Following the piper, Of smiles and laughter, Acknowledged, once the clutter Packed on your mind falters. By words of truth, Manifestations from Youth, An allegiance to trust in Freedom It’s the chime of love bells, On the highest altar. Link to the Italian version
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…
Jean Rhys
I think of the divided self of Jean Rhys in Dominica, her invisible self in London, and the depth, scope, scale of her writing: What was achievable in her lifetime is achievable now, the winter’s tale of Jean Rhys, and her tragedy of errors, of losing a child, and her failed marriages. She was a…
Nyeri
I almost became that man’s second wifeI twisted my underwear here and thereI hynoptised myself that he was the oneI always thought of him. Whenever he sent me a text message“I suit you like the cover of a jerican”I would swing my hips to his tuneHe was my man. I waited for him at the…
Soul Approval
I’m here to tell you a story about a woman who hated herself Not because she was poor or ugly Not because she was orphaned or homeless But she just did And I’m here to tell you a story about a man who hated his life He dreaded every moment of it Woke up each…
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…
I Am
I am Mixed Race, Half Caste, Half Breed and Colored. Any way you look at it His blood mixed with her blood Mixed with their blood To make our blood. And now all that blood runs through my children’s Tiny beautiful veins. We are the New bloods. African Bloods. We were colonized and reorganized yet…
Circle of women
Your head is a hiveyou are not sure you will survive.Women form a circle around youIn their eyes, your stories flow like The Nile.They collect themand hand you the cup. Go aheadthey saybut you hesitate. It’s okaythey sayand you receive. You raise the cup to your lipsand pass…
A self portrait
This is a portrait of a woman that was born in pain… and is longing for change… A woman with a rough kind of beauty… a one not easy to pick up, hidden behind all the easy common ugly… A rebel kind of woman… so much rebel it got me getting out of heaven doors……