A Day In Eden


Let me be your Adam
While you be my Eve
The bone of my bones
My found missing ribs
Our ardor shall be clothing
Over our unclad bodies
We shall make love for breakfast
And have kisses for dessert
With knitted hands we shall roam
The perimeter of our new home
Giving pet names to animals
And botanical names to plants
The nightingale shall coo us a song
Roses would bloom as we saunter along
The sun would reflect our smile
By the Euphrates we would take a shower
Upon the sky we shall soar
Until we get to cloud nine
Our euphoria would never peak
Two love birds without wings
We shall play hide and seek
Pretending, I would search every nook and creek
Rest assured you are always in my heart
Till death do us part…
Even when our sun shall set
After the forbidden fruit we ate
My arm will still be on thy shoulder
As we leave for another shelter


Would You Still Love Me?


If I take you to my closet
Only for you to find skeletons there
Would you still love me?

If I’m not able to be strong
After all, the flesh gets weak at times
Would you still love me?

If I can’t afford all the fancy things you want
Cos the means isn’t available yet
Would you still love me?

If I confessed my worst sin to you
Make known to your ears my wrong deeds
Would you still love me?

If I could no longer write poetry
Or sing you melodious songs
Would you still love me?

If my black hairs turned grey
And my cucumber becomes a vegetable
Would you still love me?

The Word of Promise by Okezieorji Patra


I broke the word of promise,
After keeping it so close to my heart.
I wish to see beyond the world,
Yes! The zeal is here,
But lo! I’m weak.
Feels like I’m in chains:
Chains of materialism,
Chains of trends,
Chains of style and fashion…
Oh, I want to see the light,
The shinning light that heralds the word of promise.
Moulded from the dust of the earth,
Flesh so fragile like earthen clay.
I must break free, off these chains
So I can find that which I seek,
The word of promise.
I do not pray to lose a diamond
While picking stones,
I need the light which keeping the word of promise brings.
It has dawned on me that I am in bondage
Of the three letter words called “SIN”,
And I have come to acknowledge that a sinful life
Is like a broken down house where I shall find
No safety, no solace, no comfort; nor peace, joy, happiness, or rest.
The word of promise will make me anew,
And I shall rejoice.
Yes! I should revolt and conquer now,
Behold! I shall get a new name as Abraham did;
From Abram to Abraham and he got the word of promise,
For he was willing to sacrifice his only son.
I shall do away with the garment of flesh,
Which is vanity after all.
Like a new born I’ll get a new name,
My eyes shall behold the Light,
And my heart will keep the word of promise
Which brings salvation.



Okezieorji Patra Adaeze

Okezieorji Adaeze Patra hails from Anambra State in South-Eastern Nigeria. She loves reading and often writes, especially poetry, in her spare time. She’s presently a final year student in the department of English and Literary Studies at Anambra State University, Igbariam.

Mountain Top


Holy fuck!

The words zings off in an oral reflex.

Awestruck, his mouth is mummified in a big “O” like the hole in a doughnut. His dark brown optometrical balls pops in a bulge, like they are about to be plucked off their sockets.

The room seems unfamiliar to him even though everything is still as they were before he left for work in the morning. The walls are still cream, with matching curtains over the window area. Their wedding portrait still hanging above their king sized mahogany bed. Nothing’s changed except her!

From the door where he stands, frozen, their eyes intersect. Hers are plain, bereft of any glint of abashment or surpise, as if to say: why that look?

Why are you staring at us like that? She says, mildly irritated.

For goodness sake, is that all you have to say?

What would you have me say? It’s like you have just seen a ghost.

You should bow your head in shame, to think you can do this.

He just can’t take his gaze off her and the complicit alibi. He’s furious, very.

Please, stop staring at us like that.

How do you expect me to react seeing my wife naked in bed with that… that thing!

Oh, come off it. She sits upright, we both know you are…

That I’m what?

There was a brief silence in the room.

Let’s face reality, you don’t satisfy me in bed.

She knows what she just said is going to injure his ego, but it has to be said. He doesn’t satisfy her in bed, that’s the truth. If not for the love she has for him, she would have left him for good without looking back after their first night together.


One shouldn’t throw away the baby with the bath water, her mother would say. Those exact words would ring in her head years later while she contemplated abdicating her marriage.

About two years ago while they were dating, she had insisted on no sex before marriage, to which he consented without ado; unlike the other guys she had gone out with, who told her straight up that they couldn’t acquiesce to such an arrangement. This stood him out to be different from the rest, as a man of morals and virtue. Qualities that made her to cherish him, and to walk down the aisle with him months later.

On their wedding night, they met for the first time. The night was supposed to be memorable. She’d imagined making love to the man of her dreams on the night of her wedding, to be an experience which would relive all her erotic fantasies. Together they would climb the mountain of ecstasy till they both get to the top. Tired and satisfied.

Three minutes was all it took for him to get there, leaving her behind at the base of the mountain. Stranded. Unsatisfied.

Every other night was no different. After routine rounds of quickies, he would shudder in pleasure as he came, and collapse like a bag of Elephant Cement on the bed beside her. Satiated and satisfied.

She wanted to feel that way too. To have that glow on her face after sex, to feel the painful pleasure that would make her scream her lungs out until she can scream no more. That which would spur her to the mountain top with him after a sweaty bout of thrusting and climbing.

Unfortunately, her husband had not the means and might to grant her wish.

Leaving him because of this seemed unfair, after all he had been very supportive and understanding. Her only option was to get another who’d supplement her hubby’s inadequacies in the bedroom. And that was exactly what she did.


You don’t last long during sex, her eyes are sympathetic, you come too quick. I should have told you how I felt before now, I’m sorry you have to find out this way.

Those peering brown eyes of his pores over the curvy physique of the ebony beaut to whom he once said, I do. If anything, she’s turned more beautiful over the years. How could he have known she wasn’t sexually happy, the thought melts him.

As much as his anger has dissolved, he is still finding it hard to come to terms with the imposter in bed with his better half. The one who satisfies his wife, in ways he can only dream of, whenever he’s away.

But would you blame her? She deserves to be sexually happy as well. It could have been worse, but still he feels a kind of envy for the well endowed seven inch black silicon penal instrument in her hands.

Except he comes up with a better option to salvage the situation at hand, there is nothing else he can do.

In a calm and collected voice all he manages to say is, you should have told me how you felt… you should have told me.

Inner Pastures


across the seventh Atlantic
my ship sailed to the other shore
enroute Kilimanjaro’s Everest
these limbs crawled to its height
through the grainy Sahara dunes
not an oasis there was, alas

the answer to this, I questioned
what is it I do seek?

from my Shokoto down to Sokoto
for the Sultan’s sceptre, supine on my arched spine
like a magical wand to harry-potter my queers
eish, not yet uhuru for these chains
the aluta for emancipation continua
in transit to Cape Mainland from Robben Island
there, like a palm tree beside the Nile
her fibrous feet will stretch in an acquatic flourish
whose green hairs would never grey

hey, close your eyes before you look
a soundless voice whispered to my invisible ears

often, that which is so craved
might only exist in realms immaterial
beyond the camouflaging shadows of the penumbra
like an opaque umbrella eclipsing the sun in the umbra
some place untraversed, familiarly obscure
terraced by thoughts unthought

shine the torch of illumination
on the pathway of this hinterland
let me graze on its edibles to my fill
till my happiness like water, overflows
oozing sweet fragrance from broken box of alabaster
once caged like incacerated Genie in Aladin’s kettle