Babes, Please I beg, Let us not waste time on grammar! The time between is too short to waste on long words, Want to is- Wanna and Going to is-Gonna Here we are, Fingering gadgets, Whatsupping, instead of twerking. Snapchatting instead of freaking each other, Groping clefts of throbbing flesh and skin Babes, Do not…
If My Heart
If my heart could grow You could have seen its seed Augmenting Pushing through the light Ready to produce fruits. If my heart could talk You could have felt the unfelt; The love, the fear, the insecurities, the hope, the anguish, the frustrations. If my heart could show You could have seen the…
Forgive to be Forgiven
If forgiveness had a formula I would pursue a whole course just to master it. It’s not that I’m in love with the whole concept of forgiveness But I need to learn it and become it. See I’ve been searching for forgiveness for a while now. Singing praises and turning my life into worship just…
A Beating for Love
Your fist pounded my face In shock I stood there Not moving, not screaming The first time it happened You said you beat me because you loved me You put the blame on me I don’t remember doing wrong Your gambling and drinking Your womanising and flirting Your problems and woes Were all my fault…
L.I.F.E.
Life’s like living just at the edge of a knife Incredible, yet sometimes one’s choice is not counted Fear, one’s likely to succumb to courage’s rarely remembered Evidently, life’s not how long you live but how well you thrive Life sometimes wants to be a dictator It can twirl and whirl without one on hold…
Alith Cyer Mayar
Alith Cyer Mayar is a writer, poem and activist. She was born in 1997 in Khartoum, Sudan, and grew up in different places as Uganda and South Sudan. She attendend the Sudan Academy for Medical and Technological Studies training as a nurse. During that time, she volunteered for different hospitals and clinics. In the meanwhile…
The Gloria/Ascension
My darkest moments are those leading to my success,a hesitation where I question – do I deserve this?where my ambition drains like a time lapse in reverseand I set out to seek a great perhaps through verse. Notes tuck themselves back into books,passages fold themselves into memoriesmy tongue reabsorbs every spoken wordwhich precipitates into a…
My son Nok
You turn your head away“He is my son”, I say“He was taken out of my grip”, I sayHe learnt how to shoot with a gun. He shot from village to villageenemies we all becamelapena leaves couldn’t hide uswe were handed blankets, beans and poshointernally displaced we became. Then I heard he was dead.“He is my…
Sarah Lubala
Sarah Lubala is a Congolese-born, South Africa-based writer. Her family fled the Democratic Republic of Congo two decades ago amidst political unrest. They relocated first to South Africa, then the Ivory Coast, before returning to South Africa and settling in Johannesburg. She has been twice shortlisted for the Gerald Kraak Award, and once for The…
Mothers Sing a Lullaby
(after the 1994 Rwandan genocide) Mothers sing a lullaby As the dark descends on trees Shutting out shadows. The sensuous voices swish and swirl Around shrubs and overgrown grass Hiding mountains of decapitated dead And the glint of machetes That slashed shrieking throats. In these camps without happiness Mothers maintain the melody of life Capturing…