It was raining heavily that October night in ’84. Bubu was slouched in a thick leather chair in his private sitting room. On the table was a bottle of half...
Author - Nnaemeka Oruh
Nnaemeka Oruh majored in English, at the University of Port Harcourt, where he graduated as the best Graduating student of the 2002/2003 session. Oruh is interested in Poetry, and other forms of Creative Writing. He is an Essayist who has been published in various websites, and Newspapers in Nigeria and abroad. Oruh's basic area of focus is the travails of the Nigerian youth, and indeed the political problems of nigeria, which he believes is the root cause of all the problems in the country.
He filed the first complaint in 325AD, when Constantine gathered his cronies at Nicaea and made him a serpent that deceived Eve in the Garden of Eden. He went...
WE NO LONGER REMEMBER I can no longer remember The faces of cousins of my childhood Beautiful girls and boys whom together, We dustied up the village-square in...
The atmosphere was still cloaked by a chilly dewy feeling that November morning as Barilee strolled towards Rumuigbo junction to buy akara and bread for...
Graffiti I paint a future. Graffiti of imperfect pictures. I’m divinity– prophet-king Creator of a future in the mould of art. But I’m stuck...
If We Die Tonight If we die tonight, What stories would they tell? …of billions siphoned while Millions staggered around on broomstick legs? Of destruction of...
Requiem for Favour No requiem for you Your singlehood was a scar That barred you from The cult of the honoured dead Believers in a fated existence, Who blame...
Darkness at Ogwumabiri usually brought with it a certain silence. The banging together of plates; the sound of pounding from mortars and pestle; and the...
A Friendly Walk We walked today, A solitary walk I with my slender menthol friend –A fatal relationship. They looked on as usual Criticism in their eyes...
The rain stopped falling in August of the previous year. At first they thought it was the usual ‘August break’. But when in November the rains had...
Apocalypse Pattering on roofs Like defiant horse hoofs The whirlwind; Deafening thunderclaps Dark night seared by The brightest of lightning Harbingers of the...
Soloist for the State The land is green, It’s green for me. Even in the marshes We could hear her voice, Knifing through Our consciousness Dragooning feelings...
