They come here with empty faces Looking for the sun The equatorial sun rays hit their eyes, They blink and find the son, Poised, smiling at their wallets With a hot, hard, black, cocked gun. There is no argument to be had with such a gun between your legs. Between sips of badly brewed, black,…
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…
Black List
Merge discrete metals to smithereens blacksmith who ain’t black and don’t smith Black Africa a golden ring with a diamond a diamond ring with a golden rim? I am Black not because I am African Black is what I feel an explicit soul speaking lingo a never melting candle lighting deeper character Africa is my…
(Blue) for Sudan
(1) Clutched my heart a terrible invasive grief. One of my father’s calling my skin its own, as it shed cries of mercy. Of a divine pardon. Of an outpouring rahma* to reach the lives lost to the march. Mourning settled in the veins. Of a country that bled in each corner, wounded dreams of…
Nya Ku Toc
It’s sarcastic how girls at seventeen, Who should have been singing, Baba black sheep or father Abraham, Are singing songs like, He has played me, he has played me. Trashed my heart, took my virginity. And so forth, and so on. And, and you wonder where kids learn songs. This poem was inspired by…
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…
Bessie’s Lament
“Wherever you go, please don’t forget to take care of your sisters and brothers. Remember that you have a suffering family that needs your help.” My parents woke me up early Sunday morning to pray for me and bid me farewell with pieces of advice during our family devotion. I’d leave later that day to…
Born To Gain or To Suffer
Grandmother! Our sage of our grandmother gathered us Beneath the big oak tree On a very beautiful night She began to sing: Born to gain or Born to suffer Born to gain or Born to suffer She began to utter to us: Great men are sons of good men Whose hearts are walls Weak men…
But How Can I Be Me?
I am not who I want to be The only person in my way is me The lives of the ‘amour propre’ I see But how can I be me? I don’t want to die an arm candy I really want to be happy Happiness without being sappy But how can I be me? But…
Abigail George
Abigail George is a South-African feminist, poet and writer based in Port Elizabeth. Born in 1979, she is a prolific writer: she has written a novella, several books of poetry and collections of short stories. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the recipient of two South African National Arts Council Writing Grants and of one from the Centre for…