Short Story: Seasons By Dami Lola
Mother was in one of the armchairs and not only was I surprised to see that she filled the chair, but she was sitting in the darkness.
Poem: Mediterranean By Okoli Stephen
How many boats are never spotted?
How many bodies are never fished from the sea?
This sea that hides many black bodies
stench of human misery:
of sweat, urine, vomit and blood
and flows from pains, from lack, from torture.