Not by power: Not by might.

There were several scenarios Sebastian Okonkwo had figured would play out in his life when he was forty, he expected several cars in his garage, a house in the city and a bigger, fancier one in Obizi. He had expected to have travelled to several countries and to be able to wear a suit without feeling awkward. There was a time he had been foolish and thought he would be married to a beautiful Mexican woman with her long hair brushing her buttocks when she moved, but he mentioned it to his mother once and the memory of the knock she landed on his head just before saying tufiakwa was still strong in his head, that incident knocked out the silly fantasy. Continue reading →

Silken Prison.

It’s been a month, a year, a century since I last heard your voice.

I don’t know if I miss you, I just know my heart grips the walls of my chest like a multipronged pair of pliers when I think of you. You drive through the highways of my mind at night with headlights on full blast, as the fumes of your exhaust fade, I clutch my chest and swallow my tears.

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Ngozi…

My father has an ‘unusual’ middle name, it’s fairly common but unusual still. A few weeks ago, I stumbled on a post that referenced the name – maybe it’s Tsar’s post actually. Anyway, he made a quip about the name on the post and I threatened to report him to the bearer of the name, but something nagged at me.

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The daughter and the god.

When the child was given to you, placed in your belly by the father of gods even though you chose to thank the man with the white robes, messenger of the strangers’ god. We hoped you would remember to teach her about us. We watched you through the veil, as you pressed your fingers on beads and prayed for a godly seed. We wondered how you could not tell you were carrying a god.

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