Lagos World

  Like dew at sunrise they vanished Like snow, they thawed, runoff carving famine into soil I used to dance in muddy puddles, A grinning,witless goat Hooves clapping at frowning skies saluting a retreating rainbow I used to dance in muddy puddles until tadpoles and shrimps alike, Schooled by the chemistry of rot streams, Mastered the shape of hunger There was a season in time, when Amens rippled echoes gagging dim,creepy chapels In vigils of holy tantrums The water thickened quietly Promises fermented, Slimy rivulets of effluent rewrote the language of play Tadpoles learned distortion early, shrimps grew fluent in poison, even innocence developed gills for surviving toxic  filth Still, we sang, Still, we prayed Calling contamination “trial,” calling decay “God’s timing" Now the puddles are mirrors, and nothing dances, We kneel to what we poured, drink what we termed holy, and marvel at silent salvation. © J.M. SAVANNAH INKS -Zimb...

My daughter, please borrow me your time. A brighter future for you l want to build. A better tomorrow l want to seed. So that your stomach you can feed. My daughter may l steal your time. In your future like to invest. Your tomorrow l would like  to settle. Dear, there is no tomorrow without books. There is no future without education. l don't want to be like my fathers. Deprive you of a powerful weapon. Not equipping you with enough weapons to fight the world. My daughter please give me some of your time. l know this may sound unfair but  it is for the best. lt is for your future. it is for your Tommorow. Daughter, please l don't want you to be like me. l don't want your children to be like you. I wish this phase of life to be history. All this to just be a story. My daughter please borrow me some of your time. Please understand, in life there are street dogs. Who keep on barking at every dress they see. There are like flowers, which see...

Gambia deserves devoted and transparent leaders, Leaders who are ready to move our nation forward, Leaders who are ready to dared resilience. Youths the backbone of the country they said,but they're too tasty to taste the fruits of their Government's, As Hope fades and despair became the alarm. When i think the system my heart shattered reflecting only pain and shame, The Gambia is a country burning in silence. The Gambia our Motherland Deserve devoted leaders,  How many peoples wake to sleep hungry like a abundant Palestinians, When homelessness our leaders weaknesses became the curse of the generation. To end this despise We stand as one voice, And use our brains,pens and mic to bleeds out the truth. © MIC WARRIOR  -Gambia This poem is a passionate, free-verse protest piece that laments the state of governance in Gambia, expressing deep frustration with leaders who are perceived as lacking devotion, transparency, and effectiveness. It highlights the suffering of ...

They say Europe sweet like honey in a jar, But they don't tell you about  The scars from the desert to the war, No visa no papers just faith in the stars hoping that boat will float them far. They sell dreams in whispers just take the backway you will make it,bruh" But they don't show the bones in the sand, Or the family that cry waving one last hand, You see the boat is packed, The night is black, One foot in the water, No turning from Gambia to Spain that's the track and if the waves you might not come back. No one tell you about the chains or the prison, The beating,the cold or the decision made in rhythm, They paint paradise with a silver tongue. The price is high when your life just begun, Mother pray, Father wait, Sisters hope you don't meet the fate back home not broken just need repairs,  Why building another's when your roots  are there? So rise up young soul it's time we shife, Turn our pain into purpose Our struggle to gift . Or child...

Exactly one week ago we held our project show in fulfillment of the requirements for the effective learning of the course-REP 211-ISLAM AND THE ENVIRONMENT! It was a glorious occasion with all of us appearing in our beautiful colours of Brown, White, Black and Blue! Each of the groups had worthy representatives who competed fairly and gloriously in presentation, poetry and debates. Many of us were wonderful participants who cheered enthusiastically while the program lasted for over three hours.  We were intentional and deliberate in the choice of the four advocacy groups- Government, Citizenry, Civil Societies and Religious Organisations- to articulate all the issues relating to waste management in Lagos State traversing the five divisions of Ikeja, Badagry, Ikorodu, Lagos Island and Epe. This is because of our fervent conviction borne out of our study that "No one is Innocent, Everyone is Guilty" in the indiscretional treatment of the environment! On that day the...

