Message from the compiler Poetic Bullets: by Valentine Tusai Betrayal: by Nkateko Masinga You – My fear: by Sandhya Padmanabhan Child Soldier: by Panashe ‘Arcane’ Madziva They never listened: by Leeyone Who are we gonna trust :By Thuthukani Ndlovu Why not peace: by Debbie Johnson We are not deer: by Amina.H Pain walks aloud in the street: by Thembekile kilay As we bark: by Valentine Tusai I’ve been labelled: by Debbie Johnson The sin in my blackness: by Nkateko Masinga A blue borderline view: by Sasha Coutinho (Bad Bunny) The unmasking: by Cat (Cathrine) UnSoulicited grounds: by Goitsemang Mvula, The Nurturer Semiotic Pain: by Siphe Zenani Allow me a minute: by Thembekile kilay Speechless Mabira: by Ivory the Poet(Ernest) Get hungry & die, or get hungry & die: by Mbaliey The qualms of a school girl: by Sandhya Padmanabhan #Dear… boys: by Lemohang Tebeli Anthology Contributors Thank You note from the compiler
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Dear Policeman Why should I be greasy to the lawmakers, when they are above the law? Demigods boxing humans, but can they run faster than a bullet? The uneducated fool turns into a hero, the second he is clad in badged uniforms How non-political is a pawn on a chess board? Why gun me down for taping you mashing my brother on the street? You’re not allowed to protest because you’re not a free man. Black man is a madman, who is not allowed to be crazy. You dress like aliens when you come for us. Why can we not handle this like humans? I’m retaliating this time, my magazine is loaded with poetry I will give you shot, shots, shotta! When you tell me to shut, shut it, shut up! Why should I be hurt by your demeanour? If you play God, I’ll play Saviour… © Valentine Tusai “Saint Valz”
We betrayed our kin when we burnt (alive) our brother because he was birthed on foreign soil. We betrayed our skin when a man’s charred remains became our own because we refused him in his wholeness. His hair was too peppercorn, his skin too charcoal, his Africa too North for our acceptance so he died on the street, engulfed in the flames of our rejection.
The next day, we bowed our heads in shame when the journalists came. We shattered our mirrors (we deserved the bad luck) but the river redrew our faces. We became monsters overnight. Caricatures of ourselves at our worst became us‌
The last man who left me asked, “Why am I so choked by goodbye?” I tore away from him and wept.
In Africa it is better to say goodbye (even if you choke) than to stay and watch your flesh burn, stay and see your skin fall off and leave the bones of your forefathers behind. © Nkateko Masinga
A babe, I was barely three You appeared in forms varied Darkness, shadows and strangers I was horrified by hideous structures I revolted within, I remained mum. I stepped into school You were my tutor Tormented by your words and actions I whispered within, I remained mum. You were my love You called me a fairy Treated me like a whore I was startled mute, I remained mum. You were my boss You mastered even my soul I was enslaved I was voiceless, I remained mum. You are the rich My poverty agonizes me Meagre is my meal, so are my rags I am saddened to see my own plight I am rendered wordless, I remain mum You are the beautiful My skin colour impoverishes me I shirk in diffidence, I remain mum‌
You are the sleaze and fraud I am rendered helpless, I remain mum Days crawl by in monotony Reading about corruption and insurgence Dissatisfaction and ache seems to be the order of the day Leaves me distraught Disheartens the already diseased mind My ineptitude frightens me Today You led me to pen down The words surge seethed in pain and disgust We, the emotionally raped, physically assaulted, socially handicapped Let’s not fear to speak LET’S SPEAK OUT LOUD Let us free ourselves, tread like a gypsy Feel like a hippie Breathe the soul of an angel. © Sandhya Padmanabhan
Hard times turned me into a child soldier. I held the weight of an entire nation on my shoulders, But I was fighting the very same people that liberated me, Cause they went & stole the hope that stayed in me. They poisoned my nation with corruption & backstabbing, Ignorance & unnecessary land-grabbing. They made the notion of Chimurenga sound phony, Cause they thought the House (of stone) belonged to them & them only. I can’t claim my future cause I was ruined by the past, So I turned to God & asked how long this was going to last, & I heard Him saying I should act fast, Before the reins of my nation slip right out of my grasp. So I strapped up my boots & took arms, For it was now about more than bad economies & stolen farms. I was now fighting a new breed of colonialism, In which our very own leaders took us & put us in a mental prison‌
