About Me

My journey as a storyteller began long before I put pen to paper. Growing up in Northern Nigeria, I was surrounded by rich oral traditions—folktales told under moonlight, proverbs that carried generations of wisdom, and poetry that danced between Hausa, Arabic, and English.

These early influences shaped my desire to capture the human experience in all its complexity. My work explores themes of faith, identity, love, and the delicate threads that connect us across cultures.

Today, I write to bridge worlds—between tradition and modernity, between Nigeria and the global stage, between the spiritual and the everyday. Every word I craft is an invitation to see the world through new eyes.

17
Years Writing

5
Novels

89+
Poems

1k+
Readers

My Story

In my early years, at primary school, in the 1980s, I stumbled upon an amazing poem about scars. Our teacher, bless her heart, explained how scars aren't just physical marks but reminders of the battles we've fought. That lesson stuck with me, inspiring me to write two poetry collections and four novels since then.

Despite my natural shyness and reluctance to participate in public events like poetry readings and competitions, I've found joy in sharing my work online, thanks to the wonders of technology. My academic journey includes earning a BSc in International Studies from A.B.U Zaria and an MSc in International Relations and Diplomacy from Nile University, Abuja — completing my thesis in 2024 on COVID-19 vaccine nationalism and dependency in Africa.

Today, I'm happily settled in Abuja, Nigeria, with my husband and two children, embracing the balance between family life and my passion for writing and learning.

✦ Fascinating Things About Me

• 🗣️ I speak 3 languages fluently: English, Hausa, and Fulfulde. And I can also read and write Arabic.
• 💻 I am a Microsoft certified professional and have web-designing skills.
• 🌀 I have a fear of wobbly ceiling fans. Why? Well... gravity. Duh!
• 🐱 I love cats.

1980s

Discovered the poem about scars that changed everything.

2008

First poetry collection, "With Love."

2014

Published "Fantah" and "The Thin Line."

2022

Journey to Hajj — transformed my creative vision.

2023

Launched "An Epic Journeyof Faith.

2024

Msc International Relations and Diplomacy."

A Tragedy and a Miracle

April 17, 2026 • 5 min read

Oh, grief.

Something terrible happened to me on the 17th of April, this month, 2026.

I was in my room when my girl came in and told me that… something bad had happened. A terrible accident.

Somebody reversed a car… and killed my cats.

You see, a few weeks back, my female cat gave birth to four kittens. Four full, lovely kittens.

I loved them so much.

We raised them for weeks. They were still tiny, still suckling, even though they had started eating small food, and they were growing so well. Healthy. Beautiful.

We named them — Gimbia (Princess), Funke, Chioma, and Bodejo (Ginger). Four beautiful names, after the four famous tribes in Nigeria.

I even opened a social media page for them — The Agebutter Squad. It was supposed to be wholesome. I wanted to post their daily shenanigans, their little lives, everything.

Just that morning, I had tried to upload a video of them playing. It was too heavy to post, but I still wrote about them — about the food we cooked, how we tried to make it nutritious.

It was all so beautiful.

And then, suddenly… somebody crushed the heads of my cats.

It is such a bizarre incident. I still don't understand how it even happened with a car. Three of them died instantly.

The fourth kitten was missing.

One of them… I thought it was still alive. I rushed it to the veterinary hospital, hoping. But it was declared dead.

We couldn't find the last kitten.

I didn't even know how to react. I was just… heartbroken. In pain.

After a while, I tried to accept that they were gone. But I was grieving them more than I thought I was capable of.

The mother… she refused to eat. We put food for her, but she wouldn't touch it. She just kept calling out for her children.

Oh my God.

It is the most heartbreaking thing.

Four days passed.

And then… something happened.

Something I can only call a miracle.

Someone in my house found the last kitten somewhere in our neighbourhood, near our mosque.

That kitten had been surviving on its own.

People had been giving it food. And somehow… it was still alive. Not even injured.

Oh my God.

As soon as it came home, it went straight to the mother and started suckling. And the mother… she started eating again.

It was the most incredible thing.

Yes, I lost three kittens.

But this… this is still so amazing.

Only Allah knows why things happen the way they do.

Sometimes, truly horrible things happen in life. And Allah has already told us in the Qur'an — that we will be tested. With fear, with pain, with loss.

And in the past few years, I have been tested with death a lot. My father died. One of my favorite in-laws died. Others too.

So I have been grieving… a lot.

And then this, on top of everything — these kittens.

It hurt so deeply.

