by Israel-Triumph Olaniyan


Rabbi was a young girl of five, and she watched men with knives drawn cut down her Father and mother like meat on the butcher’s slab. Sinzu was on his way home to tell his parents about his new job with Microsoft Technologies when he ran into a band of murderous crusaders. With a clean sweep of his dagger, one of them separated Sinzu’s limbs from his body, while laughing out loud…
These are a few of the ordeals of the many dying in Jos, Benue and the rest of the North-Eastern part of Nigeria.
The sight was gory, stark and insanely cold
Strewn all around were pieces of flesh and bone untold
Blood like raindrops in a jarring thunderstorm
Blast up and beyond into a non-existent form
The gruesome remains of something, hitherto someone
How it seems life has abruptly lost all significance
Inhuman mortals, sociopaths lost in a trance
Calculated insanity and destructive rage
A brazen decimation, a rapacious soul ravage
A surge of terror at ground zero
Pillaged houses and broken homes
Burnt country side and earth devoid of loam
Killers with no conscience, martyrs for a vain cause
Devil incarnates on a killing spree with no pause
Amputated limbs, a compulsory price survivors pay
Are we at war, many seem to ask in pain
Innocent lives lost forever to no gain
When will the reign of terror end?
When shall we grieve and to our wounds tend
If our foe’s ire is unremitting, and our dead innumerable
Shall the impeccant suffer for another’s grudge?
Or the unlucky traveller partakes of a dish he must purge.
Who then shall come to the rescue?
If the helmsman can’t, who will in lieu-?
Save our lives, b’cos death is on a dance rampage
Our brave ‘men’ are on the frontline
The lily-livered in the government at the baseline
Our young have become hostages to treasure
The old of their death so cocksure
And we, though long dead in our hearts live each day
Shall we look up to the Creator?
Or shall our liberty remain with the captor?
Should we stand by helpless and vie?
Watching and waiting our turns to die
Or we cry till the tears are gone from our eyes?
Never! No! Not yet! It is not over I say!
There is not much hope, not even to keep terror at bay
But! We will sit and watch no more
We all must stand to fight even with our sores
This we will do till death’s cold hands withdraw
This we won’t stop till the rage of terror cease.


In tribute to the many dead, countless bleeding and others suffering the crime of being born in the Nigerian middle-belt and the Northeast. We are in solidarity with you, we are praying for you!
An outcry to reveal the hopeless helplessness of a people being subjected to such horrific ordeals without anything being done about it. Its as though their lives are not worth more than cows.
The debate largely and strangely has been on how to appease the killers, while the death toll has continued to rise. We say a brazen NO to this…


 I am Israel-Triumph Olaniyan. I hail from Ondo State and I am a lawyer who currently resides in Awka, Anambra State, Nigeria. I am a writer, a Poet and a song writer. I am a trained Development Knowledge Facilitator with the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) Community Development Service of the NYSC. I am currently undergoing the one year compulsory National Youth Service at The Office of the Attorney General, Ministry of Justice, Awka. I enjoy reading, playing the guitar, singing and eating. I am a staunch believer in Jesus and a stickler for sound moral values and ethics.

MOURN FOR US by Oluwafemi Babasola

MOURN FOR US by Oluwafemi Babasola


by Oluwafemi Babasola

we who are left
breathing ghosts
trapped in traversing bodies
whose crushed spirits
seek repose
beneath the shadows
of funeral wreaths
who will rekindle
banters baked in the
smile of a child sucking
a mother’s breath
shared with brothers
in humus
and not strip bare
the steam in our
we hover over
funeral wreaths and
sense the remorseful whimper
of brothers behind its shadows
who count the obscure
blessings of peace and the
bleeding gifts of strife


Oluwafemi Babasola employs poetry and his short stories to express his thoughts and beliefs about life, the inequality in the society and emotions of the heart.
Oluwafemi’s poems have appeared on Bravearts Africa, Praxis magonline, African Writer, Parousia and elsewhere.
He lives in Osogbo, Nigeria. You can follow him on twitter @babasola10on10.

