The Kolo Kenneth Kadiri Blog

I got life on campus Fairytales to my name The spitting pen of valour When you commissioned me For war of flying words What pact be ...

I ate Biafra, the zealot fruit, come, to spirits, when the umunna tarries the half sun Biafra, a flying hut neighbours with a pa...

After bouts of shredding barks When in sorrow's shackles tears flow And in darkness' height depression looms I want to be your l...

Ayuka grew up to be told she had to wear distinct clothes that differentiated her from her brothers. She was a very beautiful girl, and ...

You are the silo of my thoughts Where the pollens graze Where the scythes leash in Famished gardens of my heart Where hungry pests flirt Bl...

We ate the roads Sinewy comic lesions Where offerings burned Bread cast upon dry ground It was at the skirt of Minna – sackful Just bef...

The night was cold. It was not traditional, like all nights – natural and usual. It was already two weeks in to the harmattan, but the he...

I’d be god When Ra kills his rage I’d be god Me Of a barren skin – Fruitless I’d be god No need for homoestasis The petalled plume to wilt ...

Feet don't fail me now My demons becloud again Wont for more than they bargained Poke me dream, will you? Dally your barrage of ...

“ No one is born a good citizen; no nation is born a democracy. Rather, both are processes that continue to evolve over a lifetime. You...