THE CRADLE II (ISSUE 8)

THE CRADLE II (ISSUE 8)

THE STAINS ON OUR CLOTHES | Adaeze M. Nwadike

The stains on our clothes can talk

They tell of our mothers who we buried on board

And of our fathers whose corpse remained bones

Before we got off shore

 

The stains on our clothes speak

They speak of inter-continental dust

That has stolen into the fibers of our robes

Leaving us in doubt on the real color of our clothes

 

The stains on our daughters are monthly flows

That received no care

Because our women preferred to please strangers

Who smiled as they gazed at blood

 

The stains on mother’s blouse

Are left by constant tears

That dripped

And dripped

Till they bleached her blouse

Tears that washed her

When her sons forgot the trail that led home

 

The stains on our clothes scream of struggles that may never end

They are like ink on plane sheet

Echoing our past before we talk

And our clothes are the webs of a careful spider

Trapping our stories in nets of cotton and silk

Echoing them to anyone who cares

And these stains refuse to wash off

No matter how hard we scrub

 

FB_IMG_1509921267678Adaeze M. Nwadike writes from Nsukka where she is completing a B.Ed/Eng. She was shortlisted in the 2016 Nigerian Students Poetry Prize. She was also in the BN Poetry long list in 2015, and was 3rd prize in poetry for the muse journal in the same year. She is currently working on a collection of poems.

 

 

 

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BETRAYAL | Ayangbenro Michael Ayobami

staring into the eyes of what breaks your heart
is a tragic lesson for your saddened eyes.

first, it was your skin:
being born into the right place at the wrong time
fighting survival’s war in your mother’s skin &
trying to wander in your father’s skin
like a skin disease.

second, it was your tongue peeling itself
like the chords in poem
why?
he promised another lady your haven,
after series of meetings you’ve had,
and suffering like Jezebel.

the other, is seeing the bond go weak like hydrogen’s,
they promised each other before your world
for better for worse, for now for eternity,
fables
philandering lies
snake promises
snitch!

the framework of the society is deceit,
like stooling eyes in Sambisa 
plastered by Judases
for silver,
lust
greed
sex and
the unknowns.

some boys are fighting molestation
they can’t live with the soul they defiled,
the body is a cynosure for war
a girl is not known by virginity again
in places like borno, kano, anambra
and other places
but by offerings of offspring

These destinies are playgrounds for betrayals,
like daffodils, they look the garden in the eyes
and recite prayers in silence,
good or bad
for a seed that’s already sown.

A land grows into another silence
like recession &
it comes out panting in bones
and flesh.

IMG_20170824_090809Ayangbenro Michael Ayobami is a Nigerian writer and a Mathematical Sciences student of the Federal University of Technology Akure, Ondo state. Together with poetry, he is a bass player and a spoken word artist. He has his works on Kalahari Review among others.

 

 

 

 

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THE BEAUTIFUL ONES | Martins Tomisin Olusola

Roused in the heart of night
I sit and stare
boiling in the rhythm of thought
on this road,
life lost,
life saved,
beauty flies by and by
pain flies by and by
hope dashed against stones
story meshed upon stories.

Beforehand,
they pop up like a raven
that fed Elijah meat and bread
feeding the myriad of people with wad.

Under the gaze of sun,
the throngs aligned on a longish axis
as if money is doled out
to assuage the flared-up sac
there, mopping their perspiring brows
some pressed in bladder,
some pressed in the sac
to give ears to the callings
of the hawkers spicy, relished rice.

When the day piggybacks its tasty honey,
they fed fat till they ran out of money
the world is there at their feet
yet, they are sit-tight patriot.
Skinny beggars of dough
lackey to their school-pundit, Judas Iscariot.

Those who placed them
on the golden throne-seat
are now confined to a wheelchair
waiting, on and on
dancing shoki
and painting the street light for gyration.

The crabby cries:
“where are the beautiful ones
are they yet to be fructified
are they still nipping at their
mother’s nourishing coconut buttermilk
or probably still contemplating
on their caravan to the world?”

Oh yes!
the beautiful ones are here
who play sweet smart in politics
who put on the diamond-morning,
silver sun-smile
who paint the sky green and white
like Nigeria’s flag
that does not give arms to the rustling wind?
He is one who surrenders to the fear of his Maker.

IMG_20170701_104404Martins Tomisin Olusola is a student of Olabisi Onabanjo University, Ago-Iwoye, Ogun State where he has earned awards and recognition for his literary prowess.  Some of his poems have been published in numerous literary journals, magazines, and anthologies. He loves painting colourful rainbow-of-thoughts on paper.
 

 

 

 

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