Reap

‘TV screen after TV screen drives past and you realise: we’re going to reap just what we sow.’ The young man, eyes peering out curiously, nodded in response to his fellow passenger’s diatribe. Situated at the front of the coach, he stared resolutely ahead whilst the companion fated to him looked darkly through the faded red curtains, like a huddled up Dracula. Rain was beating heavily on the windows, the greyness turning everything outside two-dimensional. This, combined with the glass pane it was viewed through, reduced the pride of trees and the sporadic eruptions of birds and the dainty roadside graves to nothing more than a spectacle – a painting – whilst reflections faded in and out, synechdocic of magic apparitions being interrupted by returns to brightly lit life. 

Why had she put her fingers in my mouth?

‘We’re going to reap just what we sow,’ said the man again, not moving from the window. ‘The hour of vespertide is almost upon us.’

‘Yes,’ agreed the young man. As soon as he said the word, it soaked into the grey background, lost forever before it could ever have meaning. 

17:28

17:29

He tried not to look at the time but the digitally illuminated red light bounded into sight off every reflective surface.

17:30

The coach jumped and farted along whilst the rain’s anger became less easy to ignore.

The grey expanse brightened momentarily, wanting his attention with the blue wave of a ghostly hand: ‘Look here,’ it seemed to say. The hills, like a huge pile of shoulders, encircled sunken villages and jolly puffs of smoke billowed upwards as the old little building – knowing each other’s ways – chortled and rasped. And windmills splashed through the air, scattering the clinging droplets upon the dead leaves, only to be trampled by a magpie on his way to pull a juicy worm from the soil – whilst it was still wet. For a moment, the young man felt happy, his mood only disrupted by the shameful fact of its pathetic fallacy. 

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To Be Her Child

You need eyes opened to mayhem,

her oldest and newest lacerations,

ears that hear slaps of sorrow or shrieks,

a nose that detects her bleeding,

her hopelessness both of you can taste,

a body to witness all of it.

Divine Love

A thousand letters of love, was it a thousand?

Meticulously torn into a thousand pieces

thrown into a darkness, into angry rain,

cleansing almost, against her willowy figure

and hard obsidian filled waters.

In love with something he will never know,

refusing the pleasure of being with her.

On the brink, a cliff, not ready to be a man,

he turns to the God he so despised,

finds purpose, she will never understand.

He has fallen in love with the divine.

Touch

The child smiles,

Welcome, come in.

Perches herself on the lap

of a family friend,

his calloused hands explore her.

She doesn’t understand.

The child waits,

for Mother to arrive.

Young, naive, disbelieving.

Her only protector,

tells her to stay.

God, she doesn’t want to stay.

Rubina Akter is an undergraduate student at Temple University. She has loved writing since elementary school when she was chosen to write a book for the Young Authors Conference. More recently, she was awarded first place in poetry for The Muslim Inter-Scholastic Tournament (MIST) ™. Poet Amy Small-McKinney, who has urged her to start sharing her writing with the world, is her mentor. She lives in Lansdale, PA with her family.

ECHOES FROM THE GRAVE

As I sit in my chair, in the late evening.

I heard a sudden tap.

I glanced over at the kitchen sink.

However, the Delta faucet wasn’t leaking .

So, by now, the spirit of being puzzled,

took over my natural senses..

The tapping has to be the,

result of a major malfunction.  .  .

But, where?

And what could it possibly be?

Suddenly, the tapping sound stopped.

Then, I went into my living room to sip my,

freshly, hot, brewed, cup of tea.

When the peaceful sound of silence,

came to a screeching halt.

It was that same tap.

Only, this time, it was accompanied by a floating orb.

It bounced up and down all across the house.

A distant moan was heard.

It appeared to be coming from a bedroom window.

Overlooking an ancient cemetery.

I opened the window shade to see,

If I could detect anything unusual.

But there was nothing out of the ordinary.

So., the thought fled my mind for awhile.

Then, I was startled by a bloodcurdling scream that came,

from the front balcony.

And yet, again, nothing was seen.

