Amarya at Dawn

To taste the flavour of your love,
I will dive into the oceans of your kiss,
Feel my way over your chiselled ridges,
And nestle in the plateaus of your embrace.
I will warm my heart in the warm springs of your devotion,
Loose myself in the effervescence of your laughter.
The sun will rise on us with your quickening,
And set in the sighs of your pleasure.
My beads will dance in our rhythm,
And rattle the tune of our melody.
Give me your hands, that I may lead you,
Across the plains and the secret places.
Give me your eyes, that I may show you
The face of passion unbridled.
Let us dance this music as old as time,
And find new flavours, deep and divine
And taste a love that is yours and mine.



It is a long delicious journey,
From the lips of introduction,
To the lips of fulfilment.
My eyes know the way now,
They have travelled it many times.
They have guided my hands on this journey
Time and again, until they too
Have become masters of the route.
They have journeyed in the company of my own lips
Showing them where to drink deeply,
And where to get a bite, a nibble,
Where to offer praise and in what temples to worship.
They have travelled these lands many times,
And have become skilled at spotting where the fires burn as they go.
They see the embers burning beneath the smooth, brown earth
They see the tremors as their travel companions work the brown silk roads,
Drinking in the brown ocean, hunting in the dark lush forests.
It is a long journey ,
from the lips of introduction
To the lips of fulfilment,
And my ears know the sounds now,
They can tell how far we have come from the way the winds carry.
They know the terrain now, my eyes and lips and hands and ears.
Even by memory; the mountain peaks and smooth plateaus,
the springs and dams that flow at our journeys’ end,
and the winds which carry my name from your lips like a prayer.


They are buds for you,
That lay under layers of cotton and plastic,
Garment, and fastening straps.
They are buds for you,
Rising and hardening
Rejoicing and glorying
In the heavenly moistness of your kiss.
They come to attention,
Paying close mind to your attentions,
Causing stirrings of pleasure that ripple
Throughout their mass.
They’re buds for you,
That lay bare when you take off their wraps.

The People Of HR

photo credit: Glam for less designs

If your table could speak, it would have an interesting tale to give. It would tell of the countless files that have sat on its surface with name of names of countless qualified candidates, who you never pick. It would tell of the buttocks that have plastered themselves on it while you hurriedly raised their skirts. It would tell of the countless legs that have spread to give you access, just so they could access, the positions meant for the names in the files of the qualified candidates.
If your table could speak, it would tell a disturbing tale of the time when you scratched off a name with your pen held with manicured fingers, careful not to chip a bright red nail. It would tell of the little quarrels between you and Miss Laura that made you decide she wasn’t due for a raise. Never mind that you were in the wrong and that she was in the right or that the quarrels were about a matter that took place on Saturday night at a bar.
If your table could speak, it would have a sad tale to give, of the time when you removed a name from the list because, “this job naim go fit my pikin”. Or the other time when you replaced a whole file with one of your own because, “if I no do for people from my side, who will?”
If your table could speak, maybe we would finally understand why we’re applying and other people, you are hiring.

#Jay’s super short stories 9

photo credit: D Rogale,

I slapped my chest and then cupped my full breasts. ‘Ra ra! Ah!!’ I screamed and threw myself to the ground, ignoring the calls of ‘erora ma’ from the small audience that was building to watch my dance of pain. My dance of shame. Why had I not listened to all Feyi’s warnings? She had seen through him, oh, she had seen. I should have listened. I rolled. Left then right, in the dirt of the harmattan hardened ground wailing my anguish. I had lost everything. Everything I had worked for over the years, everything I had built with blood and sweat. All of it, gone! And who could I blame? He’d come with smooth tales, and a full head of hair. His honeyed tongue promised undying love, never mind that we were from different worlds. The seventeen years I was alive before he was born were nothing to him. He wanted me. I wanted to make him happy. Bought him fancy cars and fancy houses. Took him to places on the map he pointed. How could he do this to me? Feyi had warned me that he was only here for what I had. I had slapped and sent her out. Now he’s cleaned out my bank accounts. Wiped every single one empty with the very access I’d given him as my spouse. He’s disappeared into thin air, and when I went back to ask in the places where I used to meet him, I was told that there had never been a Femi there. I slapped my chest and cupped my breasts, all I had left was pain and regret.


Safe……………………. by Yakil

photo credit:

Stay home, hunger kills
Go out and it’s sickness and disease
Take a walk, hit and run
Take a flight, crash and burn.

Perhaps I should neither go out nor stay home
Perhaps, I would not take a walk or fly anywhere.
That’s the true safe.

Do you understand? No?! I don’t too!!!
Perhaps all is safe
Or nothing at all.
It is more of what I can save then.

My body I can’t,
My mind I can
From greed and envy
From hatred and being false
This I do understand!! I hope you do too.

RITUALS…………………………..By Sule

A poem is not just paragraphs of beautiful words
it’s not a shadow of thoughts
or layers of lyrics from a good song

A poem is the comment from the depths of a beating heart
which resonates through time with the rhythm
of a continuous ritual like breathing.

A poem is you!