But I accept it as a test from Allah. I pray that I passed.

And I pray that, by His mercy, I will be reunited with them again.

One thing that breaks my heart now… is the surviving kitten.

I noticed that anytime I come in with my car, it runs far away. Before, it never used to do that.

Now it runs and hides.

My daughter said maybe it has PTSD.

And honestly… I think animals do feel things like that.

I can imagine that kitten saw what happened. Saw its siblings die like that.

So now, whenever it sees a car, it is afraid.

That alone hurts in a different way.

I pray nobody ever has to experience something like this.

It is not a nice thing to go through.

But still… I accept it.

As a test.

From Allah.

← Previous: The Making of the Astral Series Next: The Hajj Journey That Changed Me →

The Hajj Journey That Changed Me

March 28, 2025 • 10 min read

In 2019, I stood on the plains of Arafat surrounded by millions of souls from every corner of the earth. We spoke different languages, wore different clothes, carried different stories — but in that moment, we were the same. We were pilgrims seeking closeness to the Divine.

That journey became the seed for “An Epic Journey of Faith.” But more than a book, it became a lens through which I now see all my writing.

The Power of Shared Sacred Space

The Hajj taught me that the most powerful stories are those that remind us of our shared humanity. When I write — whether it's a poem about love or a novel about a prince seeking redemption — I'm always trying to create sacred space on the page.

Have you ever had a journey — physical or spiritual — that changed your perspective? I'd love to hear about it.

📤 Enjoyed this? Share with a friend →

💬

💬 Join the Conversation on WhatsApp →

Share your thoughts, questions, or simply say hello. I’d love to hear from you.

✦ You Might Also Like

Check out other blogs by Hadiza Bagudu →

• Finding Your Voice as a Writer Writing Craft
• The Hajj Journey That Changed Me Faith & Spirituality
• Why I Write About Scars Poetry
• Bororo Girl to Published Author Culture & Identity
• The Making of the Astral Series Behind the Books
• A Tragedy and a Miracle Personal & Faith
• Ripples: A Poetry Collection Poetry
• An Epic Journey of Faith Faith & Fiction
• The Thin Line: Love and Culture Romance
• Words & Worship Podcast Podcast

Why I Write About Scars

March 10, 2025 • 4 min read

In my early years, at primary school in the 1980s, I stumbled upon an amazing poem about scars. Our teacher, bless her heart, explained how scars aren't just physical marks but reminders of the battles we've fought.

That lesson stuck with me. It inspired me to write two poetry collections and four novels. Because every character I create — Fantah, Hayah, Melody, Yusuf — carries scars. Not just the kind you can see, but the invisible ones we all bear.

Scars as Story

When I wrote Ripples, I thought about how every scar tells a story of survival. The collection became a meditation on becoming — moving from water to fire to simply being here.

What's a scar — physical or emotional — that has shaped your story?

📤 Enjoyed this? Share with a friend →

💬

💬 Join the Conversation on WhatsApp →

Share your thoughts, questions, or simply say hello. I’d love to hear from you.

✦ You Might Also Like

Check out other blogs by Hadiza Bagudu →

• Finding Your Voice as a Writer Writing Craft
• The Hajj Journey That Changed Me Faith & Spirituality
• Why I Write About Scars Poetry
• Bororo Girl to Published Author Culture & Identity
• The Making of the Astral Series Behind the Books
• A Tragedy and a Miracle Personal & Faith
• Ripples: A Poetry Collection Poetry
• An Epic Journey of Faith Faith & Fiction
• The Thin Line: Love and Culture Romance
• Words & Worship Podcast Podcast

← Previous: The Hajj Journey Next: Bororo Girl to Published Author →

Bororo Girl to Published Author

February 20, 2025 • 7 min read

Fantah, the determined Bororo girl at the heart of my novel, shares more with me than readers might realize. Her journey — from the grasslands of Northern Nigeria to discovering her place in a complex world — mirrors my own.

Like Fantah, I grew up surrounded by traditions that felt both anchoring and limiting. I learned early that being a girl meant certain expectations. But I also learned, from the strong women around me, that expectations could be rewritten.

Finding My Voice in Multiple Languages

Today, I speak 3 languages fluently: English, Hausa, and Fulfulde. I can also read and write Arabic. Each language carries a different part of my identity. When I write, I'm not just choosing English because it's accessible — I'm translating entire worlds between the languages that shaped me.

To every young girl from a small town with big dreams: your voice matters. Keep writing. Keep becoming.

