UNCLAIMED LOVE by AL Latif Kambo-Naa

The nectar that flinks on me
And never goes away
Crossing path was the only thing needed
At that winding staircase of uncertainty
With an eye glued to the blue skies
Mapping out glory days of hope

The nectar that flinks on me
And never goes away
To honeysuckle rim days
Bearing holes of comfort
And ceasing to blaze in their own tide
Yet snoozing through gloomy hours of sleep.

The nectar that flinks on me
And never goes away
On the light shone through the skiing cloud
In Days of scrawling garage
of high mounds of love,
Rooting, roaring and rising
above sinking ship of sadness.

The nectar that flinks on me
And never goes away
By tongue breaker who appears insight
No amount of therapy could restore a dented heart,
thoroughly bred in your own imagination

The nectar that flinks on me
And never goes away
Where love treks through the ranks of understanding,
But never settled in any moment of time,
shaking the very foundation of affection.

The nectar that flinks on me
And never goes away
To a bountiful heart in a greener garden
Searching Seacoast for smiles
Languishing in the wrong worded lips
Of a bee that painfully stinks the mind
Like its honeysuckle.

By: AL Latif Kambo-Naa

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Colonial squirms, masters from Europe

Self styled Lord of colonialism

Queen head of a fraudulent country called nigger area

Abysmally created without indigenous consent


Blood flows in your creation

And you are quiet O Britain

Your fraud in West Africa is a shelter of blood

And blood roams in the Savannah

Power and greed prompted your fraud

And you brought war to our peaceful villages

Donkey’s years after, death still knocks our doors


Your quietness speaks volume And the volume is loud enough to be heard

The shithole is yours

The hellhole is your deed

Lord Fredrick Lugard is the name on our lips each time we die

Britain, the name we call when we are maimed and killed

Does British citizens die this way?


Amalgamation was fraudulent

Maiming is our name

Bloodletting is our middle name

And death our surname

Britain is our accuser

And our bodies are in bits

Our blood is spelt in your name O Britain


Our heart is ripped

And the world observes a golden silence

Unending sorrow is what we get

When will happiness return to Biafra, where the sun rises?

Three million died from your weapons to keep the fraud O Britain

And yet death still hovers above us

It is only freedom, we crave or we die in the hollow of your silence

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I am the most beautiful woman on earth

But death is more beautiful than I am

I am the wisest man on earth

But death is wiser than I am

I am the richest man on earth

But death is richer than l am

I am the most intelligent man on earth

But death is more intelligent than I am

If death has the most beautiful people

Then death is more beautiful

If death has the wisest men

Then death is wiser

If death has the richest men

Then death is richer

If death has the most intelligent men

Then death is more intelligent

This makes me to know that death awaits everybody

And everybody awaits death


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AdultApathyDeathDrawings And PaintingsLifePoetry

Old Age! A Crime?

So much has happened around us
Serious maiming of ourselves
As if we will not grow old one day

Powerful hands that once nurtured us
Bathed us in their own basins without killing us
And fed our hungry bellies to grow

Legs that once carried us through difficult ways
Walked miles unmeasured to safeguard us
Their bodies as our grass to step to grace

Eyes that once taught us silent speeches
Trailed our vulnerable steps to wisdom
Witnessed ungrateful generations uncharted

Ears that once listened to our wrath
Carried us on their falling backs without complaint
Our weight bending their waist to lynching mobs

Sons and daughters of her herd
Has sorted her old life out in disgrace
Tagged as witch overnight

Our vulnerable aged in society
Who has no wealthy pillars to lean on
Condemned to witchery at will

Breathe! Breathe! Youth and Adults of today
Who points fingers at the aged
They may be abstract, you are the whole chapter

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From the other side of life

Speaking out is not a crime

Words edified in nuts that only flesh could crack

Posters litter the street like a songster

Of what use?

In death’s vault, here am l



Mourners gathered in crying

Four cows moo in the cowshed

Seven goats bleat, waiting for the knife’s edge

Drinks heaped in crates

But when alive, poverty stripped me naked

Now dead, pictures stick up together with gum on fences, billboards like a celebrity



Death tolls its end like a weaverbird that comes and goes

Bruised though you may be

High pitched in mournful cry

Wailing one’s grief in despair

Agono, where were you when ants gathered on the icing cake?

When sickness, suffering, poverty tore thy groove




Not only you

Etuhu, you were starkly rich but spent to the gallery

Now, all gather for a play of money tossing

Gnashing teeth of death’s routine

The wind whistles by

Whilst trees bend to let us pass



My hurdles passed to the cradle

Now, you play flutes for me and l’m not dancing

You wail for me and l smile

A great chasm separates

It is your turn to have a delusive dream of heaven

When my cloud became pregnant



There was no nursing mother

Now the sun has gone pale

Eyes bulged out from crying

My face on the posters showing my last

Clouds drifted across the sky

Dashed from the mundane to a land not of flesh



For one judgement, thou art to face

My soul went to thy Creator

The one, l am holding is greater

All of us, our life is like grass

We grow and flourish like a wild flower

Then the wind blows on it and it’s gone

No one sees it again



While your eyes drip tears

Your sorrowful faces keep trying to dredge up details of my past

All of us suckled the same nipples

All of us from the same navel string

But who knows what we are dragging

Not birth dates, not age, not wealth

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I have made up my mind to go and no coming back

There is no Sucre anymore

The taste is sour

l wished for more but dust l came and dust l shall return to where l came from six feet down the earth


A place where termites, moles make a feast of my carcass

Like a growing plant, l died in my mother’s womb and returned to dust

Like a young plant, l grew like petals and attractive

Binged too much and the dust my end


Where would my fate lie on?

