Tag Archives: African literary journals

Akua Nyameke

by Agyei Sarpong Kumankoma
The stream smiles . . .
Your reflection rides on her
Ripples like a goddess
In a crystal palanquin

You are the lyrics
Of the sunbird’s song
Calling the sun
To wash her rainbow garment
In the stream

This simmering applause
Filtered by bamboo leaves
Welcomes your arrival
Into the meditative calm

Akua Nyamekye-
I have been here hunting
Crabs since the palmwine tapper’s
Second visit to the triplet raffia

I am the clay statue
Who witness the limning
Of footprints of all
The village maidens on this bank

Maggots dance in their footprints
To the cheer songs of flies
Whilst a kaleidoscope of butterflies
Tend in yours, a flower garden

The silhouette fellow
Tiptoes with icy feet
Bearing a golden thurible
Covered in the hypnagogic smoke
Of your fragrance
To engrave your name
On the virgin moon

Agyei Sarpong Kumankoma is a  writer from Ghana. He is a product of St  James Seminary Senior High School in Sunyani, where he currently lives.

Lucid

by Seth Boss Kay

Luxury of time eludes.

Immortality is mirage;
A dream far-too-away from manifestation.

Integral to the totality
of all humanity is trans-personality.

Mortals incomparable to immortals in physical.
Yet the two worlds overlap,
Interacting with usually unnoticeable constancy.

The reality of the unseen,
As real as the actuality of the seen.

But never is forever;
All that is natural shall see mortality.

Fatwa/Vendetta?

by Michael Aseidu-Siaw

It’s Friday,
Almost time for the evening prayer.
Fix  your Cilices,
Tighten them around your thighs;
Wear your chastity belts
Or better still, tear them off!

We need them as weapons,
We need them as instruments
For we are attending a confession-
A reverend father
Is going to tell us
Why he fucked my 8-year-old nephew
In his butt.

Michael Aseidu-Siaw is a graduate of the University of Ghana.

I Am Looking For A Wife

by Sena Kodjokuma

Papa I have come to you this morning,
With my cloth around my waist and ash in my hair,
Hands clasped in mourning.
Papa I dreamed a dream and it was a night-mare!
I dreamed that my manhood was ripped from my loins as I watched,
The long tendrils of my babymaker watering the ground,
And the cruel jibe of my maimers as the pain latched.
“He who fetches firewood for his hearth needs not the strength of his loins.”
I woke doused in a lagoon of sweat,
And touched my self tentatively down there,
At the place where the branches of my legs meet my meat,
And calmed I come to you,
Papa I am looking for a wife.
I am two and forty harvests old,
The erstwhile pride of the clan,
Now the butt of all jokes told.
I stare at the maidens deadpan,
For the songs in my mouth go mouldy and cold,
And the seed in them is not fit to be chicken feed,
While my heart labours and strains with the ache of my loins’ need.
I am looking for a wife,
She need not be tall and waiflike,
Graceful and mysterious like the women of the fire tribe,
Their stories hidden in the scars on their cheeks,
Or petite and full of curve,
The ovals of their necks carrying the royalty of the forest tribe,
Trinkets jingling
Enhancing the wobble of their assets,
For these are the first daughters of the gods,
The ones to whom only the chosen have a claim to assert.
She need only catch the eye of this mortal man,
And choose me as I choose her.
I am looking for a wife,
One who will light up my hut,
While I crack logs open,
For my sons to fetch and keep the night cold shut.
One who bakes pots in her own oven,
And draws my morning water,
With the dainty steps of a deer.
I am looking for a wife.
One to be my dear,
Who will chide me in the darkness of my hut,
Hold me to her breast when my eye threatens to spill a tear.
She needs not be chosen by the gods,
And though my songs may be mouldy and cold,
She will ignite them with her passion,
For as I choose her she chooses me.
I am looking for a wife,
A woman who never fails to remind me that morning has broken,
And when Asaase Yaa offers her gifts,
She whispers in my ear,
“Agya I have changed the beads on my waist.”
And when we fumble and wrestle in the dark,
She shows me that you don’t need light to see their beauty.
A wife who will take me into her,
And not judge from the strength of my loins,
When the flower of my youth withers,
For the fruit slowly ripening.
Then we will eat it together.
So Papa I have come to you this morning,
With my cloth around my waist and ash in my hair,
Hands clasped in mourning.
Papa I dreamed a dream and it was a night-mare!
I dreamed that my manhood was ripped from my loins as I watched,
The long tendrils of my babymaker watering the ground,
And the cruel jibe of my maimers as the pain latched.
“He who fetches firewood for his hearth needs not the strength of his loins.”
I woke doused in a lagoon of sweat,
And touched my self tentatively down there,
At the place where the branches of my legs meet my meat,
And calmed I come to you,
Papa I am looking for a wife.
Sena Kodjokuma is a graduate of the University of Education, Winneba. Writing is an art and a skill he is constantly looking to hone. He writes as an artist and as such his themes are varied but similar. People, emotions and situations define what he writes.