I rallied up troops & took to the streets, Got involved in vicious clashes with the state police. I’d joined forces with The Movement, but even they couldn’t change along, So it’s too soon to sing the victory song. So with our words, we fight, we shall not cease, Because until we have justice, there will be no peace. © Panashe ‘Arcane’ Madziva
I wonder if they can see the chains around my wrists; I wonder if they can feel its rusty metal tangle and twist; I wonder if they know that freedom is the only thing on my list; Oh, I just wonder if they know the wonderful moments I have missed! I heard that Betty held her child for the last time; I heard that they beat her for standing up for her rights; I heard they didn’t hear her beg for her life; I heard the last word on her lips was the name of her child. I searched everywhere high and low; Oh I searched for the reasons why they hate us so! I searched and found that fear wouldn’t let us go; Oh that’s what they wanted us to know. I listened to that man make a speech! I listened to the people scream as they agreed! I listened to my heart stop then beat! I listened to my mind then began to speak…
Speak out and let them run in fear at the rumble of your voice! Speak out and don’t give those bullies any choice! Speak out and make them hide away from your noise! Speak out and you save the young ones without a voice. I stood up and felt the chains melt under the heat of my anger; I stood up and saw how they began to appear smaller and smaller! You are just a helpless breeze and I am a tall tower; I told you I was a tower and you never listened! © Fungai Chiwawa “Leeyone”
I wake up in the morning and what do I see, An increase in police brutality, Yes, that’s right we still aint free, Because our protection has become the enemy, And this time it’s worse than ever, And I’m sure that you already know better, I might as well carry a gas-mask in my backpack And a bullet proof vest underneath my sweater, Yes, and while I walk through the streets It’s hard for me to put my faith in the police, Because they always want $omething While they’re perpetuating corruption, And the list goes on, While we protest with the same song, So who are we gonna trust, Coz these cops act like they can never be wrong…
I wake up in the morning and what do I hear, Same old cops, causing all the fear, And if you talk too much, It’s either you get physically abused or you disappear. Yes, stuff like that really happen, So you gotta watch your words and actions: Where’s democracy? Because people get shot in the streets And some even die in police custody, And these are some of the many reasons, Why we still have to fight for our rights and for freedom, Because too many cops Have caused too many innocent bodies to stop breathing. ©Thuthukani Ndlovu “The Activist”
Today, the world seems an endless source of violence Perhaps, if we each took a few minutes of silence To consider how if we cared and tried to get along What a loving world we’d have and so very strong Too often color or religion are the cause A thought that should make us stop and pause To think just how much damage discrimination Does both within and between our nations If we spent as much time strengthening society And making the care of others our priority As we do in building up our military We could inhabit a world of solidarity
Isn’t there hope for agreement and peace And our attitudes of distrust and hatred to cease? © Debbie Johnson
You didn’t even let Alton sterling’s candle extinguish itself before Castile’s had to be lit! Eric Garner repeatedly told you that he could not breathe! Charles Kinsey, he had his hands up and you still shot at him! Tamir Rice was a twelve-year-old boy with a toy in his hand! You even had Jamar Clark in handcuffs when you aimed for his head! This is just six out of the thousands you kill a year. So don’t you dare you tell me this isn’t a hunt! ©Amina.H
Pain walks aloud in the street She raises her voice In the public squares Where the commuters meet She cries out In the gateways of the city Where she makes her speech Pain walks around aloud in the street Pain walks with me , But does not guide me It sleeps with me , But it does not protect me When I'm awake it refuses to speak to me
Pain walks around Aloud in the street She raises her voice in the public squares where the commuters meet she cries out In the gateways of the city Where she makes her speech Pain walks around aloud in the street It walks around with me With it's haughty eyes Lying tongues And hands that destroy love's innocent blood ‌
Pain's love is comprised of wicked schemes Feet that are quick to rush into evil and burn down my already broken dreams Pain walks aloud in the street She raises her voice in the public squares where the commuters meet she cries out In the gateways of the city where she makes her speech Pain walks around aloud in the street Violence overwhelms my surrounding How long .. .. will it lie there.. .. Sluggard.. .. When will it rise from it's sleep..? To no longer leave my heart weeping Why is pain a scoundrel And a villain, why..? Who goes about with a corrupt mouth And winks with it's eye Signals with it's feet and motions with it's fingers ‌
