Slide
previous arrow
next arrow

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. 

In essence, you are just like the children playing, oblivious of the uncertainties of life; you are like the lawyer filled with angst over what the judge’s ruling will be on his case; you are like the beggar on the street, unsure of the source of his next meal; you are like the teacher pondering over the best methods to teach his students.

In a lot of ways, ending a year is like ending a poem. Like a poet approaches a finished poem in scrutiny, going over and reading it again, sometimes reading it out loud to hear the rhythm and make sure it flows smoothly, so too do we go over the events of an ending year. But unlike a poem, we cannot remove the words or the lines we feel are obstructing the flow of a year spent. There is no going back to remove a word or insert a new one. There is no changing the events of any moment. There is no altering the flow. There are only the what-ifs.

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
Three Poems by Izang Alexander Haruna