Gospel reggae has never felt so sonorously inclined with the heavens and Jesse Mcjessiey is one those artiste who blazed the trail of this unique genre in Nigeria. The song 'Never Be Afraid' is indeed a personal confession featuring label mate Gloreysings. Jesse Mcjessiey takes us on a journey through his doubts, his questions, his... Continue Reading →
Let me do my work each day; and if the darkened hours of despair overcome me, may I not forget the strength that comforted me in the desolation of other times May I still remember the bright hours that found me walking over the silent hills of my childhood, or dreaming on the margin of... Continue Reading →
With role shifting relationship activities on the rise and various feminists talks, any can wonder if ladies who hold their tongue, and pretend to have nothing to tell to other parties, secretly have something to say to their partners, when they are not pretending to be the good partner. For many who even say... Continue Reading →
Nigerians are proud of who they are, wherever they are. They love to travel and they want to always feel at home wherever they go to. They want to know they can still eat their food and dress up in tribal wears that tell you where they are from. They are good party people and... Continue Reading →
Anastasia: Brother abeg send me something. Dis tin no easy Abi, Dem say make we vote change, We no know sey e go be like this Abi make una help me see na Tins hard the more And dem say na change My brother you dey far You no go understand The man sey change But suffering... Continue Reading →
Senator Zahir sank comfortably in his favorite chair- a butter color cushion that sat facing the wide-screen television that hung on the wall. He was a craggy but handsome looking man with a dandyish mustache. Sitting in that position Senator Zahir looked like he was fast asleep, but his eyes were... Continue Reading →
I hate having an accent. I hate it when people ask me to repeat things sometimes and I can hear them laughing inside because I am not American. Now I reply Father's Igbo with English. I would do it with Mother too, but I don't think she will go for that just yet. When people... Continue Reading →
If only out of vanity
I have wondered what kind of woman I will be
when I am well past the summer of my raging youth
Will I still be raising revolutionary flags
and making impassioned speeches
that stir up anger in the hearts of pseudo-liberals
dressed in navy-blue conservative wear
In those years when I am grateful
I still have a good sturdy bladder
that does not leak undigested prune juice
onto diapers—no longer adorable
will I be more grateful for that
than for any forward movement in any current political cause
and will it have been worth it then
Will it have been worth the long hours
of not sleeping
that produced little more than reams
of badly written verses that catapulted me into literary spasms
but did not even whet the appetite
of the three O’ clock crowd
in the least respected of the New York poetry…
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Just like that.
His words were so smooth they wiped her tears away. Words of promise.
Rivulet after rivulet fingers cleared the waterworks as the words soothed the heart.
They had a promise made, pairs of lips and then away. Both under the influence, it was a night to be confused.
She was the ‘you’ll send me a letter and a rose’. She was the ‘we’ll grey together, we’ll hold hands forever’.
It didn’t hurt in depth of the night, it was the sweetest pain. With numbness it was only but a memory.
It was a night of magic rush, it was a night of torn knickers and soiled sheets.
Like a knife cutting through her soul, she cried for the scattered petals scattered all over the bed.
She cried for what would have been, what is, what are we and what will be. She just cried.
It started with…
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