• Spur Lounge

    Twelfth Day Blues

    On the twelfth day of the New Year My true love sent to me Twelve drummers drumming La la la la la La la la la la… Five golden rings… Twelve Days Of Christmas (never mind that I exchanged the Christmas with the new year) is a beautiful song we sang as kids. Carol services were incomplete without a rendition from the children choir. We sang with so much zest, like we were singing along over favorite kiddies rhyme. If you really want to know how much a kid adores this song, listen for the fifth day of Christmas. A smile flickers in their eyes as they scream: “five golden…

  • Tumisi

    THE LOVE THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING

    You are a lion. Your folks told you so. They did when they discovered your strengths, and the zeal with which you maximise them. They observe, as you with finesse devour obstacles- a feat cowards despise. They are proud of you, of all that you represent. As your uniqueness glistens in their eyes, they fall deeper in love with you. What they didn’t realise however, is that you do not share their sentiments. In your eyes, everything is an illusion. Your strengths. Zeal. Finesse. Uniqueness. . . Everything. You don’t feel like a lion. You feel like a chicken. You want to scream this into their consciousness. But your folks…

  • Poetry

    WHEN FEELINGS BLOSSOM

    Does it always have to visit? I mean, that season of the year when feelings blossom like lilies in the field, When heavy downpours Make mockery of our single status In cold and lonely nights. . . Does it? They say this weather is for two But all I see is some bloody miscreant that finds pleasure In breaking the rules Extending its visits beyond the shores of husbands and wives And knocking on the doors of you and I, Single folks in need of redemption From the power of konji And though our salvation is closer than we think This waiting process is taking eternity Don’t get it twisted,…

  • Fiction

    It’s Not That Deep

    You’re having a casual gist with a brother just after the close of service. Midway to the discussion, he withholds his next statements like they’d turn out some abomination. His eyes pop out like Segun Arinze’s, shock making a mess of his handsome face. You’re wondering what could be wrong. Perhaps, you’ve let out one of those biting sarcasms subconsciously dished out to some of the sons of Adam whenever your harmless conversations take the wrong turn. Feeling slighted, they drop the gist like some hot potatoes and verbally launch at you with bloodshot eyes. “What is wrong with you? Are we mates? Do you know who you’re talking to?”…

  • Fiction

    BURNING EMBERS (Joshua Omena)

    “Itohan!” You heard when he called you. You just can’t respond and you don’t know why. You are a broken flute with notes that sounds like clashing cymbals on repeat. “Where is this girl?” You hear him walk towards the room. You sit still on the mat at the corner of the room and you can’t explain what you are feeling. Your mind is numb but you hear voices that echoes from that night. “Leave me alone please” “Shut up little girl” You can’t get those voices out of your head. Your voice and theirs. You remember everything and you hate those memories; memories that reek of monsters and tears…

  • Spur Lounge

    Of Wishes Gone Sour And The Yearnings For A New Song

    Hello hun, I know it’s been pretty quiet here. You’ve been visiting but I haven’t been acting like a good host recently. You come, surf around, but get nothing intriguing except the same old gist. Trust me hun, it’s not intentional. I frigging care about you and I want this relationship of ours to blossom. I want to fill your days with loads of exciting tales and listen while you talk about the beautiful things happening with you. I want to create a serene environment where we can both share our joys and pains and find no fault in being real. I want that atmosphere where a cycle of endless…

  • Tumisi

    POETICADO: AN OFFSPRING OF SELFLESSNESS

    Towards the end of our national service last year, my friend, Unoma Akiti, called to seek ideas about a poetry gig brewing in her head. She wanted to organize a spoken word event which would infuse other aspects of art and literature. She kept repeating the word, “Poeticado”, a portmanteau of poetry and…. avocado, I guess. I listened patiently as she rattled excitedly about it. When she was done however, I was a bit startled.     I know my friend, the stuffs she’s capable of. I understand her strong drive for excellence and her passion for impacting lives with all of her being. I do not doubt her event…

  • Poetry

    Laraba

    Laraba, She that was born On a Wednesday, What will you do, When the fires starts to burn, When the harmattan wind Blows the hot coal Into a raging bushfire? I wish fires were obedient But they don’t heed to mother’s counsel They don’t remember resolutions Even when you mean it. So what will you do pretty one, When your belly churns and turns Leaving you on the floor Like you had a seizure, A lightning of passion Setting your body aflame?   Tell me, what will you do? Will you put a bible over your heart and thighs, Hoping it will stop his stares And unholy caresses? Maybe you…

  • Tumisi

    Finding Strength In My Frailty

    Yahweh, I feel your frailty. The tears shed on Gethsemane. The war against your will to terminate your sinless life for me, a child of disobedience. Your helplessness as death suddenly developed confidence around you. I hear your screams as your skin was shred off your frame by those soldiers who couldn’t allow you groan with dignity. They had to make a joke on your personality. They humiliated God. I see your frailty. The glaring discomforts at shouldering a weighty cross of iniquity down Calvary. Your thirst from exhaustion. Your pain, shame and feeling of negligence as the father diverted his gaze from your plight. You weren’t pressured into putting…

  • Spur Lounge

    THE ONE POINT AGENDA

    The year 2007 was one year filled with political agendas. The airwaves whizzed my ears non-stop with Late President Yar’Adua’s Seven-Point Agenda. I was hypnotised, anticipating the good things that would rock our nation. But with my eyes fixated, I saw the agendas fizzled out by his death. In Delta State, the immediate past governor, Emmanuel  Uduaghan unraveled his Three-Point Agenda. Again, jingles rolled in, buzzing my ears with all manner of political propaganda. With great optimism, I awaited the manifestation of his own agenda. Then I saw flowers all over our roads – flowers meant to beautify the state,  flowers solely nurtured by the rains and scorned by the…