I remember my grandmother by a lot of things, and when I picture myself in old age, I see myself in her image. Tall, lean, with a slightly curved back, a head full of gray hair that tangles and covers my eyes when being loose. Rheumy eyes set on a dark lean face, hands that are ever generous, and a serious demeanor that resets naughty grandchildren back to their default setting.

Through poetry, I was able to express the inexpressible, to give voice to the emotions that threatened to consume me. I wrote about love, loss, longing, hope and the universal human experiences that connect us all.

In her poetry, the depth of human feeling is evoked through imagery that is as gripping as it is urgent. 

I’ve carried that mindset in every piece I write, I never use my phone to write. Instead  I lock myself away with my laptop that only has Microsoft word paired with a thought-racing mind. Most times before I write a good poem I’m very hungry, I probably wouldn’t have eaten the whole day. Me being uncomfortable pushes my brain to lock in, not get distracted and finish the work  so I can be comfortable again.

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.

The Forgotten Sorcery Of The Poet by Suleiman Zailani

Véronique Tadjo is a renowned Ivorian novelist, poet, and writer. At 69, her work stands as a powerful testament to her rich heritage and the influence of the French language, in which most of her writing is rooted and written. Her work has been translated into over 20 languages, but as English author Samuel Johnson observed, “the beauties of poetry cannot be preserved in any language except that in which it was originally written.