Poetry
George Crayton
We remember when we walked across free land/Held our people together and were rulers of our
James Dwalu
The acrid scent fills the air/Near the garbage heap/We held our breath
Saki Golafale
And all our blood stained pilots/ Who could no longer find the compass / Plunged our society
Musue Haddad
The Corrupter, official, imperial, stately, ordinary /Sleek, persuasive, appealing; the fatal
Monica Horton-Knuckles
Long before the sun, Outside Child will rise,/ fold her mat, tie her lappa / and wipe the sleep
Miatta Kawinzi
they call it history, what you wrote that day, /but yours was not a history
Saah Millimono
I have worked my bones to breaking point/ And have grown a hunchback;/ And have earned
Emmanuel Morgan
Strange fires burn the Land/ Strange voices fill the air/ And strange songs are sung/
Alexander Queh
O . . . life . . . O . . . life, the cheeks of the unknowns are wet and saturated with tears./
M. Woryonwon Roberts
The festering sun/ Drinks the ditch of water,/ Hardens the red mud. / The smart city mouse,/
