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Efe Ogufere

Kop and Budding Poet.
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Latest posts by Efe Ogufere (see all)

underneath this melanin,

I hold orphans and little-broken children

with acne beneath their eyes and freckle-spotted cheeks.

they sit in a closely knit group and hum a tune,

one I know so well, that speaks of a man and his many demons.

the crescendo builds as they pitch, in a bid to outdo the voices of their

brothers in my head.

the words I long to say ferment in my mouth,

dissolve my teeth and tongue

into a stream, melancholy is a waterfall.

hunger is easy for seedlings hardened by harsh conditions.

I watch a boy pour himself from a bridge

his body becomes blood

becomes water

becomes god

becomes art


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