Pain walks aloud in the street She raises her voice in the public squares where the commuters meet she cries out in the gateways of the city where she makes her speech Pain walks around aloud in the street Š Thembekile kilay deh'poet tsaoane
Disgruntled, we acted emotionally and organised protests. We hit the streets in numbers, like a field raid by locusts. We were screaming into voids, while they watched us with drones Sipping bourbon in the hills, the enemy doesn’t live in the hoods. Their back-up plans have contingency plans. They protected themselves long before they started swindling us. The truth will set you free, so how do people go missing? We are diverted from the root cause by fighting police brutality. We boycotted till we got hungry. Genuine protests led by fools. Why are the new heroes so dirty and suspicious? Where are the mothers that birth visionaries? So after all the marching and chanting! What’s the plan? ©Valentine Tusai “Saint Valz”
Look at me, I’m disabled Right away, I’ve been labeled Why must you only see That I have a disability? Remember I’m a person too With hopes and dreams just like you Please be kind in our dealings Keep in mind, I have feelings Through the struggles I have known Understanding and compassion have grown My creativity’s been enhanced Into writing I have danced I’ve been given opportunity To view life differently A part of my life, disability Happens to be my reality. © Debbie Johnson
My blackness is red sirens, Gunshots two blocks From your block of flats. Women on the street in their gowns Screaming "What happened, what happened?" My blackness mimics tragedy in small towns. My blackness cannot be contained. You tried all those years ago and failed. Look, your hands are stained. My blackness is flashing lights, Red tape outside your house. Orange cones on the road that leads to reconciliation. But you walk here and find me waiting, Burdened with the weight of waiting.
But you never come close enough, So I have to ask: Does my blackness offend you? I mean, the colour of my skin, The texture of my hair‌ Do these things offend you? Do they make you question what God was trying to do When He created me, as opposed to you? Does my blackness make you get on your feet And deliberately choose another seat Or another place to eat?...
Tell me this: When we meet in town, Does my blackness earn me a frown Or even worse, a half-hearted lopsided smile That lasts a while and then disappears? Because you see, for years I struggled with my blackness too. I made alterations to it, like you do When you change my name From Nkateko to Kate.
I tried to hide my hair. I plaited it tightly against my scalp Like a forced hug. Then I covered it with hair That looks like yours: Sleek. Soft. Straight. Sinless. And then I realised that your only mistake Is not that you do not look like me But that you showed me the sin in my blackness. Š Nkateko Masinga
I stand with cold feet, Right foot on one side, Left on the other, Of the thick yellow line in the center of the bridge. I stand with my eyes Staring out at this World Wonder In disappointment that I find difficult to hide. Queen Victoria has died. Her waters do not fall in magnificent tumbles, They do not shoot out over the like cannon balls, Or plunge into the pool below like a bomb And explode! upon their landing. Instead, they trickle down her rocky, jaggered face, like tears, Settle inside her wrinkles and fade, Like the hope of a battered, shattered nation. I stand on my cold feet and my own eyes Weep in mourning at the death Of the wealth and prosperity of the land, Buried in corruption, six feet in depth. A bitter, stinging wind blows past my toes, Carrying dust with it that slithers under my arches. Dust that has accumulated over time As a granite hard economy crumbles, Crack by crack, and falls, Speck by speck, From one side of the line‌
Dust mixed with dust, From the other side of the line, Created for construction, Mining, roads, etcetera, However, Left bare oftentimes By workers on strike, Gone to find other means of providing for their families, To find jobs that actually pay, Dust left behind by trees, Cut down to produce dirty money, and never replanted… Money that leaves even the purest fingers, Tainted, initiated in to the system of lies After breaking the owner’s virginity of bribes, Automatically turning each man’s blind eye, Pushing the payer to the spot in the line Where his ranking fits from filthiest to cleanest. I curl my toes in discomfort As my glossy bloodshot eyes Spy on two men paying such “extra service fees” With the ease of someone buying groceries. I examine my fingers to see If they are still as clean as I remember Or as blackened as those of the man on one side of the line, Or dotted sparsely like the man on the other side…
