Just Adachi

The god of muse, here are my offerings offered in benediction, for through me flows your river of inspiration. Your eyes, my eyes; your mind, my catalogue. Here are my offerings  offered in thanksgiving  for that which was given me today. Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow shall meet me at your door step.

The full moon brought prayer to my lips I asked for mine to love and love for me. How I sighed in doubt as the clouds wrapped up the moon as if to hide it from me. But it wasn't so For it had taken my prayer and wrapped it and offered it to the moon in supplication. Now here you are A mist solidifying before my very eyes. Warm Kind Sweet All man All heart Offering your hand Offering your heart  Asking me to take the leap and fall with you. How can I say no when you're an answered prayer delivered in a cloudless night  Allowing me stargaze into your heart. I'm falling into you.

Decisions were made yesterday So her e we are in convergence Nameless to one another But united in a determination to see the day  through as decided yesterday

He sits beneath a withered flag, bones tired from promises he never kept. Once, he roared with pride, green and white stitched into his chest like hope. Now, his breath smells of condemned oil and rust, his face all darkened with soot,  eyes clouded by smoke from fires he lit himself. They call him " Fatherland" but what father forgets the taste of his children’s hunger? What father strikes his children for asking why the house leaks, then calls it discipline, calls it patriotism, calls it love? His palms are cracked from gripping too much power, his voice hoarse from endless speeches, the kind that promises rain and deliver drought. He tried to build cities and forgot their names, buried his daughters in promises of light, and taught his sons to kneel before thieves and call it respect. Now, at sixty-five, he mutters to himself in the dark, counting the ghosts of coups and rigged elections. His children look away, building rafts from his broken fences, sa...

When a relative first mentioned a scholarship for underprivileged children from WeShare Initiatives, we immediately thought of a pretty little girl in our village, Amanda. This quiet, watchful seven-year-old had a silent struggle. A severe case of untreated malaria when she was a baby had tragically stolen her ability to speak. Living in a rural area of Imo State with semi-literate parents who were ill-equipped to advocate for her, Amanda faced a double hardship. The stigma surrounding disability meant her parents insisted she attend a regular school, one completely unprepared to teach a mute child. At seven, she could not communicate in sign language. She relied on gestures and body language, which made her reasoning and learning progress slower than her peers. When we learned about the WeShare Initiatives scholarship, we thought we had found her lifeline. We were right, but we had no idea of the hurdles that lay ahead. The journey began in June 2025 when this relative came across a t...

The moon has turned its back on me, no longer a witness to the keening utterances I make. Last week, it kept vigil as I tossed and turned in bed. Yesterday, it watched me wander through sleep in search of you. But tonight it turns away, refusing the burden of my grief, no longer a witness to a soul reaching for another already in flight.

I can't stay. I wish there was an easy way to tell you. I can't stay. When I decided to leave, I cannot say  but on the day I cross the threshold I will leave behind a gore that will break you, a gore only you can feel. You will double in pain; you will shatter as you stare at the red streaks. Your heart will clench like a fist as you look back on our time together, what we ate what we drank. You will cry for me. But by that time I will be at the border, trying to cross over into the city of the has-been. Your pleas unreachable to my ears, your prayers muffled in padded cotton holding my shed skin. I couldn't stay. I wish I had a reason for you. We are back to square one. Perhaps we will choose each other again.