Penned
in Rage
A Literary Journal, Online Edition
May- August, 2025
Featuring Art by Kumbukani Chawinga.
Edited by Bridgette James
May – August, 2025
Penned in Rage Literary Journal
Copyrighted www.ellaspoems.com 2025 on behalf of published authors.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the explicit permission of the publisher.
Poems and stories included in this journal are original and fictitious. When names, characters and incidents portrayed in this journal bear any resemblance to persons alive or dead, it is done under Artistic License in the United Kingdom where this publication was produced.
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Table of Contents
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The Mother of My Soul - Mrs Mahima Tiwari
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Nature & You - Dipo Keshinro
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My Dream Yard - Chuma Ozemene Nduba Chibogu
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And Death Did not Come For You – Isaac Aju
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The Core of Nigeria - Ahmad Rufa'i
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Stampede - Buoye Oluwatosin _Toye
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And What is New About the New Year? – Oluwasegun Ajayi Samson
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Sprew of a day - Merlin flower
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The Baobab's Wisdom - Ishaq Isa El-Qassim
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Who Am I? - Victor Ekeji
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My Safari - Etowa Emori
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Crude Oil, a Blessing or a Curse? - Okekechukwu Eric Ifesinachi
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I've lost my will - Amos Parish
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Feel the World - Kayode Basit Oluwafemi
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We Belong in Nature - Oliver Sopulu odo
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Education Robbed Me - Deng Wien Cho
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Nature and You - Abolade Temiloluwa
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I Inherit the Silence - Ayan Dar J. Basi
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Midnight Feeling - David Adiele
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The Core of Nigeria - Ahmad Rufa'i
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Earth Will Remember – Isaac Bokare
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On the Bench, Where Loss Drinks Deep- Bolaji Fashola
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Beauty’s Echo - Lawrence Abiaobo
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The Nature I knew – Yakubu Baikie
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25. Nature's Cry - Kufekisa Sifuniso
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Nature and Me - Aleshinloye Khadijat Bolatito
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Teacher Earth - Tarinabo Diete
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As a Child with a wild Imagination - Sadiq Muktar
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I Watched Nature leaving - Arigbe Sacristan Oghenefega
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Living in Nature - Merit Eneotu Isaiah
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The Wilderness in Me - Franklin Alex Matthew
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Mother Nature - George Phiri
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I am Gaia - Praise Sage Ndipoh
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Castles of ruins - Káyọ̀dé Abayomi
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Daughter Nature - Odebiyi Oluwaseun Deborah
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Where the Wild Things Live - Aishat Yahkub
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Drawn into Nature's Embrace - Esther Nnaji Oluchukwu
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The Sun Shines on Vagabonds - Chinua Emeana
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Hope After the First Rain - Isu Evangel Ewa
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Life's cycle Innocent - Tarojacho Ojo
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Guise of Regard - Henry Ajayi
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The Last Elegy - Earth Bakare Temitope
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Concrete Eden - Ezeocha Nzubechukwu
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Greener Pasture: For all or For few -Joy Omotinuola Agbaje
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Balance of Power (Mercy’s Dozen Observations) - Obasola Mercy Tolulope
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My Meditation on the Song of Mother Earth - Olajuwon Joseph Olumide
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About Contributors
Mrs Mahima Tiwari holds an M.A., B.Ed
in English Literature.
1. Featured Poem This Quarter
The Mother of My Soul
By Mrs Mahima Tiwari
You ask about my relationship with nature.
Can a child describe what her mother is to her?
She is the breath I do not think to take,
The whisper that calms my stormy heart,
The unseen hand that lifts me when I fall.
She weaves herself into my dreams —
Threads of rain, petals of morning, sighs of the wind,
My sunshine enhancing my glory,
My moonlight soothing my soul.
She is my Himalayas defending me like a father.
My ocean of emotions with its green canopy.
The iridescent hues of my canvas to complete my entity as a person.
She is the rhythm of my life,
A tune that begins from my veins
And echoes in my aura, spreading vitality to eternity.
Teaching me silence through her talks,
Teaching me wonder and belonging.
Blowing its fragrant winds, it encourages me to blow fearlessly with my chutzpah.
In her embrace, I forget the weight of the world
And remember the truth of who I am.
She is the Goddess of the poor,
A home for the homeless —
Creating a velvet bed to sleep upon,
And the blue sky to cover them,
With countless bulbs to attract an orphan child.
She holds the weeping sky in her arms,
And weaves lullabies from the murmur of brooks.
She wraps broken dreams in green tapestries,
And sings courage into trembling souls.
In her forests, my spirit finds shelter,
In her rivers, my hopes learn to sail.
Each fallen leaf carries a whispered prayer,
Each rising sun offers a silent blessing.
Her patience teaches me to endure,
Her seasons teach me to trust change.
Her wildflowers teach me to dance without reason,
Her cliffs teach me to stand tall against storms.
She is the ink in my poems,
The music in my silence,
The first and last breath of my being
Mrs Mahima Tiwari holds an M.A., B.Ed in English Literature.
She hails from Noida a city in Delhi NCR, India with a fulfilling teaching journey spanning 38 years as a TGT and PGT in English.
Through her decades of dedication, she has not only educated minds but also nurtured a lifelong love for language, literature, and expression. She loves to participate in various poetry competitions and, have won several accolades.
A spiritual soul at heart, she connects with the Divine through music—her voice is both her prayer and her power. Singing, gardening, and cooking are not just hobbies; they are extensions of her creative essence and pathways to peace.
As an internationally recognized poet, her poetry has resonated across borders, earning her the admiration of many prestigious and world-renowned literary personalities. Her stanzas are reflections of her journey, her spirit, and the timeless bond between soul and word.
2. Nature & You
By Dipo Keshinro
Nature with her blessings we all born to live & survive
As a new baby is born another old star goes down 6 feet somewhere,
The genesis for the new baby- the exodus for the old soul
Thus, the sky becomes black at the 7th hour in the evening.
Barbaric is nature, surviving in it is blissful-
Raining that puts out the conflagration cause the stress comes with what we do...
Every second is what matters, what counts in the world of mind over matters.
Thus, we hope to beat on time, which is a man-made concept.
Life is monolithic, no absence when Karma visits
Apart from pressure of the storms, the settlers worry about staying alive
And the natives landlord worries about money to maintain and secure their property
Yes, different strokes for different folks, is to work hard to be a property owner.
Getting the money grip but don't ego trip, be composed like a king
Destiny- to wear the crown like a true prince with his humble might,
Meant to go far and built to protect his own, within the survival drift
must make his own thrift, not shrift from the focus to be imbibe and birth.
With fresh ideas wealth comes from knowledge of experiences,
God doesn't like it ugly but creativity is experience birth from disgust
one can't be squeamish to be productive, comes the bundle of joy that humanity lives on based on beliefs
Is to be productive, reproductive, live up to glories and make the best nature as to do.
We are all chapters of same struggles, inking our stories with different fate
Making our bones in delight, of we news today, stories tomorrow, and history next
No guts No glory that's who Nature eulogizes first
We hope, we belong to this few. Salute.
3. My Dream Yard
By Chuma Ozemene Nduba Chibogu
As though in the oblivion
My eyes behold
A view of what could be
A home
A unique home
My home
My dream home
My ideal home
Like in a trance my being was taken to see
Palm Trees in sonorous order
Running their marathon races around
And around my yard
Enabling their amiable fronds to present
At the music of the winds
Attracting the holiness of the air;
Life giving, fresh and refreshing
The comfort bungalow that could only define
But the beauty of brick walls
Adorned within the enclaves of a jubilant crowd;
The colourful and varied built of flowered shrubs
At the centre
An afro and beautified tree always waiting for nature's comb
Crafted woods smiling to their mud counterparts
Spreading across the vicinity
An artesian well at a corner seats
To welcome everyone that would care
Providing like that water could
While the sun, the moon and the stars always in wait
To peep, cheer and share in joy of the yard
Pets, my valued companions
To obey the rules of nature;
Clamouring around me for joy
Listen as they sing and make a joyful noise
Attending to every emotion and situation
Take a walk into the brick bungalow
And see my mattress made of grasses
Too, a quick glance at my bookshelf
Archives that could perpetuate my life on earth
At the open air, on my Akabo Chair
I would relax and proclaim, This is MY DREAM YARD.
4. And Death Did not Come For You
By Isaac Aju.
You didn’t know what was happening to you then. It was later that you will discover that it was called acute teenage depression. It weighed heavily on you, and you did not know what it was. It was greater than a mere sadness, bigger than sorrow, something you did not know how to go about explaining. You just wanted to sleep and not wake up again. Why was that even a hard request?
“God, I’m tired. I just want to go,” you would cry in the night, but the next day you would see yourself still alive.
A lot of things were happening in your life, things that seemed to crush your soul. Your parents made everything worse. They did not give you any freedom of speech or space. Almost everything you said and did were critiqued, and you were tagged as lazy, stubborn, disobedient.
You were nineteen, recently out of secondary school, working with your parents, and your whole world was falling apart; there was nothing to lean on to, no one to talk to, no one to make you feel like a normal human being who could be flawed, but still human.