I flex my toes wishing that the Falls was high and mighty So I could wash the imaginary greasy feeling, The illusory, tarnish off my finger tips, Left at the disconcerting sight Of each person following the two men from each queue, Acquiring undeserved licenses, contracts, Paying away their sins, their murders, Sans an eyelid batter, How can they! And how can we allow it?! I rock on my cold feet, Rock from my tiptoes to my heels, and back, With dry, pink but clearing eyes And my lips drawn in. I swallow my words because I cannot speak Of the injustices I endure, Of solutions that are ignored Or of the daily suffering that leaves the nation’s soul weak. One side of the line I was born on Where any such complaints were only said in faint whispers, For fear that, if said too loud, or amongst the wrong crowd, Such words could be twisted And their speaker would be gone. The other side of the line I escaped to, Where I could speak almost freely Provided I altered the truth. But fear cannot be held no to For thirty odd years. Democracy cannot be given a new definition By lying to innocent ears‌
I stand in No Man’s Land Clenching my teeth in ire, That my heart’s deepest desire To step back on to the left side of the line may never become real. For I have grown tired Of having one foot in one place, one foot in another, Never settled in one destination next to each other. I have become exhausted, Fatigued, from waiting for change, Waiting for the day I experience Democracy The way Oxford Dictionary defines it, Waiting for my words to be spoken, Through lips that are not caged. I stand in No Man’s Land Kissing my teeth, tsk-ing and sighing Because I realize That it is not just Africa’s teapot which is empty, It is not just Africa Heart that could fail If cheating continues to prevail. I realize that our struggles Have hopped from border to border From Africa’s Tip to Africa’s Horn Cape to Cairo, East to West; Democracy is given a new, false meaning at each border post The severity of corruption is determined Non-payment of wages is given a duration, Poverty is given a different coloured blanket to be covered with. I realize I am not alone in my desperate need to go home, But I am also not alone in realizing that its not as easy as when I left…
But still I stand in No Man’s Land With clear eyes and a twinkling smile, No longer feeling the cold in my toes Because with me a flicker of hope has been reignited By the spark of energy the people possess, The solidarity with which they protest For This Flag, our flag. I pray, Father God, That our million and one sent and resent prayers Will finally be answered this time So that This Flag, our flag, Can be risen again, Hopefully, amongst other African nations’ flags With the glory and the might they have been denied, But truly deserve. Amen. © Sasha Coutinho “Bad Bunny”
Their eloquent words like chaff before the wind Will not stand Those are honeyed words of old dripping with disdain Will not stand Those castles in the sand years in the making Will not stand Those colorful markets of dreams they sold us Will not stand Out of the bowels of a hungry people New voices, new songs, new words Rising, insisting, demanding Men of eloquent lie Women of untold bias Building and building on broken backs Taking and taking Pockets never filling Building for themselves and their posterity While they give us castles in the sand Out of the mouths of a voiceless people A loud cry Pleading, pleading, pleading But they look to the side They who sought victory for self Rubbing full bellies and guffawing at banquets Rejecting the people's voices Projecting the lies Painting their own version
Painting a different picture In Blood And they laugh at how their deception Misshape things
But out of the parched throats of the people A groan that reaches the heavens Filling the empty hearts Rushing like wild horses Leaving sand castles behind Throwing aside the weight of an elite Who laughs Then gets angry Then get busy with the denials Repainting Deception But the masquerade is at an end Everyone is unmasked. © Cathrine “Cat”
The music never stops playing for those who dance to it With their feet wide open and ears plugged in To recharge a conscience that runs out to play Olympiads of uncalculated X’s To feel old soapies of those that create pools of polls Whilst they watch an equation, non-simultaneous To what they vow for, a broken merry age of the lit But they never learn We are walking on a universe of stagnant revolution Bones that sing prophecies to the dusty-way galaxy we occupy Yet we still deny the sermons of our answer stars To believe the riddles of a house tune Sung in the bathroom, bedrooms and sitting room as we wait in the dining