Being human is more exhausting, lonely and full of wonder than ever — Life in the usually bustling metropolis of London, is still as weird as it was a year ago — relative to our neighbours across the rest of the world. Closed shops and subdued high-streets. Masked strangers with eyes full of suspicion about the unmasked among them (just imagine that scenario…

A Poem — Every day, I walk the tightrope of single motherhood — whilst under the influence of the patriarchy. I have tripped and fallen apart in unsteady love, been left behind season after season like a forgotten thing — the unread book on a bookshelf gathering dust. Unable to see the woods for the trees…

A poem There are times when I forget that I’m a bright moon with a dark side, so wild — don’t hide. There are times when I forget to breathe and shadows start creeping over me, won’t stay — won’t leave. There are times when I can feel you near then…

Unfolding the possible from where you are — with what you have — I call the cold and grey brick city of London home; but the prelude to my becoming occurred under warm skies on Nigerian soil. When dad met mum on a return visit to Nigeria and my beloved granddad facilitated their union, dad was already a father of five and a…

A poem — Every war is uncivil. And the truth remains inconvenient when it jars with preferred narratives and virtue signalling. There is more than one uncivil war going on outside. One more time: There is more than one uncivil war going on outside. Nobody will win. Everybody just becomes more dehumanised. Unlucky for us the apocalypse…