This is a true story which dates as far back as 1983. I was in Class Seven, the last class of our primary school at that time. It is a sad story.  Our School Headmaster was eyeing a certain girl in our class to take her for his second wife. She was a dark hairy girl with untouched beauty.  Our Class Seven teacher was aware of this love affair, and did not want it to succeed because he did not like young girls getting married  at their teenages. He was bent on encouraging all of us to continue to secondary school. Our School Headmaster knew that our Class Seven teacher was against his intention of getting married to the girl. This created hatred and rivalry between the two of them.  Once in a while, our Class Seven teacher would punish the whole class unnecessarily in order to subject the girl to hard work, so that our School Headmaster should know that he was the one in control of the girl's destiny.  On his part, our School Headmaster would summon u...

It is said in Latin that "Corruptio optimi pessima", which means "It is the worst that destroys the best."  Women are the ones who destroy themselves. I have seen determined single ladies who were bent on setting their goals and realizing them without bothering themselves about marriage. But they fell halfway because they were tempted by the sophisticated white marriages of their very friends, classmates and colleagues. There is no language which all women understand other than the language of "Competition". It is their nature.  No woman is happy being single and seeing her friends, classmates and colleagues married. Even if they are happy, it is just temporal. That their diabolic nature of competition keeps on harrying their hearts to always be hoping to get married one day, even at the age of one hundred years.  It has taken me decades to look for a single lady with whom we will be intimidate friends. I have not found just one. As soon as we ...

It’s seven-eleven! Time to feed you With concepts and shots, With more pixels than Camon Eleven. I’ll glow you nutrients That’ll strongly weaken your mind, Shaping it to dazzle your sight, Until you marry a screen with no spine: Just curves and clickbait grins. Your soul, outsourced To reels and recycled sins. Scroll, oh disciple! Each swipe is a prayer To gods in glass temples Who profit from your stare. Your dreams, now in draft. Your thoughts, auto-corrected. You’re trending but lost; Influenced, but unprotected. The world: now a caption Too short for nuance to thrive. You’re alive for the content, But is the content alive? Eat. Post. Repeat. You're the product, And the receipt. ©Abdulmalik Yahya (The Punsmith) -Nigeria The poem "Screen Sermon" by Abdulmalik Yahya is a satirical critique of social media addiction, using vivid metaphors to portray how screens manipulate and exploit users, reducing nuance and depth in interactions, and turning individuals int...

Abekeemi, a name redefined by purpose and light, God-fearing in spirit, steadfast in truth. Devoted, intelligent, crowned with wisdom, A keeper of home, adorned in respect and honour. Adorable in strength, gentle in nurture, A mother by calling, a virtuous woman by nature. Hummm......You are grace lived daily, not merely spoken. Abekeemi, proud daughter of Ìjẹ̀ṣà land, Where dignity walks with quiet confidence. Ìjẹ̀ṣà blood flows with honour and depth, A people famed for integrity, courage, and poise. In you, heritage whispers softly yet firmly, Rooted in culture, crowned with character. Abekeemi, a seasoned Chartered Accountant per excellence, Prudent in numbers, wise beyond figures. Faithful steward of wealth and provision, Balancing hearts and family treasures with care. You turn responsibility into blessing, And vision into enduring legacy. Abekeemi, embodiment of pure character, Your love heals quietly; your care sustains fully. Kindness dwells in your words, compassio...

The global recognition of Nigerian culture has taken another remarkable leap as the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) officially adds 24 Nigerian and West African words and expressions to its ever-expanding lexicon. This milestone reflects the growing influence of Nigerian English, Pidgin, and indigenous expressions in global communication, pop culture, literature, and digital spaces. Nigeria’s Linguistic Influence Goes Global In a statement cited by PREMIUM TIMES, the OED confirmed that the newly added words originate mainly from Nigeria and Ghana, the two largest English-speaking nations in West Africa. Others come from The Gambia, Liberia, and Sierra Leone, highlighting the region’s shared linguistic heritage. Many of the words are already widely used across Africa and among the diaspora, especially on social media, in music, movies, and everyday conversations. Popular Nigerian Words Added to the OED Some of the most notable Nigerian expressions now officially recognized b...

