Adelaide Literary Magazine - 11 years, 84 issues, and over 3500 published poems, short stories, and essays

EMPTY DREAMS

ALM No.86, February 2026

POETRY

Joseph Ikhenoba

1/23/20262 min read

EMPTY DREAMS

She sat at the window side
And peered through the panes
Waiting for the blue skies
Before writing her poems.
A sparkling star
Filled with words.
But a trudging sloth.
Howling wind whispered.
Days have passed.
Green plants have grown
And decayed.
But still no ink on patches.
Now, she is frail.
Her eyes deep in their sockets
Her strands of hair, grey.
But on the fifteenth day
Of August 1998.
While crossing a zebra lane
A lout in a steel engine
Knocked her down.
She sprawled on the asphalt.
Dirt on her naked feet.
Covered in a mess of glasses.
Her eyes wide, staring upwards.
And a bead of sweat
Sent shivers across her spine.
A metallic smell of blood
Congeal with dirt soaked
Her crimson dress.
Grey skies.
Cyclones.
Chirping of crickets.
And blank sheets.

THE TROUBLES

1972.

London Derry.

Bloody Sunday.

Placards and banners.

Against the four lions.

British.

That sowed rotten potatoes

On Irish soil.

On an Olive tree.

The Lapwing calls

Irish nationalist.

And broke frosty silence.

A louring sky.

Shrugging off chains

Of internment without trial.

But the monster at hand

Cared less.

Sowed seeds of discord

Between blood brothers.

Catholic Ireland

And Protestant brothers.

With a side of the latter.

But in a twinkle,

The Big Brother fired shots

After shots.

Crimson liquid on the streets

Rubble homes and pubs

Turned to dust

As falcon combed the ruffled hair

Of her dead chick.

With a gritted beak.

Eden of vultures and owls.

Cutting pieces of meat.

Tear from grey skies.

Of groans and scars.

THE WOMAN DIED

She drank a cup of hemlock

On the sixteenth day of August

1992.

And her body ooze.

Strewn with flies and worms.

No one knew about her death.

Except her shadow.

She lied without a smile.

A pale face.

Filled with sinews.

Alive, she built a fence between

Herself and the world.

No loved ones.

No pet at hand.

But when a raven flapped in

It saw a note of loneliness.

An empty dark room.

And solemn shrills.

The author, Joseph Marcel, Ikhenoba is a Biochemist by profession and a passionate writer. He has published several poems, articles and stories which have been published in Amazon, Poetry South, Active Muse, Short story.net, Poem Hunters, Core Humanity Commons, Academia.edu, Writers Space Africa, Goodreads, Afri-Library and Kinsman Quarterly. Semi-finalist for Black Diaspora Award, shortlisted for Natives Award, and longlisted for Iridescence and Dr. Paul Kalanithi writing awards in 2024. He likes sports, writing and scientific researches.