Several times a day the same play features in the recesses of a collective mind while shying away from the intended message: “Stop the carnage! Stop the carnage! Stop the carnage!” Psychobabble in the audio world where roadside preachers yell out random truths to the suspecting mob. They know, they know, of course they all…
I Am Black
You look at me and see: Black African Evil. You turn up your nose and like a pig you snort… Or is it a sneer? Or maybe… just maybe… as you scurry away like a cockroach do you wonder what I am? I am Black I am African A child of the continent you once…
Let Me Enjoy Me
I Am Human Female Coloured Black Breathing bits of my sensibilities Let. Me. Be. Let Me feel Me and breathe Me And sip my beautiful self Taste my mind intoxicated by My thoughts Let Me enjoy Me And know how beautiful I can be The brown of my skin… a rainbow of brown Red yellow…
Looking Forward
Hanging on small dreams the year folds itself in the tired sunset like a mimosa leaf It murmurs and screams new names old promises lies retold at the same place where songs are set on the loose in unplumbed laughter and tears We lay wreaths of frustration with no other option but to see hope…
My Mother in Three Photographs
Her face looks out flawless her sexuality electric in a mini dress and sheer satin stockings the girls of the 1960s beautiful beyond belief. She is looking through the camera like her space is here and beyond enchanting and enchanted by the times when the dreams of freedom were young the fortunes of Uganda hot…
Vanessa Chisakula
Vanessa Chisakula is a Zambian poet, who first discovered her writing wits after becoming a mother. She uses poetry as a tool to advocate for women’s rights and to address social issues like mental health. Vanessa believes in a world where art can bring a change by bridging divides and conveying the youth’s creative potential…
Alright with me
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
This is not a feminist poem
This is not a feminist poem This is not contorted metaphors with neither punch line nor chorus This is not a feminist poem It is a woman learning to trade possessions before her lover takes his last breath. She will never get the chance to say goodbye because those final hours are one match-point away…
The Broken Mirror: to teach people to hate themselves…
Who are you? I am Angel. No, really, who are you? I am George Stop playing around! I am Hanson, Ferguson, Manson, Johnson, Ellison I am… Zombie Lost in the ways of my people, my identity, my heritage I am the soulless black-white being that haunts the screens of materialism in the face of my…
You Are Woman
For a season barely eons old Immersed myself in quietude Awaiting the day woman shall step into her own Trapped in this cloud of silent obscurity How does the world blithely pretend? For all the good there is out there Permit me to lay it bare How they sweetly make compelling claim Liberate the woman;…