You became withdrawn from people, desired more solitude, and you read books for comfort. A heavy weight kept overtaking your whole body, telling you to end everything, so on that day after a bitter exchange of words with your parents you ran into the toilet with the kitchen knife. You aimed the knife at your stomach. You held the knife rigidly, but you couldn’t harm yourself. You’ve watched on TV where people took their lives. You’ve seen it many times in Nollywood movies. Where did they summon the courage to do that? To insert a knife into their flesh?
You looked at the knife in your hand, and you saw hot tears pouring down from your eyes. You dropped the knife on the toilet floor, and you began to weep. You would weep for a complete hour, the tears nonstop. It was the longest weeping period of your life, if one kept an account of weeping bouts. Why was it so hard to leave? You didn’t want to be anybody’s child again. You didn’t want to live again.
You didn’t want to continue being in a place where you were always attacked with words. When you were done with your weeping, you came out of the toilet, eyes red and swollen. But death did not come for you after you called upon him. Even the next day, and the day after the next day.
(428 lines)
5. The Core of Nigeria
By Ahmad Rufa'i
Take my hand; let's slip into Nigeria's heart.
Where Sokoto's sun crowns my baldness, fierce as Sango's fiery art.
We shimmer in rivers of crude, where harmattan winds do sigh.
Loamy spirits dancing in whirlwinds, ancient skies do cry.
In Ilorin's whispering villages, I spin to the Oriki's song.
Each trill a praise, each wingbeat strong.
In Nsukka's evil forests, the talking trees call my name.
Their roots weaving riddles from earth, ash, and flame.
September rains drum Ogene beats across Lagos's seas.
Silver-tongued tides chant stories to the listening breeze.
In the grasses, crickets call on Ogun's iron tongue.
While lions of the Yanakari roar the unsung.
Joy floods my chest like a Maiduguri's storm.
Tossing me weightless, wild, and warm.
In Asaba's savage cradle, my soul snaps free.
Bound to Iroko's roots, to rivers, to crooked trees.
Osun's sacred groves anoint my skin with river lore.
The young mermaids weave their magic on the forest floor.
Odenigbo’s Python's guard old shrines of stone and bone.
Jos's scarred mountains sing their secrets alone.
Cross River's rainforests whisper like Anansi's tales.
Threads of stories riding misty, unseen trails.
I follow the Niger's silver tears as it murmurs and bends.
Crooning myths of beginnings, middles, and endless ends.
Take my hand; let's whirl like masquerades in dusty squares.
Our feet a heartbeat, our laughter filling broken air.
In Kafancha's sparse wild, I am the hawk, the drum, the game.
6. Stampede
By Buoye Oluwatosin _Toye
I see the shining sun, the beaming light.
The smiling moon looks cool and beautiful.
I behold the bright smile of the crowd,
as it meets with the rays of the sun.
Their smile makes the day colourful.
The touch of the warm hand,
smile of the soulful - a friendly dog,
the clapping of the helping hand,
the crowd runs to see the hand,
as fans long to behold a celebrity.
I see the crowd surrounding the open hand
to tap from its emitting light.
The dripping love of the big heart
cools the hot headed, like morning dew.
The crowd gathers around the big heart,
to cool their hot head.
On hearing the arrival of their loved ones
the crowd cuts in with smiles on their faces.
Their faces brighten up like a lightened candle
On thinking about the enriching morning sun,
the rising of the spectacular smiling moon,
their cheeks go red as iron rod tried in furnace.
As time passes by, the hard part begins.
There comes congestion,
everyone in haste trying to escape.
All running to the same direction,
like ants trooping into a hole.
The anger of a pet has been revealed.
The teeth of a sheep has pierced the skin.
The sun stretches, everywhere turns as hot as hell.
The room - sombre, everywhere
becomes as dark as ‘an inner room.’
The big heart has been broken.
The sheepcote has been broken down.
Patience has been taken for weakness.
Kindness has been taken for feebleness.
Let the crowd plead, let the crowd kneel
but they resist. The crowd runs away
for safety, looking for a place to hide
& I ask, Where can't nature find you?
7. And What is New About the New Year?
Time and tide wait for no man. Lie.
See how swift time flies. A big fat lie.
Like a snail climbing Mount Everest, time crawls when you’re sad.
Pastor Sina said Faith is an eagle that soars on the wings of patience. True.
After what seems like eternity, we've mounted twelve (12) ladders with
thirty one million five hundred thirty six thousand (31536000) steps.
The weary hand-down clock on the crumbling wall strikes twelve (12).
And what is new about the new year? The same fizzling lifeless spirit,
the same heart-wrenching ache, the same soul-piercing pain, the same haunting memories,
the same lingering trauma, the same gauze tongue in a parched mouth, the same breathless
bedridden body on the cold gurney. The calendar has changed and so does the colour
of his feeble skin. Pa's putrid body—once a figure of strength— now a bag of dry bones.
God, I know you are very busy tonight. I know your ears are heavy with mountains
of thunderous prayers and plethora of wishes. I am not asking for too much.
Unlike my window neighbour, who prays you bless her landlord with amnesia—let him
forget her four-year debt. Amen.
Just give me the strength to shame shame, the grace to mock ridicule, a mouth
sour enough to swallow the spits of sneerers and the energy to gulp their thorns
of scorns down my tiny throat.
LORD, do not take this suffering away from me. But show me how to suffer
like you did on the cross. LORD, help me to suffer and teach me how to suffer.
Join me in suffering. Because according to your steadfast word; to live is to suffer.
And after long-suffering, comes VICTORY.
8. Sprew of a day
By Merlin flower
As I deftly manoeuvred the catamaran,
an untethered corn flew and burst
itself down like an unwarped blaze. A real fire arrived.
Away from the land, the flames created a song, no one
listened to.
The uncontrolled fame clinched a deal with a wandering God
sprouting a strange temper.
A small raindrop, with bushy eyebrows, dropped anchor.
Stirring a cup of coffee,
I enjoyed the rapacious rain.
9. The Baobab's Wisdom
by Ishaq Isa El-Qassim
In our Home
Nigeria's North, where baobabs preside,
A tribe of trees that are a curious sight, with fruits and leaves devoured,
By Man
Yet feared by Man as evil spirits’ home,
Their massive baobab body, brings them mocks, oft avowed,
And oft endured.
Men, women, the greyed and the lads
Love to pluck – no, I mean, love to stone the baobab’s kids
Down from atop their giant branch house
Suck them dry and the seeds thrown
Without a need to conserve or to nurse
Discarded with a wave without the need to save;
In that I see her generous grace.
Even without being allowed a place in the forest,
Its vast fruits shells manage to survive
The human child warned away, lest evil spirits cling,
Their innocence
They are taught to approach the obese mother tree
With incantations - a shield, against the spirits stoned.
It is in this I understand that, stepping up a tree top
Is an honour done to Mangoes, the Guavas and the Citruses
In Her Highness, Queen Mango stands, almost aloof
Except for the few dances when Man walks up her lanky twigs
Often breaking some tree limbs thereof
Yet the Mango offers all securities to the human kind
By being free of spirits that we don’t deserve
And she gives forth her fresh fruits for us to pluck
Not minding that once barren,
Man cuts her down and her trunk he burns
Baobab’s "yayan kuka" fruits, are however accursed in this mix
They are gulped, yes when soaked as soup or as a sour drink
Yet feared, cursed and avoided as plague
Dear Giant Trunk full of grace,
You are indeed a paradox, where good and evil closely cling.
The baobab stands, through seasons' sway,
Enduring mockery, shame, and evil's bray and hater’s neigh,
As a testament to time, where wisdom's lessons stay,
And innocence, like virtue, holds its noble way.
And in your ancient heart, a story's told again
Of contradictions, where humanity's truth shines its torch.
10. Who Am I?
By Victor Ekeji
I have flown million miles on paper kites,
through polar imaginations and tropical thoughts,
amidst spellbinding days and revealing nights,
yet I live in a riddle of who I'm not.
"Who am I ?" I asked the earth.
Ha, ha, what puerile picture that puzzles humanity,
of course, you pull my fullness with your breath,
you are the unifying grip of gravity.
Puzzled still, I rang the sky,
His airy voice echoing through my brain.
How ethereal is your bow lips smile,
the oracle that enchants the rain.
So my curiosity called out to the hydro-goddess,
whose crystal innocence hid no fishy truth.
"You are the stirring might of my overflowing goodness,
the feel of life in my roots."
Then I was whirled by the wisdom of the wind,
my ignorance inspired by his acrobatic spins.
"What relief the chill of your aura brings
while caressing the skin on festive evenings.
The sun and moon were my sputtering hope;
What do you see from that hovering distance?
"Truly, our static beauty only mopes at the scope
of your world to cast a meaningful glance.
O heavens! What multi-sided mutant do I make,
strange as a sphinx in the taxonomy of creatures.
Quiet!" Echoed a voice that gripped me awake,
"you are the totem of my terrific features.