I know that one day

A hot ball will pierce my skin and l will return to dust

I know that one day

I will fall asleep and never breathe again


I know that one day

Two steels might clash

My mortal body maimed beyond repair and the dust my portion

I know that one day

I will eat to death and never breathe again


I know l will die a day l don’t know

One day, this beautiful mirror will break

I know that an end had been laid

Who can straighten out what had been made crooked?


ChukwuOkikie Abiama, l accept the inevitable

My fate is the dust

And it beats my imagination

Kings, Queens, great and small alike faces this tragic end

From dust, l came and dust I shall return

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Torn Between Brotherhood,
Power and Wealth-
A Sinful Macabre.
Africa will never forget
Buyelekhaya (go back home)”

Dear Mama,

Once there was a cigarette puff,
A certain feeling filled cape of good-hope,
This harrowing scent of a smoky air,
And I wasn’t going to write you anytime soon;
Yet a sealed sill culled through a peaceful piece,

Though I thought I was on brakes, until
I saw the scribbled breaks
“where nothing is, everything is a deal”
written boldly on the back of a shirt
Hanged on a tattered body;
bodies flushed as WC excreta.

It filtered through the thronging brawls,
an unpleasant mix of loud noise
Permeating the sliding walls of the south,
Ejecting your skin color;
Some say it was xenophobia
and others Afrophobia.
But whichever phobia it was, it was a bad phobia.

I know you aren’t searching for understanding
It’s a matter of delicate horror,
What am I talking about?
Answers for the north or the West
Could not fill the vacuum;
but for the benefit of minds
who isn’t aware let me recount?

Once upon a time, in South Africa,
it was ‘do or die’
which befuddled a multicolored great nation;
Sons and daughters of Shaka Zulu,
Shabala Nkulu, Mandela Nelson,
Desmond Tutu, and Steve Biko,

Dehumanized by Sons of Victoria,
Enslaved by daughters of Catherine of Aragon,
Subdued by Beatrix of the Netherlands
And apartheid by the Elizabethan Monarchy.

Roads bifurcated into black and white;
carting black blood
into gloomy rooms called colored, native, and the rest.
Educated, Semi-educated, and manpower,
What Marechera Dambudzo’s tagged, “aesthetic distancing.”

The whole of Africa poured down their blood,
Flesh, Bones, words, fury, tears, and future
Just for the relief of a Sister–South Africa.
We cried, wailed and moaned;
Painful mourning in the dawn of apartheid.

Turned into a tune-up knight in the nights,
Where sons and daughters vanished into calm air.

A city of Saints and Sinners
where they posit as angels,
Commanded an era of good souls
both devoted and undevoted Africans.

Freedom appeared from luckless blood,
An unwanted diagnosis popped up,
They rode on the wheels of it
Cutlass their defenders to death,
Burned their brothers and Sisters
Closed their businesses
All in the name of “foreign”
Angels of yesteryear
have turned devils of today

And if not in Africa, I never knew
or heard of it before.
Probably it happened somewhere else too
And the world came to a stop
For the birth of a brute.


Al-Latif Kambon-Naa

Picture Credit: Unknown

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Why hate on my kind?

Don’t the same blood runs through our veins?

And don’t we obviously go through similar pains?

So why the hate on my kind?

For if not due to geographical location.

Guess we would have been in the same position.

Experiencing the same weather and opportunities.

I wouldn’t have been a victim to these casualties.

Why trying to eliminate your brethren from another region.

Killing us and using us as experiments with aid as a caption.

Let’s not forget what history does tell..

Even without civilization we did lived well.

Yet through your numerous activities.

You destroyed our cultures and exchanged our identities…

Even during the decades of enslavement.

We fully endure the memories of the inhuman treatment.

And whenever you visit our region.

We hail you as one with special origin.

So why the hate on my kind?

Why the abuse and dragging our heads to the slaughter.

Why thrashing our name in mud amidst laughter.

Yet you use our robust icon as your labor sources.

And you timely over exploit our resources.

But when we are in your countries.

We get stigmatized and killed on your streets.

Why has the system made we Blacks to be blind.

And you White’s the crafty masterminds.

So why are you hating on my kind?
For Blacks are human too

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From a land so far we heard it came
sailing upon waters of the winds
That so haste a tempest it spread and claim
Yet dread burnt like an inferno deep down hearts

All elsewhere in the world
The populace crumbled in fear
As Nations learnt of their fate
Minds wonder when be their date

Ill-tidings about the world’s blood running icy cold
Further kindled fears for the death advocate
As to cough fueled its lethal desire
Yet to sneeze, lit her fire.

Oh earth,
Rest not as the advocate consumes your brood
For so much it has shaken the walls of our mood
Yet shall we just watch on as it makes us for food?

Much a dust must have tranquilly returned to dust
For their death shalt not be in vain as we must
Look at the advocate’s eyes with masked face
And away our hearts in hope for God’s grace.

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