📤 Enjoyed this? Share with a friend →

💬

💬 Join the Conversation on WhatsApp →

Share your thoughts, questions, or simply say hello. I’d love to hear from you.

✦ You Might Also Like

Check out other blogs by Hadiza Bagudu →

• Finding Your Voice as a Writer Writing Craft
• The Hajj Journey That Changed Me Faith & Spirituality
• Why I Write About Scars Poetry
• Bororo Girl to Published Author Culture & Identity
• The Making of the Astral Series Behind the Books
• A Tragedy and a Miracle Personal & Faith
• Ripples: A Poetry Collection Poetry
• An Epic Journey of Faith Faith & Fiction
• The Thin Line: Love and Culture Romance
• Words & Worship Podcast Podcast

← Previous: Why I Write About Scars Next: The Making of the Astral Series →

The Making of the Astral Series

February 5, 2025 • 9 min read

Yusuf's story began with a question: What if the space between sleep and wakefulness was actually a doorway?

I've always been fascinated by dreams — the way they can feel more real than waking life. In many Nigerian traditions, dreams are considered portals, messages from ancestors or glimpses into other dimensions. The Astral Series became my way of exploring that belief.

From Concept to Completion

Writing the Astral Series took me three years. I researched astral projection, traveled to learn from traditional spiritual guides, and spent countless nights journaling my own dreams. Yusuf's journey became my journey.

The Astral Series: Book One is available now. Have you ever had a dream that felt like a doorway to another world?

📤 Enjoyed this? Share with a friend →

💬

💬 Join the Conversation on WhatsApp →

Share your thoughts, questions, or simply say hello. I’d love to hear from you.

✦ You Might Also Like

Check out other blogs by Hadiza Bagudu →

• Finding Your Voice as a Writer Writing Craft
• The Hajj Journey That Changed Me Faith & Spirituality
• Why I Write About Scars Poetry
• Bororo Girl to Published Author Culture & Identity
• The Making of the Astral Series Behind the Books
• A Tragedy and a Miracle Personal & Faith
• Ripples: A Poetry Collection Poetry
• An Epic Journey of Faith Faith & Fiction
• The Thin Line: Love and Culture Romance
• Words & Worship Podcast Podcast

← Previous: Bororo Girl to Published Author Next: Finding Your Voice as a Writer →

How to Find Your Voice as a Writer

April 2, 2025 • 6 min read

---

One question I receive often from aspiring writers is this: "How do I find my voice?"

It's a beautiful question because it shows you care about authenticity. You don't want to sound like anyone else. You want to sound like you.

After publishing seven books — poetry collections, novels, and everything in between — I've learned that finding your voice isn't about discovering something new. It's about uncovering what has always been there.

✦ Stop Trying to Sound Like Your Favorite Author

I love Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I love Toni Morrison. I love J.K. Rowling. But when I try to write like them, my words feel stiff. Fake. Borrowed.

Your favorite authors already exist. The world doesn't need another version of them. The world needs you.

Instead of asking, "How would Chimamanda write this?" ask, "How would I write this?" Your life, your experiences, your pain, your joy — no one else has lived what you have lived.

✦ Write Badly on Purpose

This sounds strange, doesn't it? But here's the truth: perfectionism kills voice.

When you're trying to write perfectly, you edit as you go. You delete sentences before they finish. You judge every word before it lands on the page.

Give yourself permission to write badly. Write a page of nonsense. Write a paragraph full of clichés. Write something so raw and unfiltered that you would never show it to anyone.

That mess? That's where your voice lives. Hidden beneath the need to be perfect.

✦ Read Your Own Words Aloud

Your voice isn't just about what you say — it's about how it sounds.

Read your writing aloud. Does it feel natural? Does it sound like something you would actually say to a friend? Or does it sound like a textbook or a formal essay?

When I write poetry, I read every line aloud. If my tongue trips over a word, I change it. If a sentence feels too long, I break it. Your ear knows your voice better than your eyes do.

✦ Write About What Only You Can Write About

Anyone can write about love. Anyone can write about grief. But only you can write about the specific way your grandmother laughed, or the smell of rain on the morning of your wedding, or the fear you felt on your first day of school.

As a Bororo girl growing up in Northern Nigeria, I write about cattle camps, Fulfulde proverbs, and the tension between tradition and modernity. These are mine. No one can take them.

What are yours? What memories, places, or people belong only to you? Start there.

✦ Stop Comparing Your First Draft to Someone Else's Published Book

This one hurts, but it's true.

