Author Tiro Sebina

The same mute question that you meet in the street is the ancient question that ancestors grappled with the question that crackles and pops like heated oil A question that unfurls like a flag and ...

Troops of fascists within horrid internal harassers conjuring phantoms squashing budding ideas fabricating elfish punishments raucously voicing fear-inducing threats paralysing action ...

The mute tears we share without embracing The masked smiles we transmit from a distance calculated by health authorities each of us looking stunned from a measured remove eyes perplexed ...

On Fridays daddy would sit and laugh and stretch his legs and stretch his ears He would tell jokes and do all kinds of funny things to make us laugh as we rolled on the sand He would ...

To fail or to flourish to wither or to win is how colourful the melody of life is Lively open arms and easy smiles open doors inviting embraces the joy of company the massage of ...

Cradling a new born vibration that deserves another iteration that will still the heartbeat of the nation especially on the occasion of temporal dislocation for we are not calling for cessation ...

Eyes agog hands sanitised mouths muzzled we are front-seat witnesses to wanton antics of smirking imps with itchy fingers The allure of foxes in pimpmobiles fuelled by pilfered...

If I had my way I would burrow into the sand, dig a furrow into the belly of this land perhaps lift myself above the clouds in some hot-air balloon to check out the real colour of the sky ...

It was a balmy Saturday when we buried him like treasure mournful songs lingered hilarious anecdotes hugging stories of remembrance social distancing failing to contain sobs triggered by f...

Death wears a multicoloured mask it punctually keeps its own odd beat it strikes like a crafty thief leaving us hollow and wounded Death is a familiar stranger lurking around alleyways hi...