Adigun Temitope Idealism | Africanism

My father once told me
That our colour is a revolution.

He told me that our blood
Is for war,
& our minds are shelters during & after war.

My father told me that our ladies
Are remnants of war,
That their bodies are carpet of rapes.
He played me a tape;
Inside are recorded sounds of freedom,
Inside are recorded sounds of jubilation,
Inside are recorded sounds of celebrating monkeys – that was what they called it
Inside are victories songs,
That are just left for imaginations.
Oh we are still in blurred lines
Of punctured imaginations.

© DATI 2019

BPM CREW

The Editorial Members of BLACK PRIDE Magazine

1. Adigun Temitope (Editor-in-chief)
2. Chijioke Arinze Gideon (Associate Editor)
3. Ugwa Jennifer Adaeze (Creative Director)
4. Agbo John Tochukwu (Assistant Creative Director)
5. Elom, Sunday (Chief Correspondent)
6. Adamu Micah I.  (Logistic Manager)
7. Chime Chekwube Vivian  (Entertainment Editor)
8. Adeleke Ademola A.  (Contributor)
9. Duru Kingston Ifeanyi  (Assistant Advert Manager)
10. Njoku Israel K.  (Literary Editor)
11. Odoya Onisodemya (Production Manager I)
12. Anyaka Osmond Ifeanyi  (Campus Editor)
13. Okoye Paul Chinekwu  (Advert Manager)
14. Asadu ThankGod U.  (Photography Manager)
15. Mbadugha Ifeanyi Valentine  (Production Manager II)
16. Orjiude Amarachi Nneka  (Contributor)
17. Chike Chiemela Elizabeth  (Contributor)
18. Chinwe Ibe Cynthia   (Entertainment Editor II)
19. Ihezie Eberechukwu C.  (Contributor)
20. Ezeja, Blessing Ijeoma  (Contributor)
21. Uzor Juliet Ogechi  (Contributor)
22. Maduabuchi Debby Thelma  (Contributor)

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BLACK MOON By Nathaniel Increase

You are the black moon
With a caramel skin
For you the angels will sin
For you the stars their vows croon;
They’ll crown you queen,
They’ll have you swoon,
They’ll wish you dance to their tune.
I am dust
Mere mortal
Lust in lost
Fallible
Incapable of trust;
I stand no chance
To make you dance
To the rhythm of sweet romance.
Still I’ll challenge the stars,
I’ll take the loss, I’ll nurse the scars.

You are the black moon
With a caramel skin
For you the angel of light
Will stir rebellion, war like never seen
For the entire galaxy hath no greater boon.
For you earth’s history he’ll rewrite,
Make magic, turn night to noon.
I am clay
Mere man
Fickle
Gullible, lacking in faith;
I am gentile
You are Jew,
How dare me your sacredness defile.
Still I’ll challenge the stars,
I’ll take the loss, I’ll nurse the scars.

You are the black moon
With a caramel skin
Your love a game, its prize a festoon
For which the twelve Olympians die to win.
A riddle
A battle
of might and wits, not one fit for a loon.

But I am sand
A feeble
trickle
From the maker’s hand
Irrelevant make-up of the vast ground.
I have no clue
I may never get through to you
Still I’ll challenge the stars,
I’ll take the loss, I’ll nurse the scars.

The Need To Contribute To The War On Corruption

The well being of any nation is greatly enhanced by the propensities of its citizens to adhere to a share responsibility of patriotism. This patriotism spans just the upholding of the physical antiquities of the nation to a more robust support of development of any nation probably through a preemptive strike on corruption and its facilities which indirectly leads to progress. Thus in the piece herein, the need for Nigerians to contribute to the war on corruption is spelt out. Keeping a tab on recent development in that domain. Look in to enjoy!
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B587mDpjGmoaWUsxTzV4R3E2Nlk/view?usp=drivesdk

The Man Of Pride by Chime Vivian

It was wonderful
It was awesome
It was life graceful
It was life winsome
To the man of many riches,
the man of pride.

He glories in his honour
He roars in his valour
Men became grasshoppers
below his feet to serve
and he tramples upon
like they were his threshold

He  merries and rejoices
He soars like in the heavens
He looks and feels satisfied
with his lostful soul.
beating his chest
"I am a man of sole"

The thunder roars
The lightening flashes
The sun shines at its fullest
The moon deems it's light
The heavenlies are angry
at the man of pride

Who put fire to the warehouse
The warehouse is gone
The brakes are faulty
The vehicles all gone
The bank crumbles
The money all gone

The day of reckoning
Oh man of pride and of honour.
What happened to thee
What shalt thou do
The creator is but angry
and fierce with thee

He crys in agony
He weeps in shame
He sorrows in dispair
He is but the littlest thing
He dies in grief

Such were the end of his days
If was awful
It was sorrowful
It was disgraceful
It was bitter
for the man of honour
the man of pride