By Ogah Friday David I do not fret when my prayer refuses flight. Perhaps I pray to the wrong god, or my prayer dabs a sieve and my voice filters into deadwood for the...
Category - Fiction and Poetry
Their mothers will soon go to the backyard, a big cockerel squawking in their grip, to slit its throat. An unfortunate blood ritual for fortunate children… By...
By Ement Amaku The cycle turns and turns like tumbleweeds blown by a whirlwind. Today, I went out and saw little boys playing. Every day, I wake up and hear vehicles...
By Hassan Usman it’s 5:00 in the morning. I tiptoe towards the room’s oldest mirror in my birthday suit, examining what parts of my father’s silhouette I...
By Olowo Qudus Opeyemi the shades of the night/ faded & metamorphosed into mild metaphors/ & i could hear the travelling sweet purrs of the forlorn flutist/...
