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...”
‘Metal on concrete jars my drink lobes’. Siji uttered this statement. He was the drunken poet of the trio. They were at the bar and on the iron table, empty “33” export bottles kept watch. The nightsky was a mess of dark clouds that encircled the full moon, threatening her. It was a night befitting …
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
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?
One of them is between a queen's thighs & Another is behind the dark curtains of death
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