11. My Safari
By Etowa Emori
My Safari, my nursery, at dawn's break
A breathtaking sight of nature unfolds
Young chlorophyll organisms, radiant and green
A haven for mankind, a treasure to behold
We grew amidst the rain and scorching sun
Our roots digging deep, our leaves reaching high
We flourished with carbon dioxide, pure and clean
Our beauty was a gift, a treasure to mankind
But now, as dusk falls on the open field
I see my species, my kind, growing old
Our senior citizens, once strong and proud
Now weathered and worn, like furniture left out
Others suffer from the venomous gas
Emanating from mankind's buildings of recreation
Their leaves wither, their colours fade
Like falling hair from a cancerous entity
They who swore to protect us, now unleash
Joyous mayhem, destroying our beauty and might
The cruel nature of man renders us desolate
Leaving us to weep, our tears unable to reproduce
Our offspring, our future, lost forever
A journey of no return, to meet our children and their descendants
The memories of our past, now all that remain
A bittersweet reminder of what we once were
Our chlorophyll hearts, once full of life
Now wilted and faded, like the leaves on our branches
Our cries echo through the empty fields
A haunting reminder of the beauty that's been lost
The wind whispers secrets, of a time long past
When our beauty was revered, and our future was bright
But now, we're nothing more than a fading memory
A distant echo of a time, when our beauty was free
Our story - one of sorrow, of loss and decay
A tale of how mankind's actions, led to our demise
A cautionary story, of the importance of preservation
A reminder to cherish, the beauty that surrounds us
Let our story be a lesson, to future generations
To respect and protect, the beauty of nature's creations
For we are not just plants, but living beings too
With a story to tell, and a beauty to renew.
12. Crude Oil, a Blessing or a Curse?
By Okekechukwu Eric Ifesinachi
From the dunghill of the dead beneath the earth we find you, deep down the earth a natural treasure is found, enclosed in hard rocks, having gases as a guard there lies the treasure of a nation
Black gold what are you?
What are you to us Black gold? People salute you as crude oil but I salute you as cruel oil, your dark colour depicts your nature of cruelty I wonder why you are like this , slinky , calm in nature but vigorous
Black gold what are you?
When found you tend to erase of every human sound judgement, from a pure heart we see greed being birthed, from a patriotic heart we see selfishness grow we see treason we a death to national consciousness
Black gold what are you?
The trade market rage, greed invades the nation like COVID, even Mother nature frowns at you, rages at your destructive doings, your inhumane nature no one can fathom, the work of nature cries in peril
Black gold what are you?
Woe! To the country you are found in, because you will sure , sow economic dependency, you love attention and centralization even when the nation perishes, you smile and choke them with your fluctuating wealth
Black gold what are you?
Woe! To the river that once housed you they weep when you are birthed, the ground that lodged you lament at your coming, your parasitic relationship I like to a mother viper and her children when she delivers
Black gold what are you?
The soil you pass through is sure, fruitless for life Mother ozone layer cries because of what your children are doing how do we forget so soon the life’ lost to you Wiwa knows Ijaw knows, Ecuador you can testify
Black gold what are you?
But are you to blame? Why do I feel you are innocent? Are you really more of a blessing than a cures to us? Yes! We humans, we are to be blame our actions and heart posture has made a blessing to look like a curse
Black gold what are you?
13. I've lost my will
By Amos Parish
I've lost my will,
As darkness descends
Men wield the politics of devils,
And lands choke on suffocating smokes
I am Nature, but my beauty fades
I hear explosions shatter my skies,
My breath is poisoned
Once-stable climates unravel fast
As carbon furious eye darkly glare at me
And chaos spreads
My gardens wither;
Forests cry out in anguish and pain
The earth's cries echo through my rivers,
As humanity's core begins to break
Save me, oh heads of nations,
DO NOT NUKE THE BALL!
Defuse the bombs, break the guns,
And let humanity's heart revive
Let West and East embrace,
North and South entwine
In love's sphere, let the flames of hatred die
Love the trees, rivers, soil, and man
End war's dark game,
Let love and peace come nigh.
I am Nature, the gentle stream that flows
The purest cloud in the sky,
Still connected to humanity's core
But man's pursuit of power has turned against me
Devouring and being devoured,
Testing my limits relentlessly.
Stop hurting me! stop the damage,
For when I falter, all will face death
Save me, and save yourselves,
Before it's too late
I'm the whisper of the wind,
The warmth of the sun's rays
The melody of birds,
The rhythm of life's precious ways
My heart beats for the future,
For a world yet to be born
14. Feel the World
By Kayode Basit Oluwafemi
As I sit on the terraces, life seems calm and peaceful.
The ruckus of the rustling trees lifts my mood.
I yearn for the woods by the busy river.
I feel excited by the clapping waves.
Previously, life seemed busy and serious.
Boredom and loneliness in me, vexed me to Japa to my city’s outskirts.
We came here before, but I come myself today.
While some see destruction in nature, I see the opposite.
Audi alteram partem.
I seek solace in nature, still, I prioritize health over wealth.
I searched for strength; it led me here.
Feeling the gentle breeze, I glanced at the open sky.
Suddenly, the sunny weather changed unnoted.
The sun dipped below the horizon, into the empyrean.
The cloud moved swiftly around the earth.
Thunder booms, rain pounds for a clash.
“I’ll seek the snail’s resilience, not the caracal ‘s speed”, I said.
I’ll seek refuge behind my cozy shield strength .
I won’t run or fear.
Despite my small presence, I’ll make a lasting impact.
Even though my shield is tender, my movement is wider.
That gives me optimistic euphoric enthusiasm.
The expedition unfolds as planned.
I’m a natural nature philosopher.
Then, I moved towards the hill to get in the hole.
I strive to remain focused, and I fell silent.
A multitude of birds flee from the south to same hole.
Every creature wants to survive, competition is universal.
I, myself realised, but not unleashing.
The thunder calms down for me, but the uproar will arise soonest.
The calmness unveils my instinct.
Time to go home, time for salvation.
I noticed two different plants; one grows on another.
My sixth sense senses, “Truly, competition is ubiquitous.”
As the rain subsides, I emerge anew.
The world awakens, and so do I.
With every breath, I feel myself.
The trees sway gently, their leaves rustling free.
A symphony of sounds, an Amapiano dance for me.
In harmony with nature, my soul takes a futuristic dream.
15. We Belong in Nature
By Oliver Sopulu odo
The day is darkening, the trees are waving,
thunderstorms are striking like gunshots.
Rain starts falling, the rainfall becomes heavy,
thunderstorms are striking. Is the world about to end?
The rainfall reminds us of our childhood.
As children, we always played in the rain,
our parents couldn’t stop us, because the rain
belonged to us - nature belonged to us.
As children, in the moonlight, we gathered
at the village square to hear the tale of the moonlight,
the storyteller always told us stories of animals
in the forest. The storyteller always praised the moonlight god.
We wished we could understand the songs of the birds.
When we were children, we loved watching the sky,
we loved looking at the stars in the sky.
Stars made us admire the sky more.
Now, we are adults, we are still children of nature,
We admire nature’s beauty because, this is where we belong.
We water the flowers around us,
nature takes us back to our childhood,
nature is where we belong, Aren’t we nature’s children?
16. Education Robbed Me
By Deng Wien Chol
I slept in my youth,
a sleep I couldn't awaken myself from.
At midnight---
the first night of my youth---
I dreamt of my ancestors awakening a shameful son.
How greatly have I failed to repay them.
How greatly have I failed to uphold their golden image!
Education robbed me,
it robbed me of my name,
Ancestral dignity, I cowardly lost myself.
I saw my indigenous homes owned by an enemy,
perhaps renaming them in his tongue,
calling it his Ancestral grave.
Would I be a slave of pen and words of another man?
I am in trepidation, sweating for my descendants.
The robbery (Education) brainwashed me —
bloodshed is unmerited,
ancestors are gone,
I am stolen, the thief preached fear, installed it in the mind.
Education shrewdly belittled me to free the grave of the children, he deceived.
17. Nature and You
By Abolade Temiloluwa
The woods of old still proudly stand,
Swaying gently, hand in hand.
Birds take flight with songs so bright,
Trees twirl softly in morning light.
The earth releases a scented sigh,
As raindrops fall from silver sky.
Sunbeams warm the forest floor,
While oceans gallop with a lion's roar.
The morning dew brings calm and grace,
Washing sorrow from this place.
The moonlight guards through silent night,
The sun guides you with golden light.
Leaves rustle secrets through the breeze,
Whispers carried among the trees.
In every echo, wild and true,
Nature sings its song with you.
18. I Inherit the Silence
By Ayan Dar Basit
I was born where the river once sang—
now it whispers through rusted pipes.
The earth beneath my soles remembers
more than I do.
My grandmother's hands
once combed the hair of the mountain,
planted prayers in the soil
and called the rain by name.
She told me:
The land hears you best when your mouth is closed.
I have tried
to speak to the roots
in languages I don't know
but feel
throbbing behind my teeth.
Every time I breathe,
I borrow air from extinct trees.
Their ghosts
sit heavy on my lungs.
City lights bloom like fungus—
unnatural,
persistent.
We paved the bones of our ancestors
to park electric cars.
I still press my ear to the ground
as if it might tell me
how to be sacred again.
Somewhere in my blood,
a forest is still on fire.
And no one
is coming
to put it out.
Photo - Ayan Dar J. Basit
19. Midnight Feeling
By David Adiele
There was once a crossing, long and narrow, stretching into the endless fields. Remember how we stared at it? Sat across, hoping we’d someday cross over and not get run over. Deep down we knew we’d never see it together, you had so much ahead of you, to give up for a thought we couldn’t bring into reality. Bled like I was never going to heal, grieved like I knew sorrow forever, happy memories, flashing before burning candles.
