Clouds

I wear these sunglasses to see
The shadowed paintings of the sun meet
My ever-wandering thoughts;
These wintered trees I fought.

I wear this fainne as though I’m at peace with my past
A broad smile, loud laugh like a ship’s mast
Then hug myself twice a day
As a promise never to let my mouth say

I shake hands with tomorrow
Afraid of all it could bring; love, joy, hate and sorrow
This bromance that refuses to align to a scheme
Like the clouds of this year in multiple themes

Symolean Mikado Goodest
© 2020

Optimist Stare

I see the day so crystal clear
In the midst of the Darkness scare
I see the future, bright and fair
Though the glimpse of hope is rare

Threats of terror, here and there
Stampede seems to gain it’s flair
Foes and allies, set their snare
Hands on deck to throw the spear

As the hassle drags on near
I pray God’s guidance wraps our
sphere
And if my reflex detects fear
I dare my heart to face the Bear

When words of battle stirs the air
I breathe out peace to the atmosphere
Amidst the travails and despair
My eyes won’t lose the OPTIMIST STARE

King Uwe
© 2020

Only God

Only God is good so I wore his vest
Shot like a bulletproof of his righteousness
So as far as being good at what you do goes
I’m a skilled word player

From Genesis
I can show how man lost his way playing house with one woman on that eve
How woman lost her feet to lizard-like creature
First-time human got scaled
And creature lost its feet

We got scaled and weighed nothing
Till a bullet was shot and it was a sho something
The goal was one man a piece
That was how he gave one man a peace

Me
So I am loaded
I’m a contraband under a cluster of clothes folded
Casting out unsuspecting devils and demons
That’s how I play with wards, men and women

By ucTRUTH
©2020

With These Hands

With these hands, I will write a hymn, a poem, and a love note,
Just to express the joy my soul feels.
From the gifts of which your word wrote,
And the ails of that which it heals.

For In his hands, are holes that I be made whole,
That I be free from the world and it’s ill
By his sacrifice I am a saved soul
And a co heir to his estate and will.

With these hands, I will lift his name on High
Above issues or powers that be
For your authority, no being can defy
The lord, there is no one as he.

In his hands, is joy, love and peace.
I shall forever bask in his embrace.
Forever anxious for nothing, my heart shall be at ease.
I live not by my being, but being in his grace.

Ini Brown
©2020

MERCY

First, Silence.
Complete tranquil silence.
Much like the peace in his voice
And the extravagant beauty in his eyes
When he spoke.
Blew me away.

Still, Silence.
Feel the time freeze.
See a thousand bearded jaws hit the ground.
Shock palpable. Eyebrows raised.
Like darkened clouds.

Now… rain.
First a drop. Another. Yet another.
Gathering pace. Pita-pata-piti.
Like ice against hard earth,
From a hailstorm out of season,
So their stones against the ground.

He Writes.
My name, maybe. Yours, maybe.
Or perhaps a million reasons why
Why I, undeserving, as I am,
Should, of mercy, partake.

Oh. Steps.
I never thought I’d hear it
Receding footsteps. With resounding eloquence
Speaking calm to my guilty heart,
Leading away my death deserved.

Silence. Again.
Complete tranquil silence.
Much like this peace in my heart
And the extravagant joy in my soul
When he speaks.
Blows me away.

Woman.
Where are those thine accusers?
Hath no man condemned thee?
No man, Lord.
Neither do I condemn thee.

Beauty.
Oh, what beauty without flaw.
Love. Like Mercy unmerited.
Pouring forth from God’s own lips.
Go, He says, and sin no more.

By Nonso

©2020

Prank

Look at me!
I’m not some frail human you can get rid of
I’m not as fragile as I seem
Let that sink in, it’s a decoy
I’m planning, making significant moves you don’t see here but somewhere
More trophies for every mark
Mark my words!
What do you see when you look at me?
Those blooded eyes you see are on a rampage
I don’t come in peace
I inspect the pieces good enough to pierce your mind
Hah!
I won’t give you the satisfaction you need
I intend to become indifferent with every of your whip
I’ll strip you off your carnal confidence
It’s either the plank or the rope, so you think
Hear me now, it’s eternal life on the skin

,

Azubike Hannah
© 2020

What in the world

What, in the world, does a plus sign
Have to do with Redemption?
Like, this math is flawed.
Go figure.

What, in God’s heaven, does precious gold
Have to do with street grounds?
Like a mat is, floored.
Go figure.

Dem dey go, dem dey go, mass choir.
Singing Hallelujah. Trumpeters.

Join the congregation.
Don’t miss it.
Because, flawed as it is.
The maths will begin
When this mass is ended.

