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…
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…
Black Queen
Ayo sis! Why do u still let him Let him hit you Smug you Belittle you Oh I don’t like your hair babe That handsome baritone voice man says U ain’t that pretty babe you need make up Don’t embarrass me That man you call half be says Sis Nooooo! Hes no man! He’s a…
Painfully Healing
It is so painful to heal! For some reason it always seemed like healing was all about covering the parts inside you that laid naked. I thought internal healing resembled how you would naturally let new skin grow in places that were once wounded. You know the open holes that don’t really hurt anymore but…
When God Makes Love to You
When S/HE enunciates I Love You It can take you a lifetime to really believe IT As to accept this endearment Is to learn a whole new language Altering the rhythms of your heartbeats forever As you now appreciate subtle motions of Love In the mundane & profound Much like clouds wafting, mutating Yet serene…
The Mirror
I look in the mirror. My reflection I expect to see. But what I see is not my reflection. What I see is truth! An image blurred with pain. The sorrows of the world. The troubles we face. Told as a story by the mirror. The stories. Never spoken. Yet, told in detail. By the…
Portrait of a Girl at the Border Wall
All the women in my life are hungry I have written this one hundred times. I do not know how else to tell it: the girl by the roadside, the bruised peach, the narrow collar, the night full of birds. Her body is a long river that cuts through every room. See her in the…
Do I have what it takes?
I am walking barefoot with my head hung On edge of my fears, Daunted in the color of my skin, Dodging bullets that come towards me, But I feel riddled with holes, With a rumble on my chest Sneaking in doubts and question marks, Causing cracks on chest Tanks, But the drums on my my…
Third Eye Blinded
I see energy third eye blinking placing spirits into their constellations. We are all connected. See lines connecting dots Its umbilical intuition. Walk into realms with my spiritual feet the reality of reality is but a distant memory. I spare walk through corridors I pay no heed to the drum drum drum of monotony. See…