of saying 100 thousands in India 1 lakhs equal hundred thousand
crore: the medium of saying million in India1 crore equals one million
Anini and oyenusi: famous robbers n the history of Nigeria
Ileya festival: the Yoruba language for the Muslim sacrificial festival.

Scott Thomas Outlar
Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, and interviews can be found. His chapbook 'Songs of a Dissident' was released in 2015 through Transcendent Zero Press and is available on Amazon. Scott's full-length collection 'Happy Hour Hallelujah' is forthcoming in 2016 through CTU Publishing.

Kingdom of Chaos

We don't want your money,
just your soul
on a silver platte
served to orde
for our warm feast
while we spit out your raw famine.
We don't want your respect,
just your energy and time
just your mind
to the frequency
of propagandized pestilence.
We don't want your love
just your heart
bled dry
as every vein
withers in the Winter wind
while our chalice remains
ever full to the point of overflowing.

We don't want your vote,
just your faith
that such a course of action
can actually influence
the order in which our puppets
dance to a song of chaos
upon the public stage.
We don't want your salute,
just your obedience,
just your hands
kept where we can see them
while your feet continue marching
to the drumbeat of our wars.
We don't want your laws,
just your land,
just your culture,
just your customs,
just your heritage,
just your traditions
snuffed out

beneath the global kingdom
at our command.

Focal Point
There is only so much truth
to go around
among the various cults
where such a thing is scarce.

The truth of God is righteous,
but the cults of dogma
are dead weight
in the human psyche.
The truth of scientific fact is sweet,
but the cults of theory
are a poison
polluting indoctrinated minds.

The truth of sovereignty is holy,
but the cult of collectivism
is a government decree
that is destined to die hard.

The truth of love is a lullaby,
but the cult of hatred
is a sad song
that soon shall be silenced.

There is only so much truth
to go around
in the decadent institutions
of this world…
let them burn

The truth is eternal
in the kingdom found within
and always rises
in the end…
reveal the revolution
My name is Grant steward a graduate from Rivers state university of science and technology From the department of agricultural/applied economics and extension...I hail from Rivers state and Ahoada-west to be precise.
I appreciate life as a gift and believe the best way to do so is live it with pure honesty, , I try as much as I can to make each day count for me and every one around me, , touching lives and shaping destinies
About poetry... I fell in love with it when I was still young, , my high school days to be precise but started writing in my final year in the university, , my intension for my scribbles is that they pass a message, , one that will help mankind and humanity and leave the world more of a better place than the way I met it

ʀαρє: A definition

A crime against humanity
Living the victim traumatized
Combining force with aggression
Gaining carnal knowledge against will
An assault to the body
Without the preys consent
Sexual in its nature
Threatened by violence overwhelming

Duress is the situation
Frightened by the brutality
An abuse of gender
Leading to somatic disorder
The stigma it carries
The pain it brings
The shame it builds
The dilemma it resurrect

Reasons we bare the burn
Without speaking out
endure the grief
With hope for retribution...
©Grants inkling.. #ωσʀɗ_αʀċнєʀ 2016

The king of mischief
With teeths swift to devour
Mortals with no Bourne
Even does with star ideas

Laying its hand cold
On prospect with beautiful agenda
Wrecking havock unfathomable
Creating sorrows in lybrinith form

Helpless kids in streets
With educational hope extinguished
Malnourished mothers in slumps
Destitute fathers in search of light

The suffering it wields
The pain it brings
Releasing tears in molten form
The frosty menance of poverty
Having antidotes in hardwork
Without favour being hard labour
A day with favour drops
Better than labour life time..

©Grants ιηкℓιηg

Emebiriodo Ugochukwu

Emebiriodo Ugochukwu Peterson a.k.a Hitch, who
has performed on many stages across the country,
was born in Abule Egba, Lagos, Nigeria. He is from
Abia state, the fifth of five children. He's a student,
hustler (art is his hustle) and a poet of pidgin and
English expression. He is the founder of the Port
Harcourt based performance poetry group Word
Phantomz. He loves photography, female bikers and
literature.... #word_αʀċнєʀ...2016


