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" You see this tree, if you throw sand at it, it will return it to you". Read full story by Ikpe Comfort (Beatitude)

Episode ONE of the STORY.

     Our king made a decree that anyone that plucks the Okasi leaf on a Sunday should be beheaded. Elders and youths pleaded and asked for such law to be removed, but the king looked away with an adamant heart and said that the decree has been sealed.

       Everyone advised and warned their children from going near the tree; my mother drew my left ear up and I could feel my feet leaving the earth.
"Don't go near that tree at all" Mama emphasised "at all" and added "in fact, don't pass near the tree". She looked at me with a kind of eye I couldn't explain what it was telling, and started mumbling words I didn't hear.

*               *                     *                       *                        *                  *

       It was on a Sunday, Mama and I were going to the church when we abruptly stopped. 
" You see this tree, if you throw sand at it, it will return it to you". After saying those words, she dragged me because she noticed I was staring at the tree and wondering how a tree could bend and pack some sands.

         On our way back from church, Mama and Uchenna's mother were five feet away from me; they were chatting or gossiping as Papa will rightfully put it. When we finally got to Mazi Afamefuna's house. I stood there and looked at the tree from its top to the root; searching for its hand, but I saw no hand. I looked at both women; they were so engrossed in their conversation. They were not looking at me, so I seized the opportunity and bent to pack a handful of sand but I noticed some change of steps in Mama's walk. She stopped and as if to turn around and look for me, Uchenna's mother tapped her and she forgot to look at me.

        I threw some sand and waited for some seconds; nothing happened. All of a sudden ....
©Ikpe Comfort

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                          your ndi Igbo.


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For Ikeoluwa.

I have sailed in the ocean — on
your body's warm drenched spot axis,
and i have felt the touch of your
freezing burning hands and cold words:
you said some soft words gently in
my ear on a cold night. and my
body is a tree, it rustles
when winds beat. winds like your mutters.

I have a whirling desire
that we are over the 9th edge;
grabbing, rocking, licking, tasting —
and the passion flows 'n' action shows.
your whole body defines a lot
even when i see nothing but
the voluptuous pillows of a
tired bed, calling me to sleep.

Slowly, this pace beats rapidly
like a running fire. and i'm
burning coldly on a meet with
your whitish round thorax muscle.
glorious! your body is a bike
and i'm good at riding roughly.
slide and glide, make a symphony
of our salvation on this cold night.

Akinwale Peace AkindayoPhilip Peace