Irekànmi envisages
that i have been sozzled
by the wine from Sobówalé’s keg
and have chewed on nuts from
Íyin, the ancestral witch
who drives men to lunacy.

she debates the fidelity of your existence.

does she know;
she swims in oblivion
to your soothing presence
swaddling my discomfort
and the tranquilizing whispers
that exchanges for my sanity,
meagerly slivers of love–

whenever my ink spills?

would you give ear
to my desperate summons
when i grasp not my pen
and paint not its hue
on the blank sheets
of our love’s paradise;

fanning me with your breath?

i am not wary
that it is my surreptitious thought
that has concocted the outlines
of your dripping handsomeness,
nor that it is but my ink
that explores the depths of your manliness.

love has left me in this daze.

i give no precision
to our love’s trueness, thriving
on the hefty pages my books.
for this illusion
is one i am sure to brew
till this ink runs dry

and my breath leaves me.

Lover man,
i have not one forethought
that the strength of our bond
leans wholly on the piers
of my unbalanced fantasy,
nor that the fire in your eyes,
was sparked by me

in sheer desperation to seek love.


Post image by Silvia Sala via Flickr.


I was born and bred in the Northern part of Nigeria but live now in the South-east. I am 18 years of age and graduated high school in 2018. I am a writer, poet, blogger and content creator. I speak English and Igbo fluently.