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-Halima Ahmad Image CrĂ©dit: Julissa Santana Once upon a moonlit night,a whisper on her tongue, a wish, a fleeting fancy, sweet and young. In chambers draped with moonlit silk, she lies, Takitse, with fire in her eyes. To hold her breath, a captive of the night, and steal a moment, bathe in silver light. A harem’s secrets, her only shield, as dawn’s first light threatened … Continue reading A One Thousand and One Moonlit Night
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Image Credit: Prince Akachi Ah, ah! So na she be your goddess now?I don see am well-well.That her skin wey shine like ebony and shea butter,E dey make my heart dey do yama-yama. Her mouth sweet like crimson flower,She dey waka like Queen of Savannah,She dey dance to music wey only she dey hear,And dey use am wound my heart. That her voice, wey sweet like honey,E dey mock my poor heart wey dey beat like drum.That her eye, deep like river for inside storm,E dey laugh as my hope con scatter finish. … Continue reading Na So She Be Your Goddess Now
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-Halima Ahmad Matazu Image Credit: Eduardo Barrios I wasn’t sure what love was, exactly. But in the gentle rocking, the muffled laughter that sometimes vibrated through me, I felt cherished, and protected. It was a feeling so profound, so all-encompassing, that it filled the entirety of my tiny world. Mama. The word itself sent a warmth blooming in my chest, a feeling unlike anything else. It was … Continue reading It Spoke of Love
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-Halima Ahmad The Kano sun beat down on my weathered face, its harsh glare meaningless to my sightless eyes. The ceaseless hum of the marketplace was my symphony, the rhythmic clatter of carts, the staccato shouts of vendors, the melodic lilt of Hausa greetings. Yet, amidst this symphony, I was often deemed a discordant note. I, Malam Idi, sat here every day, beneath the skeletal branches of a … Continue reading Gatangatanaku
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-Grace EniolaLittle did I know… that the words my mother poured into my ears—those strings of proverbs that sometimes sounded like jokes, exaggerations, or even lies—would one day become the compass of my life. Many times, I thought them gibberish: the endless chatter of a mother who must always speak, a mother who refuses silence because she has children to mold. And yet, hidden in … Continue reading Little Did I Know the Wisdom in Her Whispers
ArtisansQuill| Celebrating Wordcraft 