Write about your brokenness This is what My heart whispers to me every time I try to create something beautiful. How ironic because most of my life I’ve been trying to find wholeness so I can finally feel beautiful. But what is beauty? Is there a formula that determines what we can classify as beautiful?…
You Must Know
You must know As little girls, we write about the struggles of our mums We glorify their pain as borne out of resilience in duties never understood The choring, the caring, the back-from-work, good enough to keep her a mother As little boys, we wonder what could be wrong with the masculinity of our dads…
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…
I Lost My Teeth in a Fight
I. My father tries to kill me twice before the age of twelve. both times I’m a tiny thing on a floor. He breaks the branch of a jacaranda tree on my skin and I lose my voice. In both scenarios he screams: I will kill you. In both scenarios, my mother stands by and…
Forget (Arua) Remember (Pakwac)
Forget how the rolling hills stopped rolling and began unfolding into flatlands. You have left the badlands. Forget how the sky opened and left behind skyscrapers and scraped knees bleeding into pavement and how blood paved your way into estrangement. Your scraped skin already belonged to the streets and the wounds flowering on your body…
Silence
Silence shall not Calm the waters nor free us. Silence shall not Prosecute nor stop them. Silence shall imprison us Enslave our souls. Silence shall tie our hands While they strip off our clothes Please their hands in our lions. And even then Silence shall not Let us moan in ecstasy. Link to the Italian…
A Nation in Labour
The Republic is in labour Screaming pacing the political ward cursing the colonial midwife for telling her to push. Her head is spinning vision blurred mind inside out. She drinks a cup of counterfeit morality and blubbers a prayer of hope for the stillborn baby. The Republic is a headless chicken with a body that…
Good Morning Kampala
Clouds are racing above Kampala Sunrise peeps from the head of its hilly protrusions. Suddenly, rapid gun fire exchange invades our atmosphere Heavy feet scamper to find footing on our broken roads “Hooligans are demanding for change!” They say. Arrows of rain armed with hail stones join in the human pelting But you Rain where…
Fast Phrases
Sun bleached white door curtain invites rest, To the hours spent on my butt now numb. Ducks waddling defecating the backyard Us on a mat them centimeters apart Eight hands are expertly pinching extensions to my scalp A humble courtyard with five rooms A commotion of tenants and the landlord ‘Bibi Dina’ The entrance is…
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…