You left my hands and watched me from the other side where we once laid and laughed till dusk, exchanging sacred words. Foolish is the anthem of the ones in love, cursed with bonds, can’t be broken by force,
Dearest, stand still. I’ll cut through these walls, march on your doorstep and make you fall again.
It’s me knocking, I’m calling now, are you coming out? Let’s talk it out, it’s way too silent, speak and I’ll hear you; I adore you, open up, I’m here for you, I care for you, don’t relent on me because I’m not done watching us across the yard. It’s probably nothing but still can’t let it go. Can’t find the words to describe my inner self, so keep me, keep me on fire, keep me burning… Took it upon myself, raised voices in my head, hard liquor on my chest but who am I kidding?
You think you can hurt me?
I’m on therapy every time it’s midnight—that’s when it’s quiet, that’s when it gets to me. If therapy music were drugs, I’d be on the list of addicts. Rolling on the seats of past things, rushed feelings. If hope is all I have then I have none at all. Think I need a change before I go insane, intense, am I dying? Is this all migraine? This I can’t explain, put these thoughts on hold, missing calls I can’t uphold leaving me paranoid when you’re around. Holding up like I’m a drop out, but you’re the driver. You crashed this thing the moment you fell out, ending up accidentally meeting you. What a turn we had there, thinking we could drift away from these bottled hollow feelings. On the hills counting bills, took this all as a cruise, guessed we were a sinking ship, you were my ride to freedom .You sank us and left in a skip without heeding me. Chasing endless memories, 50 shades of you,
Shy or wild, which are you?
Did I matter so little to you that you never even noticed?
Never asked? Never cared to know who left me shattered before you came along?
If I were a hunter, I’ll hunt these feelings down till I can kill them.
Forced to go, it reminds me of you,
Still holding on to what’s left of you
It’s not random thoughts, it’s moments of us
The closest of bonds, the best of us, exists in most of us. They are a ghost of us.
20. Earth Will Remember
By Isaac Bakare
I lit my cities with stolen dawns,
Plucked stars and caged them into wires—
The forest watched with rooted grief,
Its lungs reduced to funeral pyres.
I paved the rivers into sleep,
Tamed currents with my cruel designs—
And called it progress as I poured
My poison into sacred lines.
The sky once wore a robe of blue,
Now stitched with smoke and industry—
The birds, confused, have lost their maps,
Their wings forget where home should be.
The soil, once rich with secret songs,
Now chokes beneath relentless tread—
Its memory, a faded scroll
Where every root I broke has bled.
The oceans swallowed all my waste,
Their salt now bitter with despair—
The coral dimmed its ancient light,
And silence bloomed where life was there.
I scaled the mountains, mined their hearts,
For gold that turned to dust in hand—
And left them hollowed, grieving gods
Whose bones still rise to make their stand.
I carved the Earth with hungry tools,
And crowned myself with empty names—
Yet every wound I left behind
Still burns with more than mortal flames.
But somewhere in the ash and ash,
A fragile green begins to climb—
A leaf, a stem, a whispered chance,
Rebelling quietly through time.
The Earth does not forget her face,
Though scarred by all I failed to give—
She waits, she watches, breathes, endures—
To see if I will learn to live.
Not reign, not own, not strip and burn—
But live as part of what she is:
A keeper, kin, a gentle guest—
Before the door is closed like this.
21. On the Bench, Where Loss Drinks Deep
By Bolaji Fashola
On the Bench, Where Grief Takes stool
On this splintered bench I sat.
the air thick with rot and river mud.
I watched a hen scratch the earth’s skin,
her claws desperate, Searching for the earth's worm.
Her chicks, fragile as hope,
Always behind their mother , cheeping for scraps.
I wonder what kind of mother she is—fierce, yet fraying,
her eyes darting to feed her infants*
Then nature strikes,
An Eaglet who just put to bed.
In search of what to feed her children
Slides through the sky.
Her Talon snatch a chick,
its scream a needle in the wind.
The hen shrieks, feathers scattering like ash,
but the sky doesn’t care.
It’s just hunger, just wings,
just the world’s cold churn.
I sit on this same bench,
Watching a woman, a woman who lost her partner to the war.
Her back is bent like a branch broken in a storm.
She's raising three kids on her own.
Their faces are thin, their eyes empty like ponds with no water.
I wonder what kind of mother she is—
iron-willed, scraping plates for crumbs,
working nights at the diner,
her hands cracked from bleach and time.
But nature strikes again.
She doesn’t wake from her last sleep,
her heart stilled by some silent thief—
cancer, exhaustion, or God’s neglect.
Her children, orphaned,
are swallowed by the city’s jaws, the watching Predator.
Their left to drift in nature’s unyielding tide.
This earth, this sky,
they don’t mourn, don’t bend.
The river keeps sludging past,
carrying oil slicks and plastic bags.
The trees, half-dead from drought,
stand silent as graves.
I sit here, On this bench,
knowing nature lets it all happen—
the eagle’s kill, the mother’s collapse,
my own slow unravelling.
What’s a man to do
when the world’s roots drink tears
and call it rain?
The Nature let's it all Happen.
22. Beauty's Echo
By Lawrence Abiaobo
Do you know what the Trees say to the Wind on rainy days?
They say - the Rain may leave us wet, but its caresses arouses us first.
Nature's eyes are like a black hole of beautiful desires,
Which takes me into depths deeper than I ever thought possible.
To think Nature's aura could be so contagious,
I'm glad the world faced covid and not you,
So, here's a toast to the embodiment of beauty's essence,
Tell me why the world shouldn't be selfish, when a beauty like you exists.
Like lily flowers - your beauty is refreshing and your glow evergreen,
And I can attest that none that has been in your presence left, the same person,
Like my tired heart filled with a flux of non-metered emotions,
Slowly finding some tranquillity, a breather long craved.
And in this moment the world twirls gracefully with elegance,
To the tides of the whistling birds, dancing under the gaze of the beautiful moonlight,
Who would have imagined this threesomed bromance unfolding,
Where beauty's secrets are whispered day by day.
With this scene in full display, my once tired heart grew hopeful,
And the faithlessness grew faithful as the grass felt a bit greener than usual,
My feet now firm with no signs of shaking nor anguish,
In this moment, I choose to merge with Nature's rhythm.
Photo- Lawrence Abiaobo
23. The Nature I Knew
By Yakubu Baikie
I grew up with the sun in all my days.
Talking family faces filled my nights.
With treats and pebbles filled pockets,
I chased and shot rodents in fields.
Often drenched and ignoring shivers,
I hunted less and gathered lots more.
I swam rather than fed worms into rivers.
Fields I chased butterflies on, now cities.
Gardens I hosed my thirst on, in concrete.
Rivers I swam are missing or missed.
Air conditioned buildings and cars.
Picture perfect thoughts lost to sight.
Where I walk are cycled or encircled.
Memories lost to sight without a fight.
Youthfulness wasted indoors to games.
Toy teddies looked slimmer on shelves.
Jailed gigabytes of memories in clicks.
Screen watchers in hypnotized dazes
hum discussions through ear pods.
A generation changed times it knew,
to inherit artificial intelligent gods.
Dreadful thoughts ache my being,
for my future I bequeath nooses.
Times walked across all eternities,
beginnings to possible endings.
From trees that had grown themselves
to forebears men felled without end,
in perpetual wait to again fail themselves.
Countless eons of watch less care,
a wetted earth now cries its rains.
Fewer rivers flooded veins of sewage
as oceans swell with melted hope.
Brethren proudest in learned follies,
unrepentant and adamant in their ruse
of wealth as airless, breathless pennies.
24. The Core of Nigeria
By Ahmad Rufa'i
Take my hand; let's slip into Nigeria's heart.
Where Sokoto's sun crowns my baldness, fierce as Sango's fiery art.
We shimmer in rivers of crude, where harmattan winds do sigh.
Loamy spirits dancing in whirlwinds, ancient skies do cry.
In Ilorin's whispering villages, I spin to the Oriki's song.
Each trill a praise, each wingbeat strong.
In Nsukka's evil forests, the talking trees call my name.
Their roots weaving riddles from earth, ash, and flame.
September rains drum Ogene beats across Lagos's seas.
Silver-tongued tides chant stories to the listening breeze.
In the grasses, crickets call on Ogun's iron tongue.
While lions of the Yanakari roar the unsung.
Joy floods my chest like a Maiduguri's storm.
Tossing me weightless, wild, and warm.
In Asaba's savage cradle, my soul snaps free.
Bound to Iroko's roots, to rivers, to crooked trees.
Osun's sacred groves anoint my skin with river lore.
The young mermaids weave their magic on the forest floor.
Odenigbo’s Python's guard old shrines of stone and bone.
Jos's scarred mountains sing their secrets alone.
Cross River's rainforests whisper like Anansi's tales.
Threads of stories riding misty, unseen trails.
I follow the Niger's silver tears as it murmurs and bends.
Crooning myths of beginnings, middles, and endless ends.
Take my hand; let's whirl like masquerades in dusty squares.
Our feet a heartbeat, our laughter filling broken air.
In Kafancha's sparse wild, I am the hawk, the drum, the game.