Dirty Trip, Approved

A negative sign, heaven’s chalkboard marks
us down, who goes on up to rejoice?
complements can only describe,
the down below sees things extorted,
best truth in vision prize this century

Bad luck, nobody’s fault, not even an angel,
lazy bones too light to walk,
weaklings with wings and no equations,
some myth, no real hold,
setting up calendars for us, chapels too,
little else, they cannot claim

Minus and without, this experiment runs
into the wild, are you frightened?
lab reports circulate in confidences
while arcades tug, pushing us into a market
of “perhaps,” only selling “maybe” today

Bio.
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in Arlington, Virginia. His work has
appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine,
Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, THEMA, Pear Noir, The Minetta
Review, and Yes Poetry. He has a chapbook Common Symptoms of an
Enduring Chill Explained, from Folded Word Press. He blogs at
mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking forward  to publishing a novel.

.

The last words of Aunt Araba

I am going…
when I am gone,
tell Kojo to put away the bottle
else akpeteshie will take a photo of him

I am going…
when I am gone,
tell Birago not to put her head on her husband
for I have not seen a pillow in that man

I am going…
when I am gone,
tell Asantewaa to knock at Esi’s door
for she owes me five okra and an onion

I am going…
when I am gone,
tell Ebo to dig a foot deep around the odum
for I have hidden dozens of stones

I am going..
when I am gone,
tell Kakraba not to marry from Manso-Krom
for their women are lions and scorpions

I am going…
when I am gone,
invite Kuntu and offer him some drink
tell him: he has my pardon over the land dispute

I am going…
when I am gone,
tell Aba: I don’t need her shadow at my funeral
for the arrows of her falsehood have crushed my soul

I am going…
when I am gone,
be faithful with your vows to Nananom
that you may have their blessing and avoid their wrath

I am going…
ah… oh… oh…

 

Bio.

Darko Antwi was born in Ashanti New Town, Kumasi, in May 1976 to Kwaku Antwi and Elizabeth Donkor. After his secondary education at Bekwai Seventh Day Adventist, Antwi taught in local kindergarten and primary schools for five years.

In September 2002 he travelled to the United Kingdom. During his stay in England, he was occupied by a string of odd jobs, including the position of a factory labourer, fabric launderer and newspaper columnist.

Antwi is currently the proprietor of Seaweed Books, publishers of Phillis Wheately Chapter and organizers of both the Ahenkro Book Fair and the Miss Akoto Book Club.

Hindi Poems of Sushant Supriye

( Translated by the poet सुशांत सुप्रिय from Hindi)

Thus Spoke the Father

When I will no longer be there
I will still be there–
thus spoke the father

I will be alive in the
writings of my eldest son

I will peep out of the
paintings of my youngest daughter

I will breathe in the
self-respect of my second son

I will survive in the
steely resolve of my third son

Just as my father lives in me
and my children will live in their children
so will I be saved
in all of you
o my children–
said our father to us.
( Kaha Pitaji ne )

 

 

Yesterday Night in my Dreams

Yesterday night
in my dreams

Gandhari refused to
blindfold herself

Eklavya refused to
offer his thumb to Dronacharya

Sita refused to
go through ordeal by fire

Draupadi did not allow others
to put her at stake in gambling

Puru refused to give
his youth to Yayati

Several mistakes of
history and mythology
were corrected
yesterday night
in my dreams .
(Kal raat sapne me )

 

 

Someone Else

I wake up
one morning
and find out that
I have turned
a stranger to myself
from every angle

My eyes seem
so unknown to me

My smile seems
someone else’s

My hair has turned
unrecognizable

On my palms are etched
someone else’s fate-lines

Psychologists say that
It happens sometimes

That we go on living
someone else’s life

That someone else
goes on living within us.

( koi aur )

Bio.
Sushant Supriye

Born on 28.03.1968 . Had his school education from St. Francis
school, Amritsar( Punjab) and graduation from D.A.V. College, Amritsar .Topped in G.N.D. University , Amritsar, in Pre-University, B.A. ( English) Honours, and M.A.( English ) . Also topped in University of Delhi in M.A. ( Linguistics ) . Was lecturer in English for a few years in D.A.V. College, Jalandhar .
Sushant’s short-stories and poems have been published in several literary magazines and national newspapers in English. He has to his credit a poetry-anthology titled ” In Gandhi’s Country ” .
His short story collection in English titled ” The Fifth Direction” is in press. Sushant is also an acclaimed writer and poet in Hindi . Has to his credit two short-story collections in Hindi titled ‘ Hatyare ‘ ( 2010)and ‘ He Ram ‘ ( 2012 ) , and one poetry-collection in Hindi titled ‘ Ek Boond Yah Bhi ” ( 2014 ) .
Sushant presently works as a senior officer in a Government organisation. He lives with his wife Dr. Leena and two children Vinaayak and Aanya in Delhi ( India ) .