Editorial - Penned in Rage, May -August 2026

Literature has always demanded from us the gift of expression. A poem, a story, or any form of genuine expression is a medium through which we understand ourselves more clearly. Through them, we examine the present and return to the past, our history, hunger, desire, shame, displacement, and other complexities and burdens of being human. This edition of Penned in Rage has these fingerprints. The works gathered here emerge from distinct emotional landscapes and are bound by the urgency to be seen and also heard.

In assembling this issue, I observed that the contributors in this edition touched on various aspects of human endeavours. Marvinci Bobbylex-Oduali’s “Theophany” opens this conversation with devastating honesty. The poem confronts the violence of naming and the cruelty embedded in language used to diminish bodies and identities. What is remarkable about the poem is its insistence on transcendence, which goes on to transform personal dysmorphia into spiritual defiance. This leads to “Not Our Kind,” Debelu Nnazoba crafts a metaphysical meditation on exile and otherness. The figure at the center of the poem presents a society obsessed with categorization and ownership. The poem’s brilliance lies in its restraint. These lines, “The crowd fears no stranger— / only the mirror / that will not flatter,” remain haunting because they reveal our fear of being seen and of confronting things about ourselves we would rather leave untouched. Peter Ezeh’s “What Do They See When They Look at Me?” continues this interrogation of identity but from within the fractured consciousness of a speaker struggling against external projections. The poem examines the struggle of many young people navigating societies eager to reduce them to failures. The repeated refrain—“What do they see when they look at me?”—functions as an existential cry against misrecognition.

Elsewhere in this issue, love is tragically explored from the angle of social expectation. Musa Bin Imran Al-iqitisady’s “It Is Not Over Until Ralia Loves Me” progresses with the emotional cadence of oral storytelling. Set against the dust-filled streets of Hadejia. Bashir, the main character, loves Ralia sincerely, almost painfully so, but sincerity alone cannot overcome the rigid design of class expectations. The story seems to project the realization that effort and goodness are sometimes insufficient in an unequal world, a reality some persons would argue still remains embarrassingly relevant today.

Colin James’ “A Collaborative Coincidence” embraces surrealism and fragmentation through mythic, memory-laden expressions that were versed in unexpected ways. Likewise, Obiotika Wilfred Toochukwu’s “The Sparrow That Rejected Her Song” draws on allegory and spiritual connotations to examine the intricacies of human longing. Thabani Denzel Nkosi’s “Nobody is Asking You to Be a Superhuman” speaks directly to the pressures of modern existence, especially the impossible expectations placed upon ordinary people trying simply to survive.

Again and again, these writers wonderfully point us towards the irreducible need for tenderness and connection. And as you read through this issue of Penned in Rage, I hope you allow these works to unsettle you where necessary and comfort you where possible. I hope you linger over the lines. I hope you recognize fragments of yourself within these pages. Most importantly, I hope you go away, reminded about the power of language and the beautiful things we can achieve with it.