That beautiful book you love? It went through dozens of revisions. An editor worked on it. A publishing team polished it.

Your messy first draft is supposed to be messy. That's not a sign that you lack voice. That's a sign that you're real.

Give yourself grace. Your voice will emerge through revision, not through perfection on the first try.

✦ Write Every Day (Even Just Five Minutes)

Voice is like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it becomes.

You don't need to write for hours. Five minutes a day is enough. Write about what you saw on your morning walk. Write about a conversation that stayed with you. Write about nothing at all.

Consistency matters more than quantity. Over time, patterns will emerge. You'll notice words you love, rhythms you return to, stories you can't stop telling.

That's your voice.

✦ Finally, Trust Yourself

After seven books, I still doubt my voice sometimes. I still wonder if I should write more like this author or that author.

But then I remember: the people who love my books don't love me because I sound like someone else. They love me because I sound like me.

Your voice is enough. It has always been enough. You just need to trust it.

Now go write something only you can write. I can't wait to read it.

📤 Enjoyed this? Share with a friend →

💬

💬 Join the Conversation on WhatsApp →

Share your thoughts, questions, or simply say hello. I’d love to hear from you.

✦ You Might Also Like

Check out other blogs by Hadiza Bagudu →

• Finding Your Voice as a Writer Writing Craft
• The Hajj Journey That Changed Me Faith & Spirituality
• Why I Write About Scars Poetry
• Bororo Girl to Published Author Culture & Identity
• The Making of the Astral Series Behind the Books
• A Tragedy and a Miracle Personal & Faith
• Ripples: A Poetry Collection Poetry
• An Epic Journey of Faith Faith & Fiction
• The Thin Line: Love and Culture Romance
• Words & Worship Podcast Podcast

Why Do We Try to Break Each Other? — The Hidden Cost of Aggressive Bargaining in Nigeria

April 2, 2025 • 6 min read

---

There is something I have noticed—something quiet, but deeply rooted.

When many people in Nigeria want to buy something, they don’t just want a discount.

They want to win.

And sometimes, winning means breaking the person selling to them.

The Culture of “Pricing”

You go to a vendor.
You ask for the price.

They tell you.

And then it begins.

The negotiation.

Not just a small adjustment, not just a fair bargain—but a slow, persistent effort to bring the price down… and down… until it no longer makes sense.

Until the vendor is no longer making profit.

Sometimes, until they are making a loss.

And when it finally ends—when the vendor gives in—you can hear it.

That satisfaction.

That quiet pride.

As if something has been conquered.

But what exactly was won?

The Reality We Ignore

Yes, things are hard.

Everything is expensive.
Everyone is feeling the pressure.

But the vendor standing in front of you is not exempt from that reality.

They are also trying to survive.

They bought those goods from someone else.
They paid for transportation.
They paid for rent, utilities, and sometimes even advertising.

All of that before it even reaches you.

And yet, we stand there and keep pushing the price down, as if their effort means nothing.

Why?

How This Cycle Makes Everything Worse

Because of this behavior, something else begins to happen.

Vendors adapt.

If something should be sold for ₦12,000 or ₦14,000, they no longer say that.

They say ₦30,000.

Why?

Because they already expect the battle.

So when you negotiate it down to ₦18,000 or ₦20,000, you feel like you have won.

But in reality, you paid more than the original fair price.

And so the cycle continues.

Prices rise.
Trust disappears.
Life becomes harder—for everyone.

A Different Way (From Faith and Conscience)

As a Muslim, I reflect on what Islam teaches about trade.

Business is not meant to be a battlefield.

It is meant to be fair.

Both the buyer and the seller should leave satisfied.

Not cheated.
Not resentful.
Not wounded.

There is blessing in fairness.

When profit is honest—even if it is small—it carries barakah.
It stretches. It satisfies.

But money gained through pressure, deception, or harm?
It never truly benefits.

It comes with weight.

The Deeper Problem

This behavior is not limited to markets.

It appears everywhere.

In offices.
In systems.
In small everyday interactions.

Where something simple should take minutes, it takes weeks—unless something extra is given.

A bribe. A shortcut. A compromise.

And we wonder why things feel heavy.

Why nothing seems to move smoothly.

Why life feels like running in circles.

More Money, More Problems?

People say: “More money, more problems.”

But perhaps that is not entirely true.

Maybe it is not the money.

Maybe it is how the money was acquired.

When wealth is built on the discomfort of others, it carries consequences.

You cannot consistently take from people unfairly and expect peace in return.

