Just Adachi

We buried Ozo today—six feet down in the earth. His service of songs was as sober as the expression on his face when I went to have my last view of him. I had expected a face marked with the shock of betrayal but found one with a pensive look. If I hadn't been present in his last hours, I would have assumed he was asleep and was having a dream that left him thoughtful. His funeral had no fanfare, which was atypical for us. He had died young, so there was no need to celebrate his passing. The priest, I was told, had officiated out of compunction. Ozo's dad's money was the lifeline of that small parish. Another person who had no compunction about being at the graveside was his mother. I wonder if she stayed away because she had no tears for him; after all, it was her nod which had led us here. You see, Ozo died young but not unnecessarily. He was the son of one of our illustrious sons, so imagine our shock when a python gave birth to a cobra. As he blossomed in his teens and ...

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.