25. Nature's Cry
By Kufekisa Sifuniso
The chill in my bones comes not from the cold
It’s the heavy downpour in May
The news of polluted lakes
Hundreds of dead fish in the river
The tears running down my face come not from pain
But the heavy smoke in the air
The sight of forests, bare, trees gone, felled by the axe
Defective cars spewing all manner of toxins
In the midst of all of this angst
Are wild flowers that bloom
Trees that gain new leaves
Birds that sing loudly without a care
Wild animals keep getting slain by poachers
Sometimes they manage to end life
There seems to be no good balance
Why can’t we live and let live?
It’s taxing to be human
Said to have so much sense
Yet we turn and persecute each other
For the most selfish of gains
Brother against brother
Sister against sister
All empathy is gone
The universe reduced to one’s mind
Nothing is sacred
And the earth bears the brunt
Season’s change as they will
Natural order in disarray
To live we need one another
The earth is our only home
We must be kinder
More present, more involved
The more we hurt our world
The harsher it is to us
Changing seasons, more taxing effects
More water in our oceans
26. Nature and Me
By Aleshinloye Khadijat Bolatito
I woke up on a Monday, whining about the stress again,
Still, I wouldn't be complimented, not lauded,
I rose from my bed and walked out the room,
I saw the bright sun in the white-blue sky,
It triggered me, and I felt a calming sensation,
I looked around saw a beautiful white bird,
Whose chirping, to me gave inspiration,
That even in desperation, we still got the celebration.
Again, I looked around__ I saw the leaves and trees,
Their moving and dancing in synchronization,
Dispelled my 'stressful thoughts', and I wallowed in happiness,
This is a sign that no matter the bitterness,
I still got to maintain stillness and not be hopeless,
Cuz lightness always follows darkness,
As it's experienced in nature, this is a testament that,
No matter the pains, there will always be gains.
The ocean tells me life's uniqueness,
Looking into it wipes away my distress,
Cuz it's like a being that whispers to me the goodness,
Of this life, this world, and all that's divine,
The ripening fruits tell me good things don't happen fast,
That I'd have suffered and been under the sun in the past,
Then, I'll be celebrated and wanted at last.
Each season shows me life is ephemeral,
That one transition from one form to another,
That the hard times are not forever, and that,
At long last, sadness will pave the way for laughter.
The season of fruits shows me the beauty,
In knowing my time will come—I'm not faulty,
Mine is just different from theirs, just
Like my way home is not their way home,
If nature follows this same path, then so must I,
I'll shine when it's my time.
So, you see, my soul, my doings,
Are connected with nature within,
It heals me, it teaches me life's essence,
From time management to patience and resilience,
It has a big impact, so elevated,
And it’s worth can never be estimated.
27. Teacher Earth
By Tarinabo Diete
You’ve stayed in so long, you have forgotten you own the world
You seem lost, you do not know if the air still remembers you
When you do forget, Go Outside
Touch grass and the earth will teach you
The earth will remind you to be strong again, that it is okay to have rain and for the clouds to go dark
But the sun still pops in for a ‘Hey I’m back’
The earth will show you that the moon is just as beautiful as the sun
It is not a battle of who shines the brightest but a battle of time
The earth will hold your hand and teach you to walk step by step
She will tell you not to hold your tongue and show your tongue not to hold back
And if you fall, the earth will pick you back up and show you again
But the earth will not give you another world
She awaits while you pick it and give it to you
Only you can give yourself the world.
28. As a Child with a wild Imagination
By Sadiq Muktar
As a child with wild imagination,
An explorer of nature's finest grandeur,
I would go to bed with dirt covering my legs,
dust and dirt telling stories of the places I've been, relaying my beautopia of adventures and the things that I've seen, like the endless journey of a river, travelling to a place far from home to a destination unknown, the ants trudging together as a colony, embracing theirs holes to a place they call home, the flow and siphoning of morning birds singing the same song everyday with lyrics you cannot learn. beauty at its zenith.
"Wow" falls from my tongue every time I steal glimpse of the moon, my first love, like a lantern in the sky, slowly she walks, watching the earth with a timeless gaze, a pale goddess, casting her gentle glow over the world below, shadows dancing across earth's landscape, the stars twinkling in fear as though I might pluck them from the atmosphere, breathtaking scenery.
Richness of forestry, beauty in diversity.
My garden a museum full of red roses, pinkish purple lavender, the rising of my yellow sun flowers just after rainfall, admiring rainbows as an adornment of the sky, scintillating honeymoon berries with bright colours, full of nectar. This beauty I can't get enough.
Sitting in circles with our big round bellies full,
Listening to my mother's tale under the full moon, She would tell us stories of mother earth's biggest bloom, and how the millipede coils like a spring every time it faces doom, we would giggle and picture the words she uttered as though it was a movie scene, forced to surrender our breath to the beauty and grandeur of this moments. Grandeur at its peak.
29. I Watched Nature leaving
By Arigbe Sacristan Oghenefega
I watched Nature leaving—
we made a movie out of it,
and everyone is watching on big screens.
The ecosystem is shutting down,
and we don’t care—
we've got a computer system to turn on.
I wonder where she will go,
as all the mountaintops are on fire
and the wild is filled with poachers.
Fishes can’t breathe properly under the waters any longer.
She would have moved to the Moon, or probably Mars—
but billionaires have sent men to walk these places.
Did you not dance under the rain,
as it fell from the sky?
Did you not chase fireflies
as your parents watched?
Did you not enjoy those stories
told under the moonlight?
Did you not feel reborn,
when you had a bath in the pure river waters?
Did you not smile
when you received your first rose?
Did you not enjoy the wheats, grains,
tubers, vegetables
that sprung out of the Earth?
I can’t imagine how colourless,
how empty it will be
when she leaves finally.
30. Living in Nature
By Merit Eneotu Isaiah
In your warmth, dear nature,
I embrace strength and find my home,
With every morning fresh and new,
You naturally rejuvenate my soul.
With every leap, I find peace,
In your green trees, I feel alive,
With a great world like the garden of Eden,
This time, I wouldn't consume the fruits,
But preserve them for generations to come.
Oh nature, I hope you understand,
I would be like a tree without it's root,
If I lose your breathtaking freshness,
That reminds me of the hope ahead,
And tells me life's worth living for.
The wind you give to the earth,
Is unpredictable till eternity,
As it abruptly blows away the burdens of my heart,
Takes my pains to a place far away,
And makes my troubled heart whole.
Now, I hope the world sees,
You're an unstoppable gift to humanity,
With everything ever green within,
You're the gift that keeps giving,
As you remind me of the beauty that I behold.
So let me wander, in this natural life,
And find solace in your beautiful domain every day,
Because for you, time never flies,
For you remain the same yesterday, today and forever,
With an unwavering survival that is forever true.
31. The Wilderness in Me
By Franklin Alex Matthew
If love were as beautiful as nature, then maybe I'd be at peace,
Away from this horrendous feeling that tears my heart in pieces.
I look at the night sky and I understand how the sun feels,
How lonely it is to sit, waiting to disappear with ease.
Loneliness is a myth of man, yet the moon reflects,
How it feels to live with a thousand pairs, yet still feel alone - been there, I know how it feels.
Life is this great wonder you journey through, yet can't find the one,
Who's ready to be with you. It seems the moon and I are one.
So, I talk to the trees, they bear fruit and give air, so it's hard not to feel,
But the tree hasn't moved since it was born - stagnant is all it's ever known to feel,
So, I sit drowned in pain - another thing I still can't escape,
The raging darkness of night, and the stagnant life the night seems to teach.
So, I listen to the birds singing in the tree,
Together with their pairs, I'm jealous because they're free,
But I still wonder why they perch on nests, when they can fly across the sea,
Glide across the ocean and even dance amongst the bees.
It made me remember how good it feels to be home after a long day alone,
Even though it's silent and nobody remembers me,
I still see the smile on my mom's face and that's all that matters to me,
I know a time will come when I'll build the home I need.
But to build a home, you need love - do you think the ants would agree?
They live to raise a king who dies once he meets the queen,
In their little anthill they serve and tend to the queen,
But you'll never see an ant run from home, was his life only meant to please the queen?
So, I searched for meaning, the thing I lack and need,
I wandered into the wilderness, seeking a place to sleep,
Then I went to the mountains, they used to have a cave to hide within,
How did this get here? I wonder - maybe it's one of the secrets HE keeps.
So silently I lay my head staring at the wilderness below,
The animals running around, the birds and fleets of planes above,
What a wonder God created, cloaked in meaning, mystery and hope,
But the mysteries never ended, I still have a lot of buried feelings I loathe.
So, I feel water trickling down the sky, like tears it drops,
Drowning me in its coolness - parched, I took a sip,
If love were like water - it would quench your thirst before running deep,
I still can't relate to any of my theories, I guess my mind is bottled shut with the mysteries I keep.
So, I set out on a journey, ready to find the key,
The one that opens the doors to the thrilling life I seek,
The one that God extended through nature, a gift for us to seek,
Like a butterfly seeking nectar, love is all I seek.
32. Mother Nature
By George Phiri
Mother Nature, the beautiful and yet intricate art of God,
Her beauty knows no boundaries.
They say, “the sky is the limit,” but it seems her ears didn’t get that.
She stretched her breasts and made the Milky Way.
Her feet are rooted deep in the earth,
And her eyes shine ever brightly in form of the sun.
Her smile sparkles like stars in the night sky.
She is the galaxy, the very cosmos.