Naija my naija,
I dey hail o.
Land wey green,
Wey overgreen dey worry.
With all dis ur green,
Pple still dey commot go find greener pasture.
Na wa o!
People dey ask wetin be ur problem.
Naija me i know ur problem.
Na we be your problem.
We say ur education no good,
We waka leave u
Go ghana, egypt even Benin.
We dey pay money ontop money.
Big big money.
Wey fit develop we own education give dem.
We say fuel no dey,
But we still dey do bunkery.
Dey bust pipe.
We say food no dey,
We leave our cutlass and hoe,
Carry gun dey fight.
Dey wait mk food show we table.
We say na religion we want,
Every shop, kiosk even bar,
We don turn worship centre.
Every family get Pastor and Imam.
We say na democracy we want,
Our own be like Monarchy,
Since dem born me na d same name dem i still dey hear.
We say road no good,
But we go dig d road for nyt,
So community boys go fit chop.
We say light no dey,
But we still dey tif wire go sell.
Tiff transformer,
Even tif metre.
We say our government don fail us.
Abeg make we shun dat talk,
We know say d vote nor dey count.
Even d one wey dey count,
Na still to the highest bidder.
We say Naija no dey work,
But man go carry kia-kia dey house dey brew for morning.
Dey expect mk manna fall.
We say our politrickians no dey talk true,
But deir lie we dey wan hear.
The truth no dey sweet us.
We say wetin be the problem with Naija? .
Naija no get problem.
My pipo na we be d problem.

Mesioye Johnson


Mesioye Johnson, 'affable' as popularly called by friends is a 300level student in the Banking and Finance Department of Federal Polytechnic, Ilaro. A performance poet and one whose works have featured in WRR (Words, Rhythms and Rhymes) as one of the most published poets, whose poem in February 2015 was shortlisted among the 10 finalists in the 'TONY FERNANDEZ INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION', featured in the LOVE POEMS anthology authored by Abegunde Sunday, he was in the 10finalists of BB10 mini slam organized by EGC, as he works towards adding more to these achievements with awards as days roll by.

Facebook name: Mesioye Affable Johnson
Email: johnsonmeshigold@yahoo.com
Tel: 08166030618


Silence squashed the sighing ambiance
that laced innocent tears on weary clouds of gone souls
waiting to host sacred bones between the laps of death
where pleasure oozes from the able scrotum of vacuum.

That night,
Dusty dusk of nightmares held by blind breeze
ran into snores and smashed raw dreaming dreams
beneath loamy dawn of mirage dug by their parched fate
And strangulated in the cozy hands of countless fiery nights.

But this noon,
Smiling sparkles of mournful mornings
ignites the yearning yawns of youthful yesterdays
and quenches the thirst of its bloody crows with dews
that lay mists of revival on the arid visions of humanity.

This noon,
The sun no longer heats hatred on black skins
to lick the shattered bloody bones of stillborn breaths
butchered behind cupid corridors of fluttering deceit
with chopped sacred skulls as evidence of her artistry.

This noon,
Castrated moments whirls under the dumb clouds
whose eardrums have been punctured by thorny tales
with only the rejuvenating echoes of dead silences
breaking the rigid ribs that caged those heart-beating evils.


This noon,
Rains of poverty would sail sucking souls and their seeds
through the rotten roots of eternal muddy misery
and nail their barren hearts on the cross of hardship
to resurrect with truth in the damp pits of flooding nemesis.

This noon,
Like the pervading shadows of wings in the sky,
Flying dirges would freely flap their lingering lyrics
of memories on naked zephyr of darkened moments,
Tying powers to the decaying pole of burnt consciences.

This noon,
Eclipse would cease to sip our consciousness again
through the lungs of violence controlling our heartbeats,
But bury its veins under impulses of pounding normalcy,
For as peace hovers, wars still break feathers of tranquility.

This noon,
Reality shall be the moon consuming voracious nights,
Serving its remnants as survival for starving tomorrow.
But this noon will not come if our souls are not gone;
Gone to the tomb of life where truth becomes infidel.

Awoniyi Olajide

Awoniyi Rasheed is a 400level political science student of Nnamdi Azikiwe university Awka. He is a lover of all genres of literature, especially poetry. He hails from isara remo local government in Ogun state, Nigeria. His passion for poetry and other genres of literature notwithstanding is quite intriguing.


I am also almajiri, one of those you swore to protect,
though i take shelter at the outskirt of your care.
weary and hungry i roam the streets for reminant
with no home, shoes nor rags to wear.

while your selected few enjoy the warmth the night hold
I count the stars to endure the harsh whips of cold
they sit in classes and imbibe western education
while i learn from the street, ethics of fetish tradition.

you play inequality like politicians playing politics,
pretending to be righteous in front of medias and cameras
you make hay upon your greed and in turn reap my rights
you despise me yet you say you leave for the almajiris.

while you enjoy the cozy warmth of your mansion,
acting as though you own your own creation
i roam the streets aimlessly singing in sorrow
while hunger joyfully get married to my furrow.

I am also almajiri, one of those you swore to protect...