A Simple Practice

There is something I have seen people do, especially in the North.

In the middle of negotiation, they pause and ask:

“Nawa gaskiya?”
“What is the true price?”

And then—whatever the answer is—they pay.

If the seller is honest, that money is blessed.

If the seller is dishonest, then the consequence is theirs to carry.

But you walk away with a clear heart.

A Question to Reflect On

Think back.

Someone who cheated you years ago—where are they now?

Did that gain truly elevate them?

Or did it simply pass through their hands, leaving something unsettled behind?

A Reminder

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) emphasized honesty, fairness, and transparency in trade.

He taught that truthful and trustworthy merchants will be raised among the righteous.

And the Qur’an repeatedly warns against oppression—because to cheat someone is, in its own way, a form of oppression.

A Gentler Way Forward

Life is already difficult.

For everyone.

So why make it harder for each other?

Why not choose fairness?

Why not choose kindness?

Why not build relationships instead of small victories?

---

Let us be honest with each other.
Let us be considerate.
Let us remember that behind every price is a person trying to survive—just like you.

And maybe, if we change this one habit,
things will begin to feel a little lighter for all of us.

← Previous: Finding Your Voice as a Writer Next: The Hajj Journey That Changed Me →

The Recipe Google Couldn't Find

March 15, 2026 • 8 min read

How I became the first person to publish Peten Chinkafa online — and why some recipes only exist in grandmothers' kitchens until someone decides to write them down.

---

There is a particular kind of hunger that no restaurant can fix. It is the hunger for the food your grandmother made, in the kitchen that smelled of woodsmoke and palm oil, on a day when the harmattan wind made your bones ache.

For me, that food is Peten Chinkafa.

And until I wrote this post, it did not exist on the internet.

The Search That Led Nowhere

A few months ago, I had a craving. The kind that sits in your chest and refuses to leave. I wanted Peten Chinkafa — the watery, peppery, fish-rich rice porridge my mother made on cold mornings in Yola.

So I did what anyone would do. I opened Google.

I searched "Peten Chinkafa recipe." Nothing.

I searched "Fulani rice porridge." Nothing that matched.

I searched "Nigerian rice soup with garden eggs and fish." Close, but not it.

I tried every variation I could think of. I scrolled through Nigerian food blogs, YouTube cooking channels, Instagram pages. I found Peten Acha by the Jos people — a similar concept with acha grain instead of rice. But Peten Chinkafa? The specific dish I grew up eating?

Silence.

It was as if the internet had decided this food did not exist. As if my childhood, my grandmother's kitchen, the mornings I sat on a wooden stool watching her stir the pot — as if none of it was real enough to document.

That is when I realized: if I don't write this, no one will.

What Is Peten Chinkafa?

Peten Chinkafa is not fancy. It will not win plating competitions. It is a humble, watery rice dish — closer to porridge than pilau — made with short-grain rice, mixed dried fish (bonga and stock fish), garden eggs, peppers, and the distinctive tang of yakuwa, a sour spinach that Fulani cooks know by heart.

The name itself tells you what it is: Peten (porridge) Chinkafa (rice). Rice porridge.

But the simplicity is deceptive. The layers of flavor — the smokiness of the fish, the slow burn of attarugu, the slight bitterness of garden eggs balanced by yakuwa's sourness — create something that settles deep in your body. It is warmth in a bowl. It is the food my mother made when I had the flu. The food that made me feel safe.

The Comfort Food That Raised Me

I was born and raised in Yola, Adamawa State, in the heart of Northern Nigeria. My father was Nupe, from Niger State — a people with their own magnificent cuisine. But my mother was Fulani, and it was her kitchen that shaped my palate.

My grandmother's story is woven into this too. She was married to the chief of Madagali, a town in Adamawa known for its rich Fulani heritage. From her, my mother learned. From my mother, I learned. And now, from me, the internet will learn.

Growing up in Yola, my mornings often started with Fura and Nono — the thick, millet-based gruel paired with fermented cow's milk. I still crave it. There is nothing else like the cooling, sour tang of Nono cutting through the sweetness of fura on a hot afternoon.

But here is something many people don't know: we Fulani also eat our Nono with tuwon chinkafa — a thick rice pudding, distinct from the Hausa tuwo. It is unique to us. It is not written about. It is not photographed for food magazines. It is simply ours, passed quietly from mother to daughter, from kitchen to kitchen.

Peten Chinkafa exists in that same quiet space. It is everyday food. Comfort food. Healing food.

