Those days when we were boys, cheerful and playful. Life was nothing but a playground; boys dancing naked under the rain and lifting acrobatic moves under a scorching sun.
Boys with no scents, our sweats were our most treasured fragrance. We bathe in sands and sent some to Ally.
We danced diabolically but we still remained boys of good colors, spread to give the hopeless hope and suicidist life.
Surrounded by love, we created harmony in discord. The trouble makers came but never went away the same.
To cut it short, when we remember those days when we were boys. We see maturity for what it is, a cage not freedom.
©Gabriel G. Odigiri
Night and day, she carries on her head the burden of survival, a load of misfortune and poverty.
She sells in the street, at the market square, on the road, in schools, at the mosque, in churches…
She is only a girl, thirteen, with a weight too heavy for her. Her innocence and puerile smile has been taken away.
You see only her frown now and her dried tears.
She dream of comfort but it’s not real… She dream of school — only if she could learn to read.
She says one day, she will stand on the high way, so strangers can run over her or take her in their arms.
©Gabriel G Odigiri, 2017
Do you feel foolish to love?
To love not to be loved.
To give not to be given.
Do you feel pain?
Pain like a sharp knife plunging you.
The sight of crayon like blood.
The taste of hate like kola.
Do you cry yourself to sleep?
Sleepless nights like civil war
Aspirin like bullets in your throat.
Dreams like grotesque images of the dead.
Do you think it’s wise to hate?
To hate all that are to be loved.
To hate to give because you don’t get back.