Genre: Rhyme, Life, Society

Tomorrow by Kim Wheeler

Genre: Nature, Beauty, Life, Uncertainties, Hope.

Full moon by Adams Duniya

This bald asterisk
Over cottoned sky-high:
Wide-height, with silver hue
Has thou cast. In slow-line crawl
By soft retractile attendance –
Resolute for celestial harmony,
Has heavens splendour, thou calmed.

Let thy pseudo feet –
Ever soiled in resoled purpose
All earthly heaving, suck;
And every sigh’s brim
With sensuality, smear.

O, attenuate my love
I behold Sky Boy! –
It’s baby-hour-out; but
To what do we owe this visiting?
Let those tales recycle
And us, wisdom re-hear!

Trace thy trails
To the firth thou please;
Thy silent symphony holds
Our hearts to solemn assembly.
Nature has moulded thee sybarite;
The heavens have crafted thee sylph.

To our vain pilgrimage here below
Render a surfeit of thy grace
And galvanize us against the scourging
Sun of life. But night: of evil souls,
Do not leave us to it –

Genre: Pain, Female

It wake up by Stuti Mishra

I told the world I wouldn’t compromise,
My smile is capable making you mesmerise.
My rights ain’t your wrongs when I’m in the middle,
I’ll make the obstacles move like they wiggle.

Posters you been pasting like you want me to be a fake good girl,
I’m trying to hide that silly bad girl.
Those new and faulty undiscovered shades,
I love them but hate when they just fade.

Faith under me is kidding a mock as It’s making fun of the great problems,
I know how to comfort those crazy solutions.
I wouldn’t give up, I wouldn’t let you frame my time waste, you can slightly have to take some rest .

I will earn the contradiction of differences to get out of it,
Colours I did break would fix soon.
Touching the sky like a insane mocking bird,
I…

Genre: Life, Society

 WHEN THE MOON SLEPT by Akinkunmi Adewumi

The moon slept,
But we were awaken to Hunger,
We groan and groan,
We wrestle and wrestle,
Our left hands on our aching stomachs
Writhing in agony inflicted by Hunger.

At the first cock crow,
That Sleep already stole our night,
One of us after the other,
We slept like horses,
Wherever sleep caught us,
On our lame arm chair,
Our wrinkled skinned mat,
Until the sun rescued us from the
captivity of the night.

We woke to another episode of hunger,
Another conflict,
Another climax-
Where is mama?
Her clothes are gone,
She is not in the kitchen,
Not in the neighbourhood,
Her photographs gone,
Her sore memory dawn
On our vision…

Bolanle, now 13,
Spits litres of saliva every minute,
Her stomach as round as a tortoise’s back,
Bunmi,
chameleons motels every night,
She wears men like clothes,