Smearing Pleas On The Portrait Of My Lover As A Prodigal Outlaw


there’s nothing left for me/ but to queue my life into the gang of infidels/ stretch myself into a clueless rebel/ gasping for the clasp of a thing i consciously lost/ with a chant of forgiveness/ it’s no regret without the “solemn worships”/ losing you was a sin I won’t forgive at ease/ I mean how do I forget the ablution I performed without water?/ I mean how do I forget to remember losing a bar of gold for a coloured pebble?/ I wish I knew why father said most precious things don’t look precious/ ’cause I was too desperate to even notice the comfort stewing in your calmness/ I was blindfolded by the sweet gestures coming from a passerby so I fell into her gaze and now I’m bleeding/ before you cleanse my thoughts from your closet/ tell me/ how does one reclaim a place he rued/ & condense the cool oceans he burnt?/ is there any route to reconciliation and forgiveness for a prodigal outlaw?/ how can I serve selflessly to prove my loyalty in a place I was once a rebel?/ can I be your slow songs/ a dull music/ can you sing me when memories hunt your sleep/ I want to be part of you again/ I don’t care the conditions you’ll place on my acceptance/ I just want to taste the old places/ I just want to be at home/ even if this home will forever see me a visitor.


Poem as a Resting Alcove


i transcended from void scenes into cascades of soliloquy—-a batch of solitude breaking into violent hush & i fingered the vibrating pieces of my tongue into an orgasmic silence—-truly the world owes me some accolades. to breathe freely within a space of captivated air as a forgotten body whose only napping alcove is within the sarcophagus of teary poems—-a religion housing the ghost of my wandering soul…i wish to dissolve my bitterness into rainwater: chill it under a deep freezer, add some little sugar to it when it turns very cold & convey it down to the bed of my intestines in a sweet state—-i truly deserve some sympathy, especially for how committed I’ve been to the shaded hallucinations that pile up into thick darkness hovering over me. i really deserve some discount for being a regular client to everything that rains burning oceans in my heart—-there’s a way this place trained me to reject myself after walking down the dusty lane to my hostel every evening; it reminds me of how thorny i seem to every arm i run to for shelter. it also reminds me of how cloudy my eyes become, how bloated my cheeks seem & how empty my brain dresses at the inauguration of the gorgeous demons waiting to feast on my famished heart—-every effort a scathing stab, uncovering the peace of my mind before the scorching rays of this cruel place. in my eyes, i gathered broken prisms, scampered after the light bulb to see clearly my refracted diagram. grace my palms, broaden my chest & prepare them to forecast the lightning waiting to launch a strike on my soul. i want to make this my body a military soldier—-but i keep finding peace in surviving as a bloodthirsty terrorist to my own body—-my blood is a bottomless brine drowning my heart. i only feel at home when i rest in the alcoves of the poem i scribble from my clotted pains.




Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan is an emerging writer from the Ebonyi State of Nigeria. He writes autobiographically about life, the boy-child, and about multiple aspects of the ebbing African culture. He is a penultimate Medical Laboratory Science student with lots of unpublished works to his credit. His works have been published at Quills, Ace World, U-RIGHT magazine, Parousia Magazine, The Lake, LiteLitOne, Inverse Journal, The SprinNG, Journal Nine, e.t.c. and has also contributed to several anthologies. He was the winner of the 2018 FUNAI Crew Literary Contest.