Welcome to Okafor Uzoamaka's blog.

Every night we die For 't's then our sorrows come alive We recount the day's sour tale Even stories we thought stale Every night we die For 't's then incubus comes alive Whispering distasteful nonsenses We can't recount with our senses Every night we die For 't's then our debts come alive Debts owed both in cash and kind In times we wish we could unwind Every night we die For 't's then the dead come alive Spirits haunted into leaving Spirits haunting the living Every night we die For while asleep We do not know if we'll slip Into the land of no return Every night we die.                                    Okafor Uzoamaka

We have been here before. Those times we argued till we had our backs up against the wall. We've been here, together but alone. Speaking in loud silence, till our unspoken words made the other fade; then vanish. Vanish gradually, like lead being erased from paper, as if to effect less shade before being erased. Totally. We've been here those mornings I confronted you about the condoms I saw all around the room. Used. They were just two or three and carefully tucked in the corners of the visitors room by a careless person. That was initially. You got bold and littered them all around the parlour, as if telling me: see where all the sperm we would have used in trying harder to get a child went to. I shouted, cried and begged till I was tired. Then, suddenly I stopped. I stopped begging. I stopped crying. I refused to get mad or ask you anything about it. You knew I knew you were still having affairs. You just didn't know why I refused to ask you anything about it again. T