African Literature and Lifestyle in One Pot
It was 2am The moon was out and bright I stepped out, laying bare on the grass Looking up, there was something unusual I guessed the stars were on a break The absence of the stars made it seem like afternoon If only afternoons could…
Together we sit and watch our nation rolled into a fat bunch of cigarette – smoked off at its butts by the same belching lips of those that once promised us beds of roses & streets tarred with golds. It is only in a shattered…
How My Mother Prays in a graveyard deceased are buried with white yards & some with lustrous boxes as we have metals that are malleable, ductile and sonorous like my father’s poetic words we still have non-metals that are brittle in poetry, a poet writes…
