In Ifite, it’s always cloudy,

And it rains bullets.


Ben was drenched in his own blood.

The day before, Ken surrendered his room

with a rifle against his head


More than once, I’ve been in a race with stray bullets.

I won. Tochi never did.

In a day, we die many times.

Call the government cowards.

We’re chasing a Degree and safety


Today, I won again- this death race with stray bullets.

My room is the finish line. Tomorrow, it may be a funeral home.

Someday, my co-rival might take a shortcut through my body

and quicken the fall into my mother’s arms

& God’s acre.

In Ifite, it’s always cloudy;

It rains blood & bullets.

I want to go home a graduate,

Not as grief.

Godstime Nwaeze is a poet and an essayist published here and there. He is presently studying for a Bachelor of Laws at Nnamdi Azikiwe University.