When I have the flu — even now, as an adult living in Abuja — I do not want pepper soup or medication. I want Peten Chinkafa. I want the steam rising from the bowl, the soft rice that requires no chewing, the fish that has given all its flavor to the broth. I want to feel like I am five years old again, wrapped in my mother's care.

Why Fantah Exists Because of This Food

People often ask me what inspired my novel Fantah. They expect me to name a book, a film, a historical event.

But the truth is more personal.

Growing up in Yola, surrounded by Fulani culture — the language I speak fluently, the customs I understand instinctively, the food that formed my earliest memories — created a world inside me that demanded to be written. My grandmother's connection to Madagali. The cattle camps I saw as a child. The Bororo girls with their grace and resilience.

Fantah is Yola. Fantah is the Fulani girl I could have been, in a slightly different life. She carries the same strength I saw in the women around me. The same ability to make something nourishing from almost nothing.

Peten Chinkafa is part of that same story. It is what a Fulani mother makes when resources are thin but love is abundant. It is what I write about when I write about home.

The Responsibility of Being First

I did not want to be the first person to publish Peten Chinkafa online. I wanted someone else to have done it. I wanted to find a recipe, follow it, and feel connected to a larger tradition.

But that recipe did not exist. And so the responsibility fell to me.

This is what it means to be a writer, I think. Not just to tell stories, but to preserve them. To notice what is missing from the record and decide that your voice is the one that must fill the gap.

I wrote the recipe from memory, then called my mother to confirm. I described the texture — watery, like porridge, never dry — because that is the detail that matters. The detail that makes it Peten Chinkafa and not jollof rice with extra water.

I added the schema markup so Google understands what it is. I dated it May 2026 so the internet knows this was the moment it first appeared.

And now, when someone else searches — a Fulani girl in London missing her grandmother's kitchen, a food historian researching Nigerian porridges, a curious cook wanting to try something new — they will find it.

They will find me. And through me, they will find Yola. They will find my mother. They will find the chief of Madagali's wife, stirring her pot, passing down what no one thought to write down.

What I Want You to Take From This

If you are reading this and you also have a food that exists only in your memory — write it down. Do not wait for permission. Do not wait for someone more qualified.

You are qualified. You ate it. You survived on it. You loved it.

That is expertise enough.

The internet is vast, but it is not complete. There are still silences. Still empty search results. Still grandmothers' kitchens that exist only in the minds of those who sat in them.

Fill the silence. Write the recipe. Tell the story.

Peten Chinkafa is now alive online. And so, in a small but real way, is my grandmother's kitchen.

📤 Know someone who would love this? Share →

💬

💬 Join the Conversation on WhatsApp →

Have a food from your childhood that no one has written about? I'd love to hear it.

✦ You Might Also Like

More from Hadiza's kitchen and journal →

• Bororo Girl to Published Author Culture & Identity
• The Hajj Journey That Changed Me Faith & Spirituality
• Why I Write About Scars Poetry
• A Tragedy and a Miracle Personal & Faith

← Previous: Why Do We Try to Break Each Other? — The Hidden Cost of Aggressive Bargaining in Nigeria Next: A Tragedy and a Miracle →

✦ From Ripples ✦

It was the darkest hour;

When silence spoke louder than sound,

And hearts confessed what daylight denied.

In the quietest most mysterious parts of the night,

The world felt suspended

Between dream and reality.

Shadows lingered where whispers had been,

And even the stars seemed unsure whether to shine or listen.

Somewhere a memory stirred;

Soft as breath, sharp as longing.

And in that fragile stillness,

Truth uncloaked itself,

Asking nothing but to be seen.

©️ 2025 Hadiza Bagudu

From my latest collection: Ripples

Leave a Review
Read full collection →

✦ From The Quiet Parts ✦

The stars glide through the night in a celestial ballet,

Galaxies spin the sky in brilliant shades.

Colourful tales from Nebula's pallet,

Cosmic dance, in a stunning display!

Astral jewels orbit, a heavenly stride.

Mysteries whispered in the universe wide.

Endless wonder in each breathtaking sight,

Unveiling the universe's limitless might.

©️ 2023 Hadiza Bagudu

From my collection: The Quiet Parts (2024)

Leave a Review
Read full collection →

✦ From With Love ✦

Your love is like a dove

Soaring high above

With such a powerful force

No one can alter its course

©️ Hadiza Bagudu 2008

From my collection: With Love (2008)

Leave a Review
Read full collection →