Itanile LitMag

The Spirit of St. Louis by Alex Nderitu

The Spirit of St. Louis by Alex Nderitu

The melanin queen was perched on a bar stool, Checking me out from head to shoe. Her eyes were made up with eye shadow, blue, And they seemed to be saying, ‘Oga, I want you.’ She took me to her place near the train station. I was like, ‘Is this the real thing or...



Though the oceans rage & the waters imagine a vain thing; though the sun scorches the earth's skin & it's rays sear pain onto my dermis. Yet will I stand by my window, & listen to the voice of the wind preaching hope. There are various melodies that...

Our World is Awfully Beautiful.

Our World is Awfully Beautiful.

These are the times We are in dark times, my love. The morning still sweet in the awful sepia sky & I can see war women through my misty window, Sitting graciously, Reciting the rosary on a front porch. Somewhere, at the back of a house, A drum softly thunders...

My Country as a Metaphor for Joke

My Country as a Metaphor for Joke

1. my country as a metaphor for joke in my country, we have forgotten how to shiver when we see serrated bodies in short video clips. the gunshots do not cause birds to fly, women to gossip, or children to scamper for safety. but, there is a headless body on the floor...

Time Is Different Over Here

Time Is Different Over Here

It was what she had always prayed for. Life. A new life. An opportunity to make life. An opportunity to bring life into the world. After years of trying, she finally got what she wanted, a little bulge that turned into a bump. It was a difficult journey for her, but...

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Itanile LitMag

Showing 1–8 of 92 results

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    A wealthy couple crazy in love seems to be leading the perfect life, but nothing is ever perfect, nothing.

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    The woman beside her was chubby and rounded and the wrappa around her waist was hostile to the brown blouse she wore. Her head-tie was faded beige and had fallen off to the ground. Her head was shaking vehemently in rebuke and her body in total rebuff of surrender. The woman kept on bustling in roars; Obara Jesus! Obara Jesus! with her hands striding in very ridiculous rhythm.

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    When we invited writers for this Issue, submissions of any theme or genre were welcomed, but especially so for works that explore the concept of journeys through the lenses of travels and tours―what it means to travel, to seek out new places. To write a story or a poem or an essay, writes Garth Greenwell, is to make a claim about what we find beautiful, about what moves us, to reveal a vision of the world, which the writers in this Issue have done with their work.

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  • I’m pleased to say that it felt like home journeying to the birth of this book. Of course home is where the “art” is. This chapbook contains 20 poems scribed from the very core of my heart.

    “Dancing With The Tides” sends a message or talks about the need to being in equilibrium with the happenings in the world and not to be too attached to one specifically.

    (Downloads - 77)

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    Cries of a baby
    Tears of Iya Abebi
    Evil some people call life
    Isn’t it darkness that brought her to life?

    At birth she takes a sweet full
    Colostrum it is called
    Nigeria, I call Abebi
    Iya, I call her forefathers

    Abebi did not grow like others
    When a father drinks the milk,
    of the child
    Doesn’t the child’s belly get bigger?

    Abebi did not take in
    Enough milk while growing,
    even though, filled with milk and honey
    Abebi is now weaned on garri

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    In seven chapters, the narrator in this expository comic tell stories, story after story of the trending and laughable events on TwitterNg. While it appears to be ‘just for the laughs’, the narrator also exposes readers to deep memories of grief and loss experienced in the street.

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