Is high time we speak up cuz what we're seeing is destruction, our incompetent,so called and fail Leaders  are just there for their interest not for the interest of the nations. This will only happen when incompetent Leaders are in power nothing seems to be working for us if not a price hike,rate of unemployment brutalized,embezzled and Nepotism they embrace. The youths are sad, They're flabbergasted, They are miserable, They're devastated, Yet the idiotic  souls chants the youths are happy. How can we be happy when our dreams and futures are crushed to be smashed by corrupt thieves dressed in suits. The Gambia led by an accidental president is a Gambia that breeds hopelessness. © MIC WARRIOR  -Gambia The poem is a scathing critique of the leadership in The Gambia, highlighting themes of corruption, incompetence, and the resultant suffering of the youth. It contrasts the government's narrative of happiness with the harsh reality of economic hardship, unemplo...

They named it kindly, Like a child,named before breaking him A courtesy title nailed to concrete, a lullaby sewn into iron Here, hope is rationed, Hallways tutor the spine, walls learn the shape of men, doors recall the weight of regret Dreams are illegal cargo, Surfacing only at night, brief, undocumented, dragged from sleep by metal tongues Men holler at cold,gray walls, Suicidal,like caged hogs Sprinting the length of tiers, To smash tender heads into metal bars Time holds the master keys It does not strike, it settles Days collapse into routine, routine into obedience Reform is the approved fiction. Men exit quieter, hollowed of appetite, trained to mistake silence for peace Beyond the gates, the city pats itself, calls this order, calls this justice calls this a house If this is the house of dreams, then dreaming was never housed here, it was extracted, catalogued, and buried with the builders still applauding © J.M SAVANNAH INKS -Z...

“Ah… I hope you know we are talking about the Grand Chief Imam of this community?” I said it slowly, my voice trembling, like someone begging people to remember a name that once meant something. Every eye in the mosque turned to me. Their answer came cold and flat: “Yes. What do you expect us to do again?” And in that moment, I felt something die... not just hope, but the idea that leadership, sacrifice, and years of prayer still meant anything in the hearts of men. Two months earlier, our Grand Chief Imam was not a statistic. He was a voice that led us to Allah. He was the man who stood on the mimbar every Friday and reminded us that this world is temporary. Today, he is the proof of how temporary human loyalty is. It has been exactly two months since he was kidnapped on his way back from Kwara State after burying his first wife. A woman who died slowly. A woman whose sickness drained the family until they had no choice but to take her back home. Her burial was done quietl...

The Lagos State Government announces to the general public that all Public and Private Schools, as well as Government Technical Colleges in the State are to resume the Second Term, 2025/2026 Academic Session, on Monday, 12th January 2026. This is in accordance with the approved Lagos State School's Calendar and all schools are expected to commence activities immediately towards resumption. In his statement, the Honourable Commissioner, Ministry of Basic and Secondary Education, Mr. Jamiu Alli-Balogun enjoined all educational institutions in the State to adhere to the necessary public health guidelines and protocols for reopening of schools.  The Commissioner clarified that Government officials have been assigned to conduct inspections in schools across the State to ensure strict compliance with safety protocols and standards. The Ministry wishes to extend it's appreciation to teachers, parents and guardians for their continued support and urges them to ensure that w...

I once loved a girl whose anger had no brakes. A girl so beautiful that even her storms looked like my poems from a distance until you stood inside the rain. She could explode over the smallest things. Words became weapons. Silence became impossible. And destruction was never too far from her hands. Yet I stayed. Because beauty can be a prison. And love, when mixed with pity, becomes a chain. The first day I met her, she was already fighting and arguing with a bike man who dropped her at the junction instead of her destination. Her voice was sharp, her eyes blazing. I stepped in, calmed things down, and walked her to her friend’s house on my street. Numbers were exchanged. Fate smiled gently that day… or so I thought. Before we dated, she warned me. “I have anger issues,” she said plainly, like someone confessing a crime they hoped love would pardon. I told her who I was. I'm a quiet man when angry, a gentleman who prefers peace over noise. I asked her if she could chan...

