Outside the Cave
by Constance E. Wilkinson

perhaps it is our creations

that kill us. Coming after

the instant air becomes

too accurate, the outline

of objects too sharp,

the bruise of joy too deep,

the rose stained too red;

their brilliances beyond bearing.

 

yes I want to close my eyes.

I want to make the veil, take it.

until an instant all sight

disappears and turns to thread,

until thread becomes veil,

and veil becomes vestment,

perfectly opaque, utterly binding,

lightless. Until I begin

making tapestries, patterns, versions,

lattices. In golden filaments

the safe, solid, poisonous shroud.

I wear my world, having

made it. And this is death.

 

or else even objects cease to exist

except in richness. Even the lamp

at my side gives out light in

colors too numerous to contain

in a whiteness.

as it is so

I close my eyes, knowing

no one can mention an exact complexity

of being, ever, nothing of webs

of connection, no guide.

 

Just a lamp, Only a lamp,

they say, Only a sorrow.

but I say we all long

to reduce and contain what is

in safe fictions, creations,

in tiny deaths.

 

and so I close my eyes, I veil, I want

to shut myself away among other selves,

our dark, familiar selves, in this our

ugly cinema of breast and bone

but it is too late. Even still

the light remains, and even will

becomes transparent, even desire.

even the bold pain of being

is brilliant beyond hope.

 

I am like a child

woken suddenly against its will

and I long to sleep again in the old world

of boundaries and limitations, not to be

alone among these resonances

terrible and endless, not to wake alone

within these rare and unendurable joys

 

Silence

by Manju Kanchuli

 

A flock of slaughtered pigeons

brought down by gunfire

 

floated upon a peaceful lake.

The sunshine peeped over its feet

with another morning, shoulders afire

with illumination, the world awake.

Taking the creatures into a compassionate lap

someone labored day long to arouse

the light of life, the sunshine of the day.

But the pleading of an open heart

throwing wide the doors of readiness

to receive them, opened not their eyes.

The stairway of hope closed, the rain fell

feathers fluttered in the death throes

and the pigeons stone cold, slept on.

For the blue glare of pain ate them

who could find no weapons in words.

For certain lookers-on there was a landscape

and the locals understood the secrets

of the weak who could not cross swords,

only turn on to the stairway of death.

All is as was, there is no escape.

Wait, wait, for the final breath.

And now – only silence – silence!

 

Translated by Greta Rana

 

…I Wan be President

by Ezenwa-Ohaeto

 

E get one dream

Wey dey worry me

 

De dream bi say

I wan bi President

 

I never see President hungry

I never see President thirsty

President no go worry for road

Police no go stop him for checking

President no go worry for house

Na government cook dey prepare food

Na government dry cleaner dey wash cloth

Na government driver dey drive motor

Na him make I wan bi President

 

If President go oversea

Na for red carpet e go walk

Na so so salute dem go dey make

Na special aeroplane go carry am

Na for best hotel e go sleep

Dem fit give am special woman for night

 

President fit take cocaine travel

E fit carry heroin dey go

E fit bring hemp return

Dem no dey search President

 

I wan bi President like Russia dem own

If you sneeze every country go begin cry

I wan bi President like America dem own

If you cough every country go begin weep

 

I wan bi President

if I wan marry beautiful wife

I go order make she come

If I wan chop better food

I go order make dem go bring am

If I wan girl friend sef

Na so I go send driver for evening

 

I wan bi President

Wey dem go dey praise

Every street go carry my name

I go rename all University for de country

All de towns go carry my name

If dem publish newspaper or magazine

Wey dey curse me even small

Na bomb I go take teach dem lesson

 

I wan bi President

If food no dey market I no worry

If dem say price don rise I no go worry

If salary no come on time I no go worry

If petrol dey cost too much I no go worry

If na religion trouble dey I no go worry

 

My broder

I wan bi President

Even for my Papa House

…..But na dream I dey dream….