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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. ...

Three Poems by Usman Karofi
Three Poems by Abduljalal Musa Aliyu

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. 

To colour is to accept that there are limits and bounds, that freedom is the deep end of a shallow pond and drowning is not a choice. That our liberties are normative and must issue from the collective fiat of convention, the healthy custom of the many against the wily tempest of the one. Liberty then is a prison of accepted conduct, a glazed casket waiting for us to die.

Your days were no longer short in the university, it was mostly business as usual, but you had your own charms. Like how, when I took lectures at the old campus, I looked forward to you so that I would listen to the khudba and pray the Friday prayers. I loved the silence when the Imam’s voice travelled through the audience. I loved seeing the elderly women, who were regulars at the mosque, dress in their best attires and sit to pray. I loved it when the ladan said “a tsaya, a shiga sahu, a rufe salula, babban dan yatsa a kan layi, rufe salula malam”. I loved the imam’s voice. I always imagined how his lips moved, and his tongue rolled when he recited the Qur’an.  

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.

A poet isn't just a translator of artistic words. He is a sword but, sometimes, he is not afraid to become a little kitten left out in the cold. So, here is fear and pain.

That being said. What on God’s green earth is wrong with you? I do not understand you at all! You have caused me a lot of trouble, embarrassed me, put me in situations where only the Grace of God saved me, and made me look stupid in places where I was supposed to maintain my steeze. And if you cared to know anything about me, you would know that I take my steeze seriously.

Everything Here

Three Poems by Jide Badmus. These poems by Jide Badmus were especially chosen for The Bala Selection, a weekly poetry feature curated by Ismail Bala for Konya Shamsrumi.

Movement at the edge of your vision — maybe a man, maybe a shadow. You hold your breath. The darkness folds around you.

Three Poems by Hannatu Bilyaminu

Three Poems by Ogaga Ifowodo

Three Poems by Ogaga Ifowodo