We who survived the days our tears flooded ships, the nights our hands wore chains, we who lived side by side with pain; and still survived; what can’t we? We who lived through days when things were tense, before shots, and still lived to tell another day, to remind the sun to rise again, to teach the earth how to heal; what can’t we? We who were made to crawl, our legs clipped with chains, like birds meant for sacrifice, and walked through fire barefoot till we made it home; what can’t we? We who fed on hope when no bread, no rice, no meat was made for us, we who turned scars into stories that we tell with pride today; what can’t we? We who lived when life said no, and when they refused to let go, we who smiled even when beaten; if we could survive when broken, what can’t we become? ©️ PROFESSOR SULAIMON KHALID -Nigeria This poem's a powerful testament to resilience, weaving vivid images of historical trauma ("tears flooded ships", "hands wore chains...

We were like you, Told of the grave's cold creak, Heroes die, its inevitable,  We now sleep and snore no more, Our bones,  a mere pile of sand But our stories live on Like a sign post that can't talk. Our skeletons sleep, silently snoring  Our songs are now silent, Our voices mute But we were once like you All strong and brave for nothing. Death came and shook our roots  It's cold fingers reached out, Like autumn leaves, we wither away  Don't be swindled when you see our last plots  Each has one and some none But all men must die no matter the longevity  Run man! run! but he shall find you The he wolf that knows no sleep  You are all but a bunch of play to be eaten We were like you in warm clothes, But we now slumber, Osh! The grave's cold creak "O Death, your grasp is cold, Who shall live forever?" ©️ Bonnieventle Moses Mkamanga (The Silent Speaker)  -Zimbabwe This elegiac poem contemplates mortality, addressing readers with a ha...

Dear Single Ladies! Stay proud of taking your time, as time also takes its own time to tick. Stop being found wanting to be married, marriage isn't a goal to be won on the field of twenty-two side-chicks. Dear Single Ladies! Identify your dream  like sunlight identifies its time to shine. Build your dream submissively, it would never deny you emotional sanity, you owe neither yourself nor anyone marriage. Dear Single Ladies! Congratulate yourself as you  aren't nursing a child alone. Do you know if your mother nursed you alone? Don't ask her, she wouldn't tell you. If you cannot raise a child on your own, like the impossibility of reversing the actions of yesterday, refuse to be pregnant for any wealthy man. Dear Single Ladies! You also have the right to be the breadwinner of your house, you have the right to own a personal house, you have the right to be victorious, you have the right to impart, you have the right to decide what you want not selecting among...

Gone are those days And It's just no longer the case. We are no longer moving at that same pace. That story is no longer written on my face. Maybe it's just the change of place. We are no longer the same and it's a shame. Maybe l am just fooling myself.  Putting myself in love a shelf. Maybe in this game I am just a baby, a calf. A cat in a sack. I don't know, maybe I am now playing with my phone.  All l know now is App or call.  ln my head what l have now is just your voice and your WhatsApp handwriting and call. Kkkkkk whenever l miss you ,  l don't know whether to picture your voice, your WhatsApp handwriting or your face.  It's just chaos. YiLong distance. l miss those days. Without l, someone seems like would die.  Every morning what was being looked for  first thing was l, the rest aside.  But now l don't know what has changed and lm afraid.  Maybe yiyo leLong distance. Your what's app status is my confirmation that you are ...

There are robberies that steal properties… and there are robberies that steal life slowly, gently, without noise. This one did both. Till today, the questions still hang in the air like unanswered prayers: Who switched off the CCTV? What really happened to the camera? Our former community chairman had just returned from the UK with his family. Christmas lights were still blinking in his compound. Laughter had barely settled into sleep when darkness crept in. Not the kind NEPA brings, but the kind that knows your name. That night, their dogs barked endlessly. We complained. We cursed the noise. We never knew those barks were cries for help. Inside chairman's house, hands were already tied. Lives already placed on pause. Morning came, and the chairman’s house filled up quickly with friends, enemies, sympathizers… and the ones whose silence had already sold him out. Everyone came with prayers on their lips, but betrayal in their pockets. Nothing about that robbery looked a...

