ADAMU USMAN GARKO
Adamu Usman Garko, is still in secondary school in Gombe, Nigeria when he sent in this piece. He could have been a reincarnation of Christopher Okigbo. His poetic depth is way beyond his age. He is a poet and story writer of extra ordinary excellence. His work has previously appeared in Blueprint newspaper, The Arts-muse, Fair, Praxis magoline, anthologies like ‘The PoetryPlanet’ and ’84 Bottles of Wines For Wole Soyinka. He has also written an eBook “Lonely Season.”


His poems here resonate loudly on social contemporary issues.

Roots and Drums Speak Through a Teenage Genius

Of throat nor can
it tale the peril

Of farewell being
Sang by the heads

Of our eagles

At a time when
drench needs the syllables

Of your umbrella

That time after
finishing Masse’s wine

You flee and
leave them drinking their

Dried saliva

When wind comes
and goes like the

Wave of dusts

Just as a broken
wound it aches

Brothers that
yell and kill their dead

Sisters that pray
and naked their sleep

Just for your
emergence

When tenure shrinks
like an abated

Body you come
back downward

To recite and
embrace the smells

Of your cattles

Heaven cries of
the flames in hell

For you who dig
fire in the street

Of Masse’s bodies

2. DAYS
I await gingerly

Like the birth of
silence

In the street of

Black land

Of the birth of
doves

That can fight

The street’s
unwholesome

Dawns I hold hope

That a day

Shall hover

Into this
atmosphere

Where birds of
nest

Dwell under caves

Of fears to be
catapult

By the enemy’s of
love

I await

Your Mighty sword

That can break
the wall

Of falsity

Of hate

And of belly
heads

3. DEAR

Do you hear my
voice

How it withers of
advocate

I yells and shout

For the
Serenity’s of our nest’s earth

So that the
injury of morgue

Will not reach us
here

When we’ve a long
way to go

Embrace my voice
and hide him

In the roses you
bring

Gulp me

Let’s walk out of
dead land

4. MELODY

Voice herald my
yearns

Drowning me in a
river of echoes,

In a river of
subtle.

Smell of your
beats

A heavenly
melodical chants it rhymes,

Flows like the
muffle of gong.

Your rhyming
chorus comes

Like a chant of
Arabia,

Like Yoruba
maid’s gesture.

Your voice is a
minstrel

In the street of
birds,

In the street of
night.

Your voice is
poetry

Your voice i
bask,

Your voice I
satiate.