Sunday, November 20, 2011

Yay!! it's

Yea! We made it in a year and one month here; we are now on Starting from the writings of one soul finding somewhere to scream his thoughts out to posting contributions of young creative minds; building a community of creative minds.
The nanty greens crew is very grateful for the support of you all.
Keep sending in your creative piece to be posted on the blog. The dream can only get bigger and better!!!
For more info log on to

Feyisayo Adeyemi

Wednesday, November 9, 2011


by Cynthia Jusi

Stuck on this bed

Heart suffering hundred degree burns

It feels ugly but I know it’s just for a time

From burnt endings; new beginnings arise.

Living in my past

Is driving me crazy

Starting from a blank page

Could be terribly upsetting

But I’ll pack the pieces

And burn them up

Start from the ashes

All those pains and heart aches

From my past often appearing

Like ghost flits

Almost pulling me under

So I am gathering together

The pictures, letters, cards and dried roses

Throwing them into this furnace

I will start again

From the ashes!


by Priscilla A. Adesheyoju

This road I take
Should it lead me back or forth?
I fear
Cos the journey of life
Comes with no directions
The decisions of our heart
Sometimes move us to delight or despair
Rough, bumpy, tough it may be
But the rose is fairest when it’s budding new
Hope is brightest when dawns from fear
A new day will come
And this will be gone

Now I see a light
Yes a light comes forth
When all hope is lost
Faith or fate, fury or fear; we choose
Then we’ve reached the crux of our lives


by Sylvia Ojima Agamah 

(Today, the nanty greens team celebrate with Sylvia Agamah on her birthday. This poem is written by her as she reflects on life.)

This I know

Not so long ago

Met I a butterfly

Beautifully perched on my window glass

Brought to eye a tear I dry

Every waking moment

Was time spent with my friend

The butterfly of morning light

Colours of great interest

So fragile; so magnificent

Enchanted butterfly!

What stories you tell

On your rainbow wings -

A crawly caterpillar

To a stagnant pupa

Now an aerodynamic spell

Your flutters; gust of life

You are me -

A reflection of change

Sylvia Ojima Agamah is a brand management expert based in Abuja.


by Teehem

My heart, it beats
to a song
You and I understand
We can't hear it yet
but one day we will
Till then we dance
sometimes alone
sometimes together

When you say your heart breaks
the beat doesn't stop
the music does

Let's continue this dance
if not together,
My heart beats for me..
For you and others..
It's mine,..yours
and theirs
You know..don't you?

When I say my heart breaks
nothing stops except my beat
you're lost in the rhythm of the song
you dance me out

When We both are gone
the beat will beat
to the same song
..a different tune.

Thursday, November 3, 2011


by Cynthia Jusi

I have been down, down to the floor

Since you walked out the door

I wish you were here to make me smile

But it's too late;you've gone more than a mile

You broke my heart with no qualms

Though I would have welcomed you with open arms


Now that's all but a lie

'Cos you were such a BUM!

Bet you didn't know that...

I know I had tendencies of feeling insecure

That was when I was still yours

I knew the things you did in your car

All those secrets that made you feel like a star

You thought you were strong and I, weak

You had me in too deep

Well, I have moved on

And it's bad news for you 

Yeah it is ur friend

You wouldn't have guessed.... 

Wednesday, November 2, 2011


by feyisayo adeyemi

Can we sing the lullabies

as we sail down River Memory;

tickle the armpit of Venus,

play like baby's first day out

ride the arch of rainbow

splashing its colors.

Can we be joined in the

symmetrical circle of hope

that love might endure our



by Yomi Edward

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I cried as I ran. Then, I stopped. Looked back. The boys were still there. Howling words I could not hear, but I knew it was all about the fun – their fun. Mother would kill me, a voice whispered to my ears. I started running again. I ran. I fell. I ran. And ran. And ran. Then, I looked at my hands, the banana tray was gone. How could I ever stepped into the house without my tray? Without my mother’s money for my sales? I stopped. I could hear my heart beats like the sound of the pestle pounding against the mortar. 

I knew I was in soup. Yet, I could not go back. Back to the uncompleted building. Back to where my pride…precious pride was stolen. Who would rescue me from Iya Risi’s dirty slaps and kicks? I thought of Sadiat. Her house was not far away from my house. I ran to her. She was grinding pepper in her kitchen. I could not see her face clearly because of the smoke oozing from the fire in the kitchen, but I knew she smiled. Yes, she smiled. Sadiat always smiled. She thought I had come to collect red coal for my mother.

“You can get it now…it’s red already”. She gestured to me. I did not move. She continued her grinding. She turned and called out to me again. I did not move. I did not answer. Sadiat, my friend, my good good friend, came up to me. I tried to force back the tears, but it was late. “W-h-a-ttttttttt?” Sadiat let out a cry. Just like our English teacher used to shout when we mispronounced in our comprehension passage.

“Risi, have you told Iya Risi about it?” she inquired.

“She will kill me…”

“Good. Since you’ve told nobody but me, then nobody needs to know”. Sadiat made me to know that it did not started with me, and that it would not end with me. She also made me realize that as girls – with pointed breast and lucrative behind, we could not run away from our boys. She reminded me her own experience too. It was Mr Ologbosere, our Further Mathematics teacher. For weeks, she cried, cried, cried, and cried. Nobody wanted to know if she was innocent or not; why did she go to his house in the first place? But, how could she had refused to carry out her teacher’s order which was to come over to his house and fetch water?

“Go home, Risi. Clean up. Get your slaps and abuses from Iya Risi. It doesn’t kill. I wish our mothers will one day listen to us”. Sadiat kissed me on my cheeks. Wiped my tears with her wrapper. And smiled.

This happened when I was fourteen. But the memory remained fresh in my sight. I hated my body – every single part. I had tried all these years to forget it but each time I tried, I failed. Each time my husband climbed on me, it was not his movement I felt, but the hemp smoking boys in the uncompleted building along Odo Oja.

Akin had suggested I see a psychiatrist. But, this was beyond a man – a man did not experience what I experienced that hot afternoon. He was not there in the uncompleted building. He did not feel the sharp pains I felt that day. How could he convince me he felt exactly how I felt?

I would not see any doctor – psychiatrist or therapist. I would not let it go – even if it kills me.