Olubunmi Fatoba

 A relief to some is an obsession to another. To the artist and the creative, his voice, her voice lies in those endless creations.  The creations, although clothed unanimously, but they have souls. Anything that relates and can see into the heart, gratifies some and pierces the others with a hidden effect is a worthy magnanimous figure. To such, we esteem. To such, we allow to live  with us by creating avenues for it to lead others, to heal, expose, enlighten. Such will sustain art, such will place literature to serve its roles to the society and humanity, such will prune the craft and create a living atmosphere for like mind. To these voices, to these creations that crave for a resonance, may they have it, may we know their essence and may they grow with us.

  What is your pain? Is it when you hit a part on something or your tooth beckons for a repair? Is pain something hidden in the pillars of the heart or an open sore? Perhaps, is it how you feel when you see the homeless or your reaction to that clown cloned by his own ignorance? Will you feel a sting when a stranger suddenly strangles you for utilizing your left hand or when your eyes envy you? How about memories that end at the back of the mirror or the luxury of a missing coin? Or about a mischievous theory that locked us home for an endless time and the uncertainty of living that it births? Did you hear about Kina who ended herself because of faraway cares or  about Enitan, who, to breathe well killed his family? Is it how an addiction enchants and cunningly lures you till it dives and dines into your veins? How about life shifts and circles, how do you behold that?