Guest Editors: Nadra Mabrouk and K. Eltinaé
Cover Design by Tochi Itanyi
Poetry stirs us from within, awakens our senses and reminds us of what we knew before we forgot all that is important to us as a species. The cadre of poets selected by Ebenezer Agu and his team demonstrate the sensitivity and courage that marks true poetry. From Africa and its diaspora, poets spin beauty into images that rain their urgent message to humanity in the throes of a moral drought. In a range of styles, these poems explore and expand English to resonate the multiplicity of African voices. From the minuscule yet significant placement of every comma, every line break, the breath of these poems speaks to the heart, to the mind, to the soul. These are indeed words “to grow a garden from the little seeds of your heart” (Simon Ngu’ni), poems that will spawn more poems, will awaken more poets. Serious, strident, playful – a promising, powerful clutch from the next generation of greats.
– Phillipa Yaa de Villiers
somewhere, as you read this poem,
a wraith awaits
the miracle of water
in the wells of his parched eyes
as he plants a kiss
on his son’s brow
one reaches for the other;
sepia for olive
there are so many ways to tell a story about despair (i mean, joy)
how many times, a body between bodies, moving to an old hum,
commits to breath, to touch, to that tilting back of the head
my hair atop my head
like an unfamiliar word
in a language i used to speak
and i come back to tongues
circle back to
my aching eyes
and burning shoulders
what they did to me is what they’re still trying to do to me// Love be no god// Love be the devil stretching his legs in the room torn out of girlhood, promised his due// you cannot challenge me with loving me
When God called the animals,
two by two. Each came
foreign unto itself. Only knowing its name once
told. A man is called into his name
each time it is spoken.
Next to the cathédrale in Bamako,
when summer thunder and isha prayers
have imparted two warnings upon the night,
Moussa sets up his pots.
They are four,
ascending in body like collapsed Russian dolls
A maze – a cotton field – a people – one million strong
Valleys and feathers – the Kilimanjaro in flight.
These truths – live in our hair
A sparrow that found the wind – wind that learnt to bellow
Baba, how I wept all night
for the dead you cannot bury, stars turning
into ash, ash pouring over the clean mirror
of your happiness.
What does memory know about love if not a war without mercy?
It is a decade and more years later
We don’t have much more time than we did back then
And the man still won’t let me in
Still won’t take my love
But loves to see me wait outside
Our stories tear too easily through papyrus.
Aya
To document even the deeds of the Ohene would deplete the world of bark, the forest of parchment leaves
somewhere. a tree takes to anchor,
roots push through death and stretch towards heaven,
with a call to life somewhere. somewhere.
despite itself, a grain knows that the light calls to it
I open my eyes
get out of bed paisley blue
pick my silk scarf off the floor
put on my floral beaded slippers
follow the fragrance to mother’s
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