Chez Moussa – Basma Osman
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
Terra-cotta and Weavers – Somto Ihezue
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
Alphabets of Memory – Njoku Nonso
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?
Wasting Away – Phodiso Modirwa
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
Adinkra – Kweku Abimbola
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
LIKE BREEZES. SOMEWHERE – Simon Ng’uni
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
This Morning A Fragrance – Grace Adeyemi
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
No city to dwell in – Iyanuoluwa Adenle
I wanted to know if my hands would be enough to hold me
someone left this door open and
another has invited the rudeness of their fingers left them grazing at my thighs
a playground poem – Lanaire Aderemi
there are children playing in this park
and there is sand for when they land
in their mother’s arms
there is a lonely swing set
that has lost love to broken slides
Level the Playing Field – Onyedikachi Chinedu
we drove out of town to be husbands, naming an ostrich
of filthy talons from the balcony of our shared hotel room.
we honeymooned the playground at dusk
Some fresh flowers for your home, Miss Cicely – Yasmina Nuny Silva
I hope you smell that, and I hope
you got to smell all the flowers while they were
fresh at your door whenever you opened it to
enter, and when you finally opened it to go.
conversation about home – Dalia Elhassan
i never asked to leave, they took me.
feels like i’m every nation’s castaway.
mark of my mother’s prayers.
i sing songs to myself
