I am searching for something and I think if I write down all my thoughts, I can search the puddle of it all and find a thing—an idea, perhaps—that I believe in and that would consume me so.



“The past that you seek is a stream that muddies...”

For All That We Were 

seeking the sultry delights of the chevron of your golden thighs that gleam against brown sheets like the Abeokuta sunrise I still hold the taste of you from the last time on my tongue like an unspoken promise

Akanni, Where Is Your Dance?

Ọ̀rẹ́, where the walls have ears, secrets become mouthed songs Songs that only the initiated know the dance to & In that garden of concealed meanings, metaphors and parables bloom Akanni, I have sung songs, where is your dance?


The shadows grow longer and the grey clouds journey home And now the madman seeks the sanity of privacy Gingerly, he gathers his belongings And abandons his perch at the market's T-junction Giddily, he falls in step with us