Radiant in every life form,
In the deepest of space is her echo of silence.
We, the roots, live and grow on the land of her palms.
She bears sweet and delicate fruits that reflect her soul.
We are her extension, and she takes care of us all.
Now, we are old and ungrateful.
We are a speck in her eye.
Hurting our mother like fools do,
As if her nurturing was not enough.
We undermine her worth, not realizing that she is all we have.
Without her, everything is worthless.
We, the roots, are so disconnected from the earth
That we squander whatever is left of her shoots.
Where will we get the fruits of her labour?
Once her existence is never, she will forever be a myth.
Resilience did crumble at the stumble of dinosaurs.
She worked tirelessly through the coldest of days.
Her children now set her ablaze.
Even now, she retaliates:
The global warming is a result of her frustrated breath.
Her eyes no longer shed the rainy tears of joy.
Drought seems to have taken over the eyes that once looked after the earth.
Her end will be the end of us all,
and there is still hope we could heal our dying home.
33. I Am Gaia
By Praise Sage Ndipoh
I am a wonder
to behold.
an epitome
of blasting
beauty
beauty that
grants life
to those who see,
a grace so soft,
to makes the empty
breathe again.
I am an
artistic legend,
a sedulous
soul,
whose very beingness
whispers
of a divine ravishment.
the cold fire in my eyes
informs of it,
divinity
carved
into my very
design,
and a grand experience
that shaped
my wisdom.
I am an excellent source
of inspiration.
to those who will
to learn,
a golden
teacher.
fashioned by the mind
of the creator,
my name
is nature,
your mother.
I am Gaia,
the cradle of all becoming.
37. Where the Wild Things Live
By Aishat Yahkub
I
At the puckered wound of the road,
I watch a widow breathe in (the poison)
for her gasping child then
blow the filtered exhale across its clammy face, gathered
in her taut, fluttering hands—
a prayer/ performed over & over
her reassuring smile almost sad
The fruit trees grandma planted on the day
I was born a covenant woven into the yielding soil
so, I'd never lack, are all dead
their leaves, wispy & tired carpet for the now barren earth
All the birds have fled the reddening sky,
tugged their songs along under gaunt wings
Chapped earth cloying dust eye–watering soot
girl dancing in the rice fields,
the wind in your thick, midnight hair
how different our lives are
Mother says you lived
in a world so clear, one could taste it, see it
stretch for miles, reach for, bleed
into the full–lipped horizon
& that breathing was sweet pleasure
the crisp clean tang of the wet morning
night–loved air hitting the back of your throat
how you'd grow so light you could almost float
how to mourn something I've never held
everything is decay now
II
I am, as always, in awe of anything that exists, cursed,
to wither, to fade, to wilt, to continuously shrink, to
undergo a slow, exquisite, excruciating end, the flowers
& the leaves & the colours & the wings of the winged
& you & me & our song & the light & the light & this
delicate but seemingly impregnable moment
& the fragile earth gently cradling our feet,
& all the scars we've desperately scratched on time
and oh, everything—
This transiency, this ephemerality,
how it inclines me to a devastating recklessness.
34. Castles of ruins
By Káyọ̀dé Abayomi
What name do we give to people who
giggle as smoke from a burnt tree helixes
in the atmosphere as broken bottles find
their way into the belly of the sea? as the waist
of a river is adorned with corks— to say bottle
cork is to remind other trees that their days are
numbered; that their bark will be stripped off
without minding the groan of their branches,
without minding the sap that stands as tears &
blood; isn't this a proof that trees have a stream
of emotions and veins of blood? What do we call
laughter that rents the air when chainsaw snatches
life, from the mouth of a tree donning the crown
of greens rustling to the melody of a gentle breeze?
You must not laugh when chainsaw roars in the forest
If you do, I'll tell the chainsaw carrier to come for you next
You must not dance to the rhythm of a drummer who pays
no homage to the trees, If you do, get ready to make your face
a home for a swarm of bees. A capitalist asked me how not
to snuff breath out of this nation's mouth, how not to replace
humans' blood with soot in the east and the south—I told him
the answer is in the mirror he stares at every morning,
not the north or the west; the answer is rooted beneath
his tongue, not his suit or his vest, in his belly not his crest
For the ruins of your neglect make everywhere hurts, can't you see?
What's a sea if we can't see fishes to fish and feed?
See, this desertification has banished millets from homeland
and Sand dunes aren't tea powders, if they are, tell me what brand?
In Bodo, the belly of a fish is where kerosene spurts and the mouth
of the community leader is where the odour lies. I don't know about
you, but I can hear and see that the atmosphere cries
What's a better irony than gagging what feeds us?
What do we gain if, due to the castle of ruins we've built,
nature forever curses us?
36. Balance of Power!
By Mercy Obasola
I marvel at how bright the skies are, with twinkling lights shining on my path.
I grew up listening to folktales under the moon,
I realize my solar panels rely on the Sun's cooperation.
I wondered if humans could truly thrive without nature,
I've seen how machines depend on natural energy to function.
Even artificial intelligence is powered by man's innovation.
I see the birds of the air as ‘great orchestras’,
I learn from the ants ‘diligence and cooperation’,
I find inspiration in the lion's ‘fearlessness’.
Trees were felled to provide shelter for me.
Bamboo harvesting, so there would be charcoal and firewood to cook,
Cattle rearing exists so that I can have meat on my meals.
I have seen how ownership of petroleum turned neighbouring states to enemies,
Exchange for it produced friendly nations.
I've noticed that those with the most buying power often hold global power.
Airplanes caught flight, vehicles gained motion,
Innovations sparked, fuelling industrial growth.
I can write a book about the impact of Fossil fuel on the world I live in.
Innovation and industrialization changed everything right before my eyes.
Firewood and bamboo trees are already fading into existence, all because of industrialization.
I've witnessed the environment suffer a ton of maltreatment.
Fuel burns up into thin air as smoke,
Fumes and fumes into the sky like a whirlwind,
disrupting weather patterns, invading ecosystems.
An unpleasant smell filled the air as I walked through the outskirts of Elerin road,
I could not fathom what it smelt like,
It was like a mixture of goat faeces with cow dung.
The atmosphere reeks of used plastic, smokes from vehicles and planes.
I see the river crying for treatment, it has been polluted, and it is scared it'll die.
I'm now concerned about my health and the health of others.
I hear the Earth crying out for help as more heat has been trapped in,
I've witnessed rivers choked with pollutants.
I feel the carbon storm disrupting climate peace.
Can the Earth, nature, and humans really stand the test of time?
To thrive on this earth,
Nature and humans must tango.
35. Daughter Nature
By Odebiyi Oluwaseun Deborah
I was birthed from bowels of greenery,
an organized system of chaos
I grew observing the sun and its seasons,
the moon and its beings
unperturbed & undisturbed,
my surroundings bloomed & so did I.
Winter came & then spring,
my companions rejoined the earth,
but I remained.
I was formed from the veins of dying plants,
their last breaths formed my first
The flora & fauna welcomed me,
a guest in the earth’s depths
I thrived in green, a soul unseen,
absorbing the earth’s true force
of soil & seas, of light & trees,
of humans and other creatures
A war was fought, an unseen war
that turned the earth quite feral
a virile earth consumed much blood,
of human & beasts alike
the earth accepted, with unshed tears,
the bodies of the creatures
who prowled & traipsed on its rough surface,
now fallen predators
With peace came storm so strong,
it bent—broke the highest trees
it swept off snow from mountain peaks—
crashed huge ships within the seas
I took my soul—placed it in a body carved of clay,
& it gained life
My beauty remade; I unleashed myself
upon the surface of a perfect Earth
Disgust could not begin to capture the essence
of emotions I experienced
I travelled far and wide, what did I find?
a bunch of ungrateful humans
unlike their fathers who served a fruitful earth,
they set out to destroy it
With blackened smoke— and toxic fumes,
the earth might as well be burning
They built with concrete—harsh materials,
they forfeited mud
they wrapped their homes with bricks and tiles,
(like plants would cause them harm)
they threw their waste into the seas,
(disrupting the earth’s balance)
with misplaced pride, they displayed inventions
that polluted their home
My Earth was burning, she was scarred and wailing,
she folded in on herself
she rejected nutrition, recoiled at nourishment,
a sickening shadow of herself
her villains wounded her deeply—left her for dead,
and her world began to tilt
the earth around them began to collapse instead,
its foundations fully eroded
I reported back home to a heartbroken Mother
whose wails made plants retract
the birds flew far, the animals ran off,
predators shrunk under sheer power,
mountains began to quiver
she sat on her throne, anger beneath her lids
& she made her declaration.
The coverings were ripped,
torn from the sky, and the sun
burned hotter and brighter
Rivers ceased, lakes dried,
plants found it harder to breathe
my Earth bled even deeper
but humans took notice, sat up straight
& realized, the harm they had caused to fester
After centuries, they began to filter, their machines,
their chemicals & themselves
they understood quite late that Earth’s growth
marked their fate, bearing scars where humans hurt her
a sign of their wavering loyalty—taking millennials
to undo the havoc humans wreaked
I went back to my Mother’s arms, a heart full of hurt.
You might know her as Mother Nature; I know her as mine
she soothed the Earth’s pains and burns, saddened for her offspring—
I was exhausted & then
I realized the Earth was tired too.
