Home - Duet by Wisdom Nemi Otikor & Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

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Vague, vacant

Like a madman's memory

Sunlight

Moonlight

The sky housed his soul

On a bed of stones

There are things that hunt us

Places that curse us

like trying to find home

In the shadows of a broken boy

That boy whose shadow covers my shame

That boy whose broken voice

Echoes my woes

That boy...oh don't you see?

We prey on the hunter

...in our dreams

And we awake, the preyed

Praying for voices

Waiting for echoes

But the boy looses his song

And soul and self in the shadows

Of a loathing history

How does a man find his name?

In a cold wine of bottled emotions

Sipping and gibbering

Singing and staggering

Mocking and mimicking

Boy found his name in a keg of wine

It rippled

And laughed at him

The preyed did pray to him

But boy's nipple

Would never be suckled

For how do you find your name

In a language that burns your soul

He knows that a broken boy is pyre

Waiting for God to call him home

So he tries to find myself

And becomes a hummed memory

Of mist and smoke and the silences

That prepare a table before him.

Sunshine that burn

Moonlight is gone.

Before boy stands God

Wondering what went wrong

Boy is lost

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Fiction | The Tripod Effect

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Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....

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