And we’ll go in the Peace of Christ.
To love and serve the Lord.
Amen.

Nonso John
©2019

Your pride

I searched her face for a sign: something, anything to convince me about the Principal’s statement a few seconds ago but there was none. I couldn’t feel my legs anymore as I dropped back into my seat and Mrs. Hakeem rushed for me.

When I got a call from the office of the Principal through his Personal Assistant stating that I was needed urgently, a lot of thoughts fled through my mind. I had just returned from lunch at the office when the call came in. I didn’t know what to think. Was Simisola sick? Did she have an accident? Did her father show up –as he had been threatening he would—at her school? It just didn’t cross my mind that Simi, my only child would be involved in bullying of any sort. So I was amazed when the Principal said, “your daughter flogged a child into coma.”

As soon as the call had dropped, I picked my purse and keys, locked my office and left the building in a haste. I only remembered on my way out to call Mr. John, a colleague, and ask him to tell anyone who asked that I was called at my daughter’s school.

The drive to Simi’s school that afternoon was filled with mixed feelings. Unlike the normal excitement and ecstasy I felt when going on the usual monthly visits, I was filled this time with fear and rage. What had happened to her? I feared. “Oh, is it that man, her uncaring father who had come to take her? I raged. Whatever it was, I would soon find out.

I hurriedly pulled over at the Visitors’ park and didn’t notice the windows were still wound down. The security tried to call my attention but I ignored him. It was Harmattan and there could possibly be no rains. The dry winds blew harshly on my face and on my thoughts. I was almost sure by now that it was her Dad, he had come for her.

As I walked to the Principal’s office, I met a few members of the staff. We exchanged greetings. Their faces wore expressions of sympathy and shame. My heart got heavier. I didn’t have an idea what the problem was, so I hastened my steps. In the office, even as the Principal tried exchanging pleasantries, I remained worried. I wanted him to spill the beans as soon as he could. It was until he asked that Simi and the house mistress, Mrs. Hakeem be called in that I began to think, it may not be her Dad after all. Yet I still knew it was a serious matter. I began praying inaudibly.

In a few minutes, Simi came in with head bowed, shoulders slouched and fists clenched in front of her. Mrs. Hakeem walked in, after her. It was then that the Principal started talking about why I was called. He started by saying that Simi had been a good girl. I nodded in panic and saw  Mrs. Hakeem nod too. Then, he said that he was disappointed in ‘my daughter’. She had flogged a 13-year old JSS3 student mercilessly. I sprang up before I knew what I did.

While I was still trying to understand where such behavior came from, he made the statement. “your daughter flogged a child into coma.” That was when I slumped back into my seat and began screaming, “Simisola Ogechi Akala has killed me.” “Madam, calm down, calm down Ma.” I heard Mrs Hakeem say as she rushed for me. Her plea wouldn’t console me.

After about thirty minutes, I am sitting in the car with Simi. I parked my car after I drove us a few meters away from the school gate.

“Simisola, what is your problem?” I ask, not looking in her direction.

My cheeks feel cold from the tears dried up by the harmattan wind and my eyes sting: hot and teary. She doesn’t respond. I pick the envelope that the Principal gave me. I didn’t open it then because he already told me its content- a suspension letter- but now, I open it and pull the letter out. I give it to her to read aloud. She does. I barely hear anything she reads because she is muttering the words.

When she is done, I take her face in my palms and look her in the eye. She begins to cry profusely. I let her go and ask her why she did it. She says the junior girl was rude to her and her classmates were looking to know what she would do.

“So it was your pride that put someone in the hospital and I have to foot the bills now. Eh?”

“She was asthmatic.”

“You shouldn’t have beaten anybody!!!”

“I’m sorry mum.” And she bursts into another round of tears.

“You are a child of God, Simi. Even though your dad is far away, which is best for us, you know how your dad…I point to the car roof, behaves. Love is God’s nature. It should be all you do and know. You would have let the junior go and reported her to the house mistress. Your classmates and some other students saw you right?” She nods.

“They would have witnessed for you. Pride is a very stupid emotion to act on. The Bible says God resists the proud and because you know God does not hate anybody, you understand that he hates such character and attitude. Everything done in pride doesn’t give glory to God. Why are we created?”

“For His glory”

“Good! You didn’t give God glory. You acted in the flesh!”

“Mum, I’m sorry.”

“I know. So what do we do?”

With a voice shaken from crying, belching at intervals, she said, “We will go and visit her in the hospital. I will use all my savings. You say what is best for us to buy.”

I hug her tightly, and say a word of prayer in gratitude for God’s word and His work in our lives when we let Him.

Kendra Okpara
©2019