ROSES BROKE MY FALL by Eze Kenechukwu

ROSES BROKE MY FALL by Eze Kenechukwu


by Eze Kenechukwu

They come to me after midnight – Flashbacks of you,
I greet them with tears.
These shards of glass – In our garden
Remind me of the thorns we bore.
We loved like fire – Scalded tongues
Purple teeth marks on skin.


You were dysfunctional – I misunderstood
But we found solace in society’s disapproval.
The day I fell – you were supposed to catch me
You were scribbling on your palm with that blade.
And so I fell – To our garden
But all the roses were dead, just thorns.


I am Eze Kenechukwu Michael, a 2nd year Law student at the University of Nigeria (Enugu campus), I am a student writer with a flair for flash fiction and poetry. I am currently working on my collection of poems called “In the journal of an enigma.”

LOVING MYSELF by Daniel Ajayi

LOVING MYSELF by Daniel Ajayi


by Daniel Ajayi

Like the birds fleeing in desert

Like the slave in king’s palace

Like mama loving to stay in village

Like the rich men of Lagos

Like the syndrome of my mind sheered

I gave up the pain to sacrificially gain

the heart of loving oneself

crooked as there be hurdles of breakage

coming with stretches, even in beautiful time

I learned to seek my deep interest so I won’t go astray


During time of go

dug a well of hope for me to cope

got troubled in distress, wildlife of care elopes me

It could be depraved if it wasn’t on a verge moment

The military men of Israeli couldn’t do better here

Yes, I stick to risk, in loving myself


 Daniel Ajayi is a graduate from  Republic of Benin and delirious about writing. He has core interest in writing poems making him a writer and poet. He currently resides in Nigeria where he spends his free time in writing, reading, counselling and researching  His poems have been published on BraveartsAfrica,The Parousia Magazine, Indianperiodical, to mention but a few.

BETRAYAL by Ken Odenigbo

BETRAYAL by Ken Odenigbo


by Ken Odenigbo
The host, says the field is clear,
We wonder in fear, we are unwell,
Because the night draws near.
It’s time for war, little time for us to dwell.
Betrayer! traitor!
Our comrade, our danger,
A rouge vindicator.
Once a captain, now a stranger.
The host, our fellow,
With no knowledge of that, bagged with trust.
Our comrade, we follow,
A death battle we did not know will burst.
We were a fused prey to the host;
A conjoined toast.


My name is Ken Odenigbo, I’m currently studying Economics at Paul University.
I am 20 years old, I am obviously a poet with a bigger dream of becoming a better poet. I reside in Lagos, Nigeria.

HOW DEAD MEN COME BACK HOME by Kanyinsola Olorunnisola

HOW DEAD MEN COME BACK HOME by Kanyinsola Olorunnisola


by Kanyinsola Olorunnisola

[for Safia Elhillo, after her collection, “Asmarani”]
We only mourn dead men, so why do
you grieve for a man whose name takes
on a life in your mouth? The way his songs
pour you back into a minstrel in search of a
melody is a story I have lived myself. A singer
died the year I was born & [wo]men poured
from balconies [you know the drill]. He went
by the name Fela Kuti [which means he could
never die]. Unlike you chose halim, I didn’t
choose him. He found his way into my poems,
a reminder that my people lost their way a long
time ago with no remorse whatsoever. Both of
us have found a way to bring them back home
even though we do not know if we are their shade
of preference [does he mean you by “asmarani”?].



 Kanyinsola Olorunnisola is a poet, essayist & writer of fiction. His work discusses anxiety, brokenness, [in]sanity, existential torment, grief & the black body as a warfront  – things typical happy people write about.  He has an unhealthy obsession with Ziggy Stardust, Lana del Rey, magical realism, James Baldwin, the Beat Generation & Golden Age Hollywood movies.

A lucky fellow, his writings have appeared in Brittle Paper, Kalahari Review, Bombay Review, Lunaris Review, African Writer, Sprinng.org, Bird’s Thumb, Gyroscope Review & elsewhere. He is the founder of the SPRINNG Literary Movement.

His chapbook, “In My Country, We’re All Crossdressers” is forthcoming, courtesy of Praxis. He is currently working on his first full-length, “How Dead Men Come Back Home”. Say hello on Twitter/Instagram @K_tops

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