When the sun retires,
when the clouds, grey
and that beam retrieved
by its visiting foe,
humour me, Night.

With the sweet music
of frogs and the cricket,
with the soothing sparks
of fire-flies, the moon stars,
humour me, Night.

When the coin turns,
hiding good, giving ill
and green is lost
to the heave of grunt,
tutor me, Night.

To sail high above
your eerie noise
to draw strength
from your darkest hours
tutor me, Night.

To draw wisdom,
from your moonlessness
and strength to have,
when your stars hide
tutor me, Night.

That when dawn comes
in its awesomeness,
and my heart, boisterous
won’t a teacher forget
Save me, Night!

Serah Donald Mbachu is a shy writer who hides in Owerri.

You love this, read equally great poems here and here and here.


An old woman sets for a journey

To a land of gold and honey

Thorns litter her path, I recall

And rain of still stones fall


A child gives her for change

A broom to sweep the thorns off range

Another offers umbrella for power

To shed the stones raining over


With rickety umbrella and old broom

Her journey is slow and sorrows loom,

I fear she heads towards doom

Choosing one of abused umbrella or stained broom?


Tired umbrella, a thousand holes

Will well-performed, its roles?

And ancient broom, too

Well-sweeping? No clue


Uncertainty! Confusion croons

As fate ambushes in misty tunes

Old broom or rickety umbrella

Which’s to choose, a dilemma!


Written by Ishola Abdulwasiu Ayodele, produced by @Oke4chukwu as Hard Voices contribution to March 28th and April 11th. Insist on #NoViolence Polls