38. Life's cycle
By Innocent Tarojacho Ojo
My eyes were opened to a pretty garden,
my first taste of life was her flavours cooking,
I bet her scent summoned me back
a flesh.
For I was before now, dust, earth and a ghost,
for I died giving some—thing a shot
at life!
So, I get to live
for myself,
or so I thought.
I took a walk, breadth and length
and on each side,
I got lost in the large space, no vacuum;
for even where nothing was, it felt like this gardener densed
the place with a feeling
of expectancy:
to grow, yield
and thrive
just like every vine
that crept the grounds,
you could tell
that there was a strive for life.
Like I too longed as my lungs for oxide
other than the carbon de-oxide I tasted last
when I last died.
Maybe if I had enough
of it, I would be high
on lifelines and get to live forever.
Cabbage, pumpkins and fragile veggies
made the stock I took, for I still looped,
not knowing what my role was
or if I finally
had the life
where I was Lord and god.
And gods
as I know them, answer no questions,
they say who lives and what unlives,
I bet the prize of god is befitting for men who have an idea
of what being dead feels like.
I made the cabbage
and veggies into— as I remember
from a reckless life—
an afro salad,
the pumpkins, I squashed
to juice
and gulped the seeds
without thinking twice.
But while they grew my belly, this garden died slowly,
and so did the air
in the sphere,
and what I had not known
was that solids, lipids and gases
were all part of a life cycle
and I was wearing away
into thin bad air. With no proper burial,
it was my curse to be lost
in free space, for to be alive again,
you'd have to give your life for another—
unless you become a god.
And since I felt much less
than that, I doubted
if I'd return again,
and if—to same garden,
for she was just about dead
when I left her.
And I'm still looped, unsure, what my role was, or if I finally
got the life
where I was god,
or not.
39. Balance of Power (Mercy’s Dozen Observations)
By Obasola Mercy Tolulope
1. I marvel at how bright the skies are, with twinkling lights shining on my path. I grew up listening to folktales under the moon, I realize my solar panels rely on the Sun's cooperation.
2. I wondered if humans could truly thrive without nature, I've seen how machines depend on natural energy to function. Even artificial intelligence is powered by man's innovation.
3. I see the birds of the air as ‘great orchestras,’ I learn from the ants ‘diligence and cooperation,’ I find inspiration in the lion's ‘fearlessness.’
4. Trees were felled to provide shelter for me. Bamboo harvesting, so there would be charcoal and firewood to cook, Cattle rearing exists so that I can have meat on my meals.
5. I have seen how ownership of petroleum turned neighbouring states to enemies, Exchange for it produced friendly nations. I've noticed that those with the most buying power often hold global power.
6. Airplanes caught flight, vehicles gained motion, Innovations sparked, fuelling industrial growth. I can write a book about the impact of Fossil fuel on the world I live in.
7. Innovation and industrialization changed everything right before my eyes. Firewood and bamboo trees are already fading into existence, all because of industrialization. I've witnessed the environment suffer a ton of maltreatment.
8. Soil Unfurling from Stem: An Anthology from Sub-Saharan Africa Fuel burns up into thin air as smoke, Fumes and fumes into the sky like a whirlwind, disrupting weather patterns, invading ecosystems.
9. An unpleasant smell filled the air as I walked through the outskirts of Elerin road, I could not fathom what it smelt like, It was like a mixture of goat faeces with cow dung.
10. The atmosphere reeks of used plastic, smokes from vehicles and planes. I see the river crying for treatment, it has been polluted, and it is scared it'll die. I'm now concerned about my health and the health of others.
11. I hear the Earth crying out for help as more heat has been trapped in, I've witnessed rivers choked with pollutants. I feel the carbon storm disrupting climate peace.
12. Can the Earth, nature, and humans really stand the test of time? To thrive on this earth, Nature and humans must tango.
40. The Sun Shines on Vagabonds
By Chinua Emeana
Saw someone live my dream out of reach
Plane up high built a head of steam, leaving me
Down here where roses no fit blossom as storms cause ruckus
Who said thunder fire me? Clouds gather to do the honours
Make I dey my dey, waka past muddy puddles
Grass is green yet we still reap struggles
But the sun shines on all of us
Even vagabonds whose eyes wander
Akagom, nothing to give but still wonder
Are rainbows God’s true colours?
Dust to dust when he will call us
Pray for sunset when my time ends, pink skies make pretty sights
And stars speak to me these nights
Why you no dey follow us shine?
What can I say? That’s life
Branches don’t bear fruit before they dance in the wind
So shrug rules and live as it is
In sunshine and rainfall, rinse and repeat.
The breeze shifts, mother nature kisses her teeth.
41. Greener Pasture: For all or For few"
By Joy Omotinuola Agbaje
Early in the morning, each mature mind rises with a vision to seek pasture
it might not seem like it, but the truth is,
everyone embarks on a mission
before we all say here comes rapture.
Some decide to go beyond the sea in search of green trees
because this is what they desire to see,
while some decide to remain behind the sea
to seek for their green trees.
Day after day,everyone holds the belief that
nobody knows what the future holds—
equipped in a journey for success;
screaming aloud, uncertainty
Heightened. And wider, the road leads.
Some on the radar: focused to see their desire fulfilled,
holding on; fighting through the battles as they come;
fulfilling the course for the sacrifices.
In the long run, the fate of a mature mind lies in the ability
to grasp their desired future,
a picture so hard to see,
through every phase life tosses at them.
The sun rises, marking each day— a new dawn,
bringing hope, strength and vitality to the course;
and as the night draws nigh,
hope becomes silent, and strength—weakened.
A growing fear in some as they aged on the journey—
a display of chapters yet to come,
unfolding through every step, here and there
a search for greener pasture.
Times and seasons happen to all,
that which shapes us through the thick and thin,
making decisions through time —
a value creation
The future we all long to see, seems like it—
depends on the earlier we get,
to find our greener pasture,
the brighter the future.
And at the end, what if?
what if we're able to pull through the challenges,
does that make it certain to get the bright future
which we've always pictured?
Photograph: Joy Omotinuola Agbaje
'And at the end, what if?
what if we're able to pull through the challenges,
does that make it certain to get the bright future
which we've always pictured?'
Joy Omotinuola Agbaje, a medical student who only recently took up Creative Writing, says she is driven by the passion of making an impact, one of which is through graphic design & communication skills which include writing & speaking, most importantly she embraces creativity.
Lately, she has been able to engage in both writing and speaking activities that can help hone these skills—got qualified as a semi-finalist in Nigeria's public speaking contest organized by the Orator Premier 2024 and she still looks forward to doing better.
42. Drawn into Nature's Embrace
By Nnaji Oluchukwu Esther
The sun caresses my face with her radiant glow
The air holds me close in a tender embrace
Gently drawing me into her embrace
The trees adore me, singing songs of admiration
While the birds whisper their mystical harmonies—
Perfectly, as I plant my feet in the earth
The sun, the moon, and stars keep watch
Guiding my path around the clock
Like a queen with feet too precious to dash a stone
The heavens align to weave my world in beautiful artistry
As the sky weeps gently— not in sorrow,
But to water my garden and make me bloom
Nature and I are forever joined
In an unfading love that binds us together
Stronger than the pull of magnets.
43. Hope After the First Rain
By Isu Evangel Ewa
-
People might think I'm insane
Because they kept glaring at me
Their retina pointed towards me
Like an eagle watching its prey.
For their eyes displayed
In bold font, distasteful thoughts
But it was never a bother to me,
For all I did was to sit on the field
Grimacing at the helpless flowers
Its Stomata — a pack of hungry insects.
Their colourful petals which radiated beauty
Muttered and Shattered on the bare floor,
Surrounded by dirt, devoid of life,
Unkempt, and yet the good ones
Scanty & silently motile
Waiting for its day of reckoning.
Nothing about nature amazes me again
Unlike years ago, when I was ten
When the moon gloomed more at 10pm
Smiling at the city's red soil.
2.
When the melodious rhythmic sounds
Of ancient traditional drums and songs
Was never replaced with the gruesome noise
Of heavy duty trucks & industrial machines.
With each gaze, I smiled
Like an Oblivion; a silly pretence of naivety.
The grasses waved to the plodding movement
Of the gentle-flowing breeze.
So, I pondered on what would happen next
The clouds had become bloated, too soon,
With the sky turning grey
Waiting for a heavenly Cascade
It'll happen today — first rain
I smiled, exposing my little dimples
I should hurry home, to pack my clothes
For the sun must have sucked them dry.
With a heavy sigh, I sprang up
Bading them goodbye — the shattered flowers
Alas, there's still hope for them
To witness the first petrichor; a pleasant moment to behold.
44. My Meditation on the Song of Mother Earth
By Olajuwon Joseph Olumide
“When a planet explodes into a relic, every city forgets its ancestry.”
—Bash Amuneni
I sit in Mother’s open theatre to commune with nature,
a quiet deity. Since poetry is my religion, I worship
in the pristine comeliness of Mother Earth to sing:
Quietude is her majesty of stunning arts
and sciences of life's essence.
Love has been said to be the death of duty, yet,
I see the paradox in Mother Earth’s helpless eyes
as she watches on
as modernity slits the throat of romanticism.
I welcome you to the threnody of the 18th century,
sung by 21st century, the endless season of the fakery.
