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I am that song you nod and hum to but still can’t sing along with, because, sometimes, it’s too deep. Yet, it flows, attracting passersby who know nothing of the sadness within. ...

Ikeogu Oke was a Nigerian poet and journalist who died in Abuja on November 27th, 2018, at 51. He hailed from Ohafia in south-eastern Nigeria and was considered a deeply spiritual person. He sought to embody traditional African beliefs, notably wearing the Ohafia war dress to high-profile events to highlight his Igbo heritage. 

Alabi likens this to the little value we place on what we used to have that is free but never allowed ourselves to explore at a new place where we can no longer enjoy that freedom but are happy to explore.

We shared a chemistry because books catalysed the reaction that steered our attraction. We fell for each other because books were the gravity that pulled us together. We could fly because books gave us wings. We loved because we were in love with books. We were books, there were pages on our souls.

Both parents attended their son’s performance at Solothurner Literaturtage (Literature Festival 15-17 Mai 2025) and his father said proudly: “We have created him”. Jonathan grew up in Switzerland. He mentions that it is a place that allows him to face the past, not as a burden, but as chance, that allows him to use words (prose, poems, spoken word and Rap) to resist, to forget and to nourish hope.

It's always easier to distance oneself from the parts of us that we don't understand or cannot control and for me that is my giant bleeding heart that wants to adopt all the puppies in the world and give everyone ice cream to make them all less sad about capitalism.

No one wants a gathering of aunts. They will sit in a semi-circle, with me before them: head low and my shame a halo above my head. They will pass my poem from one bewildered hand to another. It will be a love poem. They will shake their heads; make a valley out of their mouths, clap their hands, and let out both audible and inaudible sighs. They will look at me with eyes carrying both disappointment and wonder. They will wonder how I am able to write all these things. Wonder how I even know these things exist, the child that I am. They will try to reconcile their sweet daughter with the stranger on the page. Then they will ask for the identity of the one who has taken my heart..

Everything Here

Three Poems by Aliyu Kamal
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