FOR TASTING YOUR LIPS IN MY DREAMS

 DAMSEL!

I hired a welder to forge iron bars,

to cage my heart from angels like you —

but it unlocked.

Forgive me for tasting your lips in dreams,

for undressing your worries,

for trying to erase myself from your memory.

I try not to wound your heart with my art,

not to frame your face in my mind's lane,

yet I stumble and fumble,

possessed by the excess of you

in my mind's endless mile.

I tried every pencil —

2B, HB, 3D — to draw you out of my way.

Still, deadlocked.

Hard luck on my stretched patience.

So I will lay my head

on this stubborn time-bomb of imagination,

praying it never explodes

into reality.

Written by: 
BANKOLE KOLAWOLE
Creative Director, BankHALL Trademark Media

...POLITICS IN AFRICA

I was a bit skeptical reading the book, The Death of Comrade President by Alain Mabanckou. This is because reading about politics in Africa irritates and saddens me. However, I was pleasantly surprised that the author chose to write the book from Michel's perspective as a young boy.

The narrator, Michel, has a childlike, authentic tone. His naivety and innocence were both funny and annoying. The fact that he so much believed in the “The White Cranes,” is unsurprising for a child his age. It makes me wonder about the “unreasonable/impossible” things I also believed when I was his age.

Though, it’s impossible for him to have been able to recall, word for word, all that he heard been discussed. But the fact that we were limited to only his perspective, ( i.e. he was the only point of view chosen by the author), made a case for him to be able to tell it all.

I like the use of the poetic device of refrain i.e. the constant repetition of a certain statement by Michel, “….to do things that I won’t go into here or people will say Michel always exaggerates and sometimes he says rude things without meaning to.”

His concern for his dog, Mboua Mabe, and his readiness to risk his life to go looking for the dog made me a little anxious for him.

The use of satire is what makes the book relatively easy to read, as there was a lot of information dumped on us that we could do without. The book can’t readily be classified as a work of fiction, and this is substantiated by some of the recorded political history of Congo, which bears close semblance to the events in the book. The references to the events in other countries in Africa also gave an insight into how Africans perceived their fellow Africans.

Maman Pauline and Papa Roger as a couple are two interesting, and contrasting individuals. Maman Pauline is a proud, stubborn woman, blessed with an understanding and supportive husband in Papa Roger, yet she single-handedly manages to ruin it all.

It was a beautiful but sad ending. It’s sad because Maman Pauline and the rest of the family might probably end up dead. But it’s beautiful because it was a cliffhanger, we don’t know for sure what will happen to Maman Pauline and the rest of the family. Thus, we are left with more questions than answers. But that’s how I believe the conclusion of a book should be.

A book, like a movie, only captures a time zone. There were events before that time zone, and there would be events after that time zone. Also, the fact that no one would leave this world alive, shows there are no happy endings in life. Thus, to attempt to provide all the answers to the questions that will arise, or to ensure everyone gets what they want would always feel contrived.

Signed

Olumide Holloway (King Olulu)

THE MATHEMATICS OF EMPTY POCKETS...

ZERO IS STILL A BEGINNING

 

I became older before my birthday allowed it,

learned the mathematics of empty pockets,

how to divide one meal between two people

and still tell my sibling, “Take more,”

as though hunger were something love could negotiate.

 

There was no manual for becoming the responsible one,

no trumpet announcing, you are the man now,

just bills, small shoes, unfinished dreams

and a younger voice asking questions

I was too young to answer.

 

But zero frightened me less with time.

I discovered that nothing is not the same as nowhere,

that a bare road is still a road,

and a boy with empty hands

can still build a life with them.

 

I came from beginnings that looked like endings,

from rooms where possibility had no furniture,

and every step I took became proof

that starting from zero

does not mean you were born to remain there.

 

 by

Nasirudeen Isola Muritala

 

ÌBÀDÀN

Ibadan pikin, that’s where my story began.

Grandparents’ house, where I learnt how to grin.

Dem old but dem strong, dem no dey play.

Dem teach me life in their own way.

My childhood had two sides of one coin.

Warmth in their laps, distance in the join.

They gave me wisdom I’ll never forget.

They gave me memories I’ll always get.

I’m grateful for every lesson they sowed.

Even on the days I felt out of mode.

Sometimes I need help and dem no sabi.

Sometimes I talk and dem go just look at me.

The gap between us felt as wide as the Atlantic.

So I learned to find my footing without their magic.

I figured out things without a guide.

I became my own best friend inside.

I kept to myself, I made my own fun.

I learned that alone doesn’t mean you’re undone.

The quiet taught me how to hear.

The silence taught me I was here.

Visiting parents dey feel like stranger’s place.

I dey long to go back to Grandma’s face.

But going back too, something dey miss.

Like I dey search for something I no fit kiss.

I was in between, not fully here or there.

Longing for one while missing the other air.

It felt like wearing two different shoes.

Both fit wrong, but both were what I’d choose.

I searched for home in both directions.

And found pieces in both reflections.

Despite everything, dem love me die.

Even aunts and cousins dey ask "why?"

"Why dem like this pikin so?"

"Why dem give am everything we know?"

That love was loud, even when things were tough.

That love was proof that I was enough.

I may have grown up between two worlds.

But I grew up held, and that’s what matters most.

I carry Ibadan, Abeokuta, and them in me.

And that is where I’m finally free.

About the poet:

Ololade Obadina is a poet and writer exploring identity, resilience, personal growth, and the extraordinary moments tucked inside everyday life.