A new flower bloom, Where death takes a nap, Maggots congregate in unity, A macabre flash mob, Feasting on the flesh.... The stench of decay wafts,  a noxious cloud,  shrouding the air Death's icy grip relaxes,  its grasp momentarily loosened.... As new deathbed is set The grave gulls its next victim,  its hunger pangs momentarily sated... Too weak to breathe The corpse creaks,  a gruesome lullaby,  as death takes its siesta... Flies buzz, a morbid melody,  as maggots march in "This is fine Death sleeps now..."   ©️ Bonnieventle Moses Mkamanga  (The Silent Speaker) -Zimbabwe This poem's a haunting, gruesome portrayal of death's presence. It personifies death as a force that's momentarily at rest, while decay and maggots take over. The imagery is vivid and unsettling, with metaphors like "macabre flash mob" and "morbid melody" emphasizing death's dark, relentless nature. The tone's eerie, observational, and somber.

He was the genius  She was the gorgeous  The story felt obvious  Before 'he' came along... He showed great determination  She followed his ambition  So clear, was their vision  Before 'he' came along... Grew up in the dusts of a compound  Where nothing around seemed sound But they beat the odds out of the ground  Before 'he' came along... Both made it to college Took their lives on to a new page And their love onto the next stage Before 'he' came along... From kissing and teasing in corridors  To study nights and setting goals Spreading wings and opening new doors Before 'he' came along While he majored in construction  She majored in administration  A brawn and beauty combination  Before he came along... Goals, grades and each other Inseparable, always together  Grew up, grew closer and grew better... Before 'he' came along... Then returned to their old story In those ruins, they found glory  But still, i...

They say nothing is sweeter than burial Akara especially when it is fried for a woman whose life was bitterly neglected by the very children she carried in her womb. I stood there today and watched hypocrisy dress up as celebration. Look at Awon ọmọ olókù... see how their lace glistened under the sun, how their teeth shone brighter than their memories, as if the sickness that dragged their mother to death never existed, as if her cries were not swallowed daily by silence, as if her pain was not ignored while life slowly leaked out of her body. Alhaja’s children… ah, wickedness sometimes wears human skin. They buried their mother behind themselves... behind pride, behind excuses, behind neglect. Yet today, they are spraying Alámù Olóríìnèyẹ̀ money, throwing cash into the air with reckless joy, money that suddenly became abundant, money that was mysteriously scarce when their mother was begging for drugs, when her body was shrinking into bones, when death was knocking and kno...

I am no longer the same And it's a shame.  Don't think it's a scam.   As it brings pain.  But it's the same.  Being close yet distant.  Then distant yet close.  Now distant yet distanced.  I just don't understand this game of life maybe it's chess.  I don't know maybe after her l should chase.  Maybe look at her face.  After seeing that old me through her eyes my heart beat will return to that same pace.   First close yet far.  Then far yet close.  After all for ourselves life we don't choose.  But l thought our own we had chosen Our destiny we had written.  Like always l was mistaken.  Now my life is stagnant, it's frozen.  I don't even know lf you are going to look back.  After all for whose sake?.  Maybe l was a fool, a cat in a sack.  If it was upto me l will  say fullsack. Where is that one flower that brought colour?.  That taste which brought flavour...

I thought love that wears no price tag came quietly, But you said I was wrong. Hmm…..the beauty of love cannot be counted with coins. Gold may shine, Yet it does not hold true worth; The heart knows that the market cannot name Longing fails where desire is measured; Desire that keeps accounts Trades feeling for figures And calls the bargain love. When gestures are counted And emotions weighed, True devotion asks for no receipt; It flows like the river, Free and full. You should know..... Hearts break when closeness is bartered; Trades leave empty bowls, and silent scars. Shallow gifts crumble like dry leaves, But truth grows where hands meet without asking. Patience plants seeds that money cannot buy; Homes rise where trust is the foundation. Chasing shadows only tires the feet, For illusions vanish when the sun rises. The old men say: what lasts cannot be bought; Love is not trade. It is the soul set free. Do not trade your body for coins to survive; Your body may start co...