The wind picked up ferociously.

The shutters were madly rattling.

The wind eventually stops.

But the rattling of the shutters continued.

The lost souls won’t rest

Due to a violent past.

The spirits linger on.

The sounds remain.

Echoing from the grave.

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SAHARA BLUES X

They said my ancestors

wore sackclothes and raffias

of infectious nature,

that caused the outbreak

Of the black man disease.Polygamy.

So they brought chromatic strings

To beautify the nudity of our flesh

So men could dine with lust

And become dogs that are never satisfied.

SAHARA BLUES XI

I’ve seen homes

where dreams are lighted by poverty

and puffed out into oblivion

to cling to void air of nothingness. Homes

, where hopes are fed with smokes

pervading from ashes of bombed futures. Homes

, where foetuses seek to tango with death

even before the dance of delivery. These homes

are silent gladiators that inhibit the growth of posterity.

They are arsenals to kick start a revolution

at the demise of dusk.

MARABOUTS OF DOOM

Devious carnivores tieing turbans,

Tearing decorum of the Maghreb.

Heart steeled: dissipating mortals

With bogus pellets of martyrdom

Ancient caliphates they decimate.

Each dappled ruins tell gory tales

Of pouty vultures eating corpses,

Yet in their guts they still banter.

Hungry dust they solemnly satisfy

With remains of excavated graves

& blood of impeccable juveniles

Catalyzed by feral raids of impiety.

Innocent babies now motherless,

Drinking milks of their sly sisters–

Who now find daily nourishment

Betwixt the thighs of these carnivores

BIOGRAPHY

Ajise Vincent is a Nigerian Poet. His poem “Song of a Progeny” was a shortlisted poem at the Korea- Nigeria Poetry feast, 2015. His works have been published in London grip magazine, Kalahari Review, Sakonfa literary magazine, AfricanWriter, Indian periodical, Social Justice Poetry, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Afrikana ng, Poetry Pacific, The Poet Community, Whispers, Commonline Journal, Novel Afrique, Black Boy Review, Tuck Magazine and various literary outlets. He is currently finishing up a major in Economics at the University

Becoming Human: A story of enchantment and love

Holly Sisson, MA

A Book Review of A Discerning Heart by Patty Lesser

Fiction writer Patty Lesser has broken from tradition in this modern day mythological tale brought to life through an empassioned display of a man lost and blind by his own self-pity and desire for power and respect. The author brings forth from the depths a gentler compassionate love that transcends both societal norms and his own aggressive wounded heart. This tale of two lovers uniting is not without its fair share of turns and twists. Sex, lies, exploits and magic enchant and keep the reader turning the pages as the plot thickens like grandma’s stew with a secret ingredient.

A love story as old as the ages, this Romeo and Juliet-esque story is filled with bits of modern day social issues from gender roles and culturally accepted marriage to sexism and the objectification of women, the invisibility of disability, and the simplicity of natural living being overcome by ambition and progress.

The imagery of land and sea is breathtaking and will immerse the imaginative reader in a world of beauty, nature, fantasy and magic. From solid ground to open sea we journey through transcendental archetypes of love, power, paradise, illusion, paradox and the balance of feminine and masculine, mystery and personal reality. The principal protagonist, Dim Jim, develops a character both shaped by a loneliness amplified by social marginalization and a victim mentality that leads his eventual surrender to love and beauty through the alchemical power of falling in love.

This story has a bittersweet happy ending reminiscent of a fairy tale, yet without the perfect due justice falsely implied in contemporary fairy tales. The real life consequences of decisions made by Dim Jim and his counterparts are certainly not swept under the rug, and the difficulty of a life filled with choices and a veiled sense of what happiness is weaves both tragedy and liberation along the way.

A Discerning Heart is somewhere between real-life and fantasy, a novel filled with the depths of love and the shallows of self-pity. It will pull the heartstrings of anyone young or old who has a taste for the enchantment of magic found in real life situations. Patty Lesser is becoming more of an accomplished writer with each novel she writes.

This novel may be ordered here.