Author: Artisansquill

Sticky post
Issue 2| Old Forms, New Worlds, unconstrained quill

Memories from Night Tales

-Alfred Olaiya Mother, mother, send down the rope,           alujanjan kirijan. Mother, mother, send down the rope,           alujanjan kirijan. Night’s glints slit tendrils into hollow footprints on desolate playground. Sẹ̀kẹ̀rẹ̀, termites-loam draped, will not indulge in this silenced chorus. Grandmother, passage of your tongue; sinuous labyrinth, buoyed me to crested currents—plunged in flipping leaves; of the … Continue reading Memories from Night Tales

Unknown's avatarArtisansquillLeave a comment
Sticky post
Issue 2| Old Forms, New Worlds, unconstrained quill

Ire

-Alfred Olaiya I once had a trance of joyous deities, clad in the white robes of Obatala, treading at the gate of heavens. With thier Ă¬rĂąkẹ̀rẹ̀ swaying to the solemn rhythm, they sang the chorus of good fortunes: “May the treasure of our benevolent father seek after the upright humans and may his divine blessings shower on every righteous soul. Ire e.”  And they danced with grace, like the áş¸Ě€yọ̀s, on the sacred passage of firmaments. Continue reading Ire

Unknown's avatarArtisansquillLeave a comment
Sticky post
Issue 2| Old Forms, New Worlds

Eulogy for the Broken

Valentine Chimenem Owhorodu, PhD Image Copyright: https://unsplash.com/photos/an-old-vase-sitting-in-the-middle-of-a-forest-Eu4R4zjcg0M?utm_content=creditShareLink&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash Listen!It is said in the wisdom of the elders: The plate made of clay must one day meet the ground. Yes! It is appointed unto breakable plate that breakable plate must break. But plastic? Ah, my people, plastic fears nothing. It falls and bounces. It drops and laughs. It carries food, yes, but it carries no memory, no legacy. No griot … Continue reading Eulogy for the Broken

Unknown's avatarArtisansquillLeave a comment
unconstrained quill

Pride: Boy, You Are Flying

fly, be youthful, enjoy the grace of independence that has scratched itself into your skin, fly but don’t forget the measure of your wing’s strength, the ground is full of pebbles and stones. Boy, fly, measure well, the length of drought that will come draw water out of your river, don’t break a wall, don’t break the dam. Boy, fly. I penned these words from … Continue reading Pride: Boy, You Are Flying

Unknown's avatarArtisansquillLeave a comment