Let me wander the hidden depths of your soul, press the ripeness of your passion until it spills, be the one you choose  to taste, slowly, willingly. Let me trace the quiet corners of your soul, draw out  the sweetness you keep beneath your skin, be the one you trust enough to consume. Let me raze the forbidden temples you built from fear and borrowed fire, Kneel where silence was once supreme, learn the language your body barred from speaking. Let me arrive at this conquest as surrender, like a door learning it was never locked… bare-handed, bearing only patience and the courage to cave. Let me listen to the pulse in your pauses, the prayers pinned in your breath, the soft rebellion of your wanting. If I must take you, let it be like rain takes dust that forgot it was earth, like ray takes light and forgot it was air… without violence, without hurry, leaving the earth changed and grateful. If I remain, let it be as hunger  that learns restraint, as love that ...

When we were young, we went out for the day, not for work, but to play. Branching every walls, like thrift men, until we had our whole squad out. Then we planned journeys to places we didn’t know, to look at things we see daily. Reaching where tires do move, we began to count and choose wheels we loved and clothes we loved, as if we knew or even had—the cost. Then, to eat, to play, to laugh was all we knew, all we did. We never knew that one day we would stop living that life, we would stop being children. Childhood was novice, not because we knew little, but because life is still coming and had not yet taught us. ©️ PROFESSOR SULAIMON KHALID -Nigeria The poem "CHILDHOOD WAS NOVICE" is a nostalgic reflection on the simplicity and joy of childhood, contrasting it with the complexities of adulthood. Through vivid imagery, the poet recalls carefree days of play, exploration, and innocence, highlighting how children live in the moment without awareness of life's c...

Least I forgot that true love still exists,   perhaps it’s just my eyes   clouded with lustful mist,   chasing fleeting shadows   while calling them desire.   Not to justify   my selfish ways,   but even scripture whispers:   “Let the heart yearn for its own.” Mother once told me,   “Don’t hesitate   when your heart speaks truth,   let her know.” Least I forget that I’m just a random me,   hoping she sees   something worth loving   in the mess I call sincerity.   © TREMENDOUS WENYU -Zimbabwe This poem, "Least I Forgot" by Tremendous Wenyu, is a vulnerable exploration of love, desire, and self-awareness. The speaker reflects on past mistakes, seeking sincerity in love amidst lust and selfishness, influenced by personal beliefs and maternal advice. The tone is introspective and sincere.

They were issued names, Saggy like borrowed uniforms Creased,starchy and foreign Stitched with alien deities The city called it affiliation, Ink replaced ancestry A syllable herehere,a deity there, Identity edited for ease of rule They learned the grammar of exile, spoke it without accent Ate bread blessed on other altars, Worked beneath murals of borrowed heavens Yet, no one asked them to believe, Only to bend The jingles crescendoed, horns,flutes, bureaucratic thunder Sounds designed to synchronise spines, To school the body coherence before the mind could object Knob knees became paperwork, Compliance filed in rows Faith reduced to posture They stood Not loud Not defiant Simply vertical, As if gravity itself had been reviewed for them alone "We are able",they chorused, not as a bargain not as insurance against flame, but a refusal to let survival, be a yardstick of truth And even if not, even if the fire kept insatiable appetite, they wouldn't rehearse a li...

Maybe this year, or never,  I will rise from dust and never fall.  I am going to win never fail,  I will lead never follow.  It's all about dreams becoming reality,  Goals I have set won't just be wishes,  Wishes that I will later forget.  It's a new year, a new beginning.  This year is my year, to break every chain.  The mission is so clear,  With a vision bright.  It's time to chase the light,  And do what is right.  Building my greatness with unshakable  trust.  This year is my year, history is going to be made.  Because I had risen,  With a reason.  This year I am going to walk freely not in pain.  Because it is my year.  TUSHELL MAGOMO -Zimbabwe This poem, "Maybe this year or never" by Tushell Magomo, is a powerful motivational poem that embodies the spirit of determination and self-empowerment. It's a declaration of intent, a pledge to break free from limitations and cha...