*ADMIRER*

Missing you each dawn,
whispering your name
with each heartbeat.
If you hadn't been an angel
in my dreams,
and the muse
for which I write this lovely note...

It's beyond the warmth
of your voice,
the stars in your eyes
and the comfort of your presence.
It's my soul seeking yours.

I love to admire,
to wonder how long
we would admire;
without words but depth
in the each twinkle of our eyes,
smiling and yearning for love.


©eaglesfrenchacademy

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Now we as adults
would unwind by retelling
our childhood tales
of wit and foolishness.

I remember the dancing shadows
of Head Boy and Head Girl
underneath pleasant dusk
and warmth of the mango tree.

These dreaded seniors
had become silhouettes
doing an experiment.

Having practised how babies form,
the experiment was successful
but their left-over school days
had to be aborted.


©Isioma Anita Adikamkwu

ONCE UPON A TIME

I hate to traverse this lane.
I hate to revive the pain.
Those kisses that tore me apart.
For it was never a 'death-do-us-part.'

Once upon a time,
I was a lover
naïve and cajoled by a muscular creature.
Your love taught me pain.
I have healed.
But our love remains 'Once upon a time.'


By Isioma Anita Adikamkwu

iambijo:
i've seen it, thanks for sharing the story with us.

Please what do you think about the story? I am actually more of a poet. But I would like to improve on prose writing. Thanks

iambijo:
Wow very nice but come and complete it madam.

Yes! It is done! Please read my first post on the story again. I have added the second part. Thanks for your comment. It is appreciated.

Renegadefrank:
Nice. Looking forward to the story. I equally love the suspense.

Thank you very much Francis. I will post the sequel once the 'muse' is ripe. �

It was a cold night and I had almost strangled my mattress with excessive turning. I finally got up and hissed at the disappearance of the yellow brightness of the ceiling bulb. NEPA and their wahala!
I took out my Bible underneath my pillow. Then I heard a strange noise at the backyard. It was Madam Amaka's voice, I was sure of that. I tiptoed to my window and slowly adjusted the curtain.
What am I seeing? -blood! Her husband had been blindfolded and she was stuffing a thick cloth into his mouth. He was sweating profusely and gasping aggressively. What the hell was this lady doing?

By Isioma Anita Adikamkwu

TO BE CONTINUED!
Please your comments would be highly appreciated!


MIDNIGHT CRY. (part 2)
I suddenly realized that my face was literally glued to my glass window. I was electrified. I had never witnessed murder or manslaughter prior to this time. There I was fear struck and confused. Should I intervene or simply alert the neighbors? But were they all dead asleep?
I decided to trace the blood. Unbelievable!! I gathered unwanted courage and dashed out of my room to the backyard. I was shouting, "Neighbors oh! Come and see oh!"
Fortunately, Papa Bimpe and Iya Segun also dashed out of their rooms as NEPA returned the electric current. But it was too late. His manhood was stiff, dead in its own pool of blood. Our landlord had been castrated; that was the midnight cry.
Iya Segun's eyes were glued to the disconnected organ until I shut down her gaze:
"Iya Segun, please we need to call the ambulance immediately!!"
"What about Madam Amaka? Where is the unlicensed butcher?", Papa Bimpe added.
I examined our landlord carefully. He was breathing like a he-goat after the first slash of a cutlass. I looked at the pool of blood... I saw a photograph lying at the coagulating edge. It was a photograph of our landlord on top of a woman. I shook my head. Now I knew why that organ had been disconnected.


By Isioma Anita Adikamkwu



Thanks for reading! I would sincerely appreciate your comments.

HIGH HEELS

Young billionaire,
so you followed...
You perched at the bustop
of high heels and cigarettes.
You came ready.
She lured you...
You took off your Agbada.
But your brain went off with it
when High Heels
pulled the trigger without a kiss.
Snatching your swollen briefcase
full of cool American dollars.

By Isioma Anita Adikamkwu.
Book editor and French tutor.
+234 7087244387

Thank you Frank! ��

"Time and solitude are two efficient tools of a creative mind. You need time to write but solitude to think out of the box."

----Isioma Anita Adikamkwu, Editor and French tutor ©2018