I see it begin when God said, "Be fruitful and multiply,"
and you, my kinsmen, God's brainy progeny,
reversed duty to be the death of love—
emptying the indigenes of wildlife
through your machination of capitalism.
You that bloom nature's love into crime
I know your works, plunderers of the commonwealth!
I see how fossil grease creeps in the deep,
and fish suffocate in their haven.
Our deviant machines puff smokes to damn
the nostrils of the sky god,
so that her rainmaker strolls into exile
at the deity's impulse.
Mother womb cracks, and her parched throat
emits hell like Olúkòso’s wrath.
And we blame Apollo’s fiery stares flaming
this tired place into Sheol.
Our skins bear the elegy of no longer at ease.
We are ignoramuses of the psalmody of nature’s proverbs
in the soothing poetry from the throat of the nightingales
or the croaking omens of the ravens couriered
into ears of our impetuous souls.
Our errant ears have ignored Mother's admonition:
that nature is a deity, that if we cut God,
it is our mortal flesh that will bleed!
Before I end my meditation, I recall wisdom of George, the poet—
A smart planet may be a lucrative one
but a sustainable planet is a strong one.
About Contributors
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Isaac Aju is a Nigerian writer who has been published in New York City’s Writers’ Journal – Live and Learn; Poetry X, Hunger and The Kalahari Review. He lives in the commercial city of Aba where he works as a fashion designer and writes in his free time
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Ajayi Oluwasegun Samson is a bilingual poet and teacher from Osun State, Nigeria. He has been published multiple times in Ila and other magazines, anthologies and has won prizes for poetry-writing.
-
Merlin Flower is an independent artist and writer.
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Victor Ekeji is a Nigerian poet and a theatre artist (B.A) who graduated from the University of Uyo, Akwa ibom state, Nigeria. He is a member of Seaview Poetry Club and has his works published in their anthologies.
-
Etowa Emori is a Nigerian Poet.
-
Buoye Oluwatosin is a Nigerian poet.
-
Chuma Ozemene Nduba Chibogu is a Nigerian poet.
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Dipo Keshinro is a Nigerian author driven to make a name for himself in the literary world. Born in Surulere, Lagos, with roots in Ikenne Remo, Ogun State, Dipo has authored four books: Core Essence, Hustlers, Gents, and Squares, New Oracle, and The Next Oracle.
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Oliver sopulu odo is a Nigerian writer. He studied English and literary studies and Theatre and film studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He was Longlisted in spectrum Poetry Anthology competition and was one of Winners of Kepressng short story competition.
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Deng Wien Chol is a high school student and aspiring writer from Jonglei State, South Sudan.
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Abolade Temiloluwa is a Nigerian poet.
-
Ayan Dar J. Basit is a poet from the Philippines.
13. David Adiele is a Nigerian poet.
14. Ahmad Rufa'I is a Nigerian poet.
15. Lawrence Abiaobo is Nigerian student and an Akwa Ibomite. He is currently studying Food Science And Technology at the University of Uyo, Nigeria.
16. David Adele is a Nigerian Writer.
17. Abolade Temiloluwa is a Nigerian poet.
18. Amos Parish is a Nigerian poet.
19. Kayode Basit Oluwafemi is a Nigerian poet.
20. Okekechukwu Eric Ifesinachi is a Nigerian writer.
21. Ishaq Isa El-Qassim is a Nigerian poet.
22. Mrs Mahima Tiwari holds an M.A., B.Ed in English Literature. She hails from Noida a city in Delhi NCR, India with a fulfilling teaching journey spanning 38 years as a TGT and PGT in English.
23. Yakubu Baikie, who uses the pen name: YasNigeris a Nigerian Poet.
24. Ahmad Rufa'i is a Nigerian poet.
25. Kufekisa Sifuniso is a language teacher in rural Zambia who is passionate about writing.
26. Aleshinloye Khadijat Bolatito is a poet and 100-level pharmacy (PharmD) student from Nigeira.
27. Tarinabo Diete is a writer and voice over artist from Nigeria and lives in the city of Port Harcourt. She has a law degree, and her work has been featured in The Lagos Review, Orirre, Applied Worldwide, Poetry Journal amongst others.
28. Sadiq Muktar is a Nigerian poet.
29. Arigbe Sacristan Oghenefega is an aspiring Nigerian poet, writer, and storyteller. He is currently in Edo State, Nigeria studying engineering at the University of Benin.
30.Merit Eneotu Isaiah is fifteen years old and is from Nigeria.
32. Franklin Alex Matthew is a Nigerian poet.
33. George Phiri is a Zambian poet.
34. Praise Sage Ndipoh is twenty years old. He is a Malawian writer and a fourth-year student at the University of Livingstonia. This is his first published work.
35. Káyọ̀dé Ayobami is a Nigerian and an African literature enthusiast, interested in Academics and Yorùbá translation. His works have been published or forthcoming in icefloepress, Olongo, Àtẹ́lẹwọ́, PoetrySango Ọta, isele, Ake review, South Florida, and elsewhere. He was shortlisted for the ake climate change poetry prize (2022).
36. Odebiyi Oluwaseun Deborah is a Nigerian Poet and Storyteller whose work explores identity, emotion, and the quiet, healing power of words. An architect and visual artist with a curious mind, she basks in the art of writing, the strength from tales, and the possibilities wrought within the rhythm of poetry.
37. Aishat Yahkub is a Nigerian creative, poet, stubborn escapist and medical student from ìlọrin, Nigeria.
A BOTN nominee, her poems are in Fantasy Magazine, Brittle paper, Agbowó, Fullhouse, PoetryColumnNND, Poetry sango–ota and elsewhere. Her works seek to explore all that haunts the body and of belonging.
38. Obasola Mercy Tolulope is a Nigerian poet.
39. Innocent Tarojacho Ojo was shortlisted in The Annual Bridgette James Poetry Competition , 2025. He is a young Nigerian Page poet, Spoken word artist and Social entrepreneur. His works seek to promote the need for maximal personal development as a means to overall societal development.
40. Obasola Mercy Tolulope is a Nigerian poet.
41. Chinua Emeana is a is a twenty-nine-year-old Nigerian writer who always loved reading but decided to try writing for a change. This is his first published work.
42. Joy Omotinuola Agbaje is a young, Nigerian medical student who's driven by a passion for graphic design and communication skills which include writing & speaking, most importantly she embraces creativity.
Lately, she has been able to engage in both writing and speaking activities that can help hone these skills—got qualified as a semi-finalist in Nigeria's public speaking contest organized by the Orator Premier 2024 and she still looks forward to doing better.
43. Esther Nnaji Oluchukwu has been featured in Zoba's Facilities writing campaign for the elimination of violence against women. She is an undergraduate of Law in Ebonyi State University, Nigeria.
44. Isu Evangel Ewa is a twenty-one-year-old Nigerian Medical Laboratory scientist in practice at the Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka. He is a two-time finalist at the 2023 RoNovella writing contest and BlaqInk writing contest respectively. That same year, he received his first Award of influence & recognition by List Africa.
45. Olajuwon Joseph Olumide is an award-winning poet from West Africa, Ogun State, Nigeria. He teaches English language & Literary Studies to secondary school students. He's an Afro pop/soul singer with two albums to his belt: Magnum Opus (2025) Masterpiece 22 (2022). He's the recipient of the Albert Jungers Poetry Prize in 2022.
SUBMISSIONS CLOSED
How to Submit
Submit Free of Charge, by Email - pennedinrage@outlook.com
Penned in Rage invites submissions from underrepresented writers.
SUBMIT a Poem or Flash Fiction in Word Document Format Please
Poem - free verse, haiku, Fibonacci, Prose et cetera preferred over meters. Maximum lines 40. Flash Story - maximum 500 words; Fiction. Nonfiction and Non-academic essays accepted.
Submissions
The unthemed submission window will reopen 01 AUGUST 2025 for the third online edition of Penned in Rage Literary Journal.
CLOSES 31 AUGUST 2025
You may submit a 40-line poem for consideration. I do not publish metered poetry of any shape or form, neither do I accept anything that offends other social groups.
Flash fiction not exceeding 500 words on any genre or topic may be submitted, as may non-academic essays or creative nonfiction not above 500 words.
Underrepresented writers from anywhere may submit a poem or flash fiction for consideration.
How is the journal published?
Triannual Online Publication - Downloadable PDF January, April, August
In “The Constant Symbol,” poet Robert Frost wrote, “but chiefest of these is that it is metaphor, saying one thing and meaning another, saying one thing in terms of another, the pleasure of ulteriority.”
The adjective: ulteriority appears to have been coined by Robert Frost, according to Susan J Wolfson from Princeton University, USA, writing in, ‘Robert Frost: Teaching and the Pleasure of Ulteriority’, published online by Oxford in 2023. It simply infers that poetry should say one thing BUT mean something else or USE one thing to mean SOMETHING entirely different. We call this METAPHOR.
Poetry is composed of metaphors, according to Robert frost. It’s the kind of metaphorical poetry written by Chukwuebuka, our new editor. So, expect him to perhaps select deeply figurative poems like ‘Big Lights and thunder.’
References-
https://academic.oup.com/eic/article-abstract/73/1/53/7165125
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/68420/metaphor-a-poet-is-a-nightingale