Tola Ijalusi

Tola Ijalusi is a writer who writes from Ibadan, Nigeria. He has had his poems published on various literary journals and magazines such as PIN Quarterly Journal, Kalahari Review, Tuck Magazine, The Poet Community etc. Also he was featured in the 2015 31 Days of Poetry on EGC CREATIVITY.


Welcome to the abode
of the homeless not hopeless
of the hopeless not homeless
where in fate canvas tomorrow is keyed.

An abysm of hell,
chasmal of conquered abortion,
fissure of scars by death,
dangling siblings in ethereal motion.

rain drenching souls
wind whipping hearts
coal burning feet
of gold raw and diamond rough.
Children of new age testament.

Damodar Bhat

Drug Addiction

One more fallen angel has disappeared from sight
Trapped in quicksand gave up without much fight
A rose bud wilted before blooming
Parents left to take blame on grooming

The freedom of choice you blabbered away
Tied your feet to hell's way
The choice was left far behind
Experiment galloped into malady of mind

Ignoring loving ones beside
Imagined hurt and anger, bottled up inside
The angst embraced, the withdrawal pain
Held you back from starting over again

To fake colours you fell prey
Better are the real hundred shades of grey.

Kariuki Wa Nyamu


Kariuki wa Nyamu is an aspiring academic, literary critic and author who hails from Kenya. Since he graduated from Makerere University (Uganda) with a BA in English, Literature and Education, he has been working as a script writer, editor and high school teacher. His work appears in, among others, A Thousand Voices Rising (2014) , Boda Boda Anthem and Other Poems (2015) , Best "New" African Poets 2015 Anthology and Multi-verse: Kenyan Poetry Since 2003 (2016) . He is presently pursuing a Master of Arts in Literature at Kenyatta University, Kenya.


You debate hefty send off perks for days on end
as our people slaughter one another, here and there!
You sit back, relax and say between little and nothing
as your clan torches our huts at every break of day!
You sheepishly roar for your wage increment
as our economy slowly but surely crumbles!
You take your brood to schools in first-world States
as ours academically rot in sad world schools!

You stroll around London hospitals
for a series of voluntary medical check ups
as our medics enter the fifth week of industrial action!
And on top of that,
You insist on getting an armed bodyguard
upon leaving August house
You blatantly raid our tender treasury!
You demand diplomatic passports for
all your wives and concubines,
Life insurance and a State-paid chauffeuse
upon your term's expiry
as majority of our people still fail
to table one decent meal a day!

You engage in political bickering in funerals in your village
(and ignore to sympathize with the bereft!)
While irate compatriots finish one another in inter-clan disputes
(Allegedly politically instigated)
And little do we wonder;
Of what relevance is the national security docket?

You brazenly betray our nation's Vision
You illogically deliberate to taint our tender constitution!
When I contemplate about your megalomaniac tendencies
I feel betrayed!
And see nothing else
apart from your impaired vision
of our future
and that of
our blessed nation!


Throw out the dirty laundry
of silence at incorrect supremacy
without any trace of shame
and let the world see
for it has been a great while
living a deadly lie of a century!
Yes, throw out the dirty laundry
of ignorance, poverty and disease
and let the world over see
that we've successfully failed to win this war
that our late founding father of nation declared
decades and decades ago!

Throw out the dirty laundry
of non-independence of African States
and the cancer of neo-colonialism
that has reigned for years on end
for we're tired of reporting a lie
that we long crushed this malady at Independence!
Yes, let the world now know that
we're not yet independent
Courtesy of USA!
Yes, throw out the dirty laundry
of tribalism, rashness and pride
slowly eating away our folks
for that's the only option left
Yell out, "help! heelp! heeeellllp! "
Down, down deceit! Down, down greed!
For it isn't worth living a day dream!

Throw out the dirty laundry
that teaches us to remain mum
as our children waste away in hard drugs
while others sheepishly fall into the dilemma of sex change!
Yes, throw out the dirty laundry
that frustrates our assertiveness and open-mindedness
while we deliberate on far-sighted issues of our nation
in roadside congress of the countless unwaged youths!

Throw out the dirty laundry
of terror, arrogance and intimidation
inflicted on the poor contemptible compatriots
who may not have basic university degrees
but are proud owners of revolutionary ideals for our nation
Yes, let's have a whole wash up!
Since lying on these cushions of fear and tolerance
must have ruined us enough!
For indeed, these perfumes of silence
Lie to us and the world over!
Proclaiming of our spotlessly-clean laundry
that lets out an elegant scent
Yet the stains are daylight visible!
Oh my! Oh my! Now more than ever
We must honestly admit that we're damn filthy!
And until we confess this sham
and do an out- and- out washing
We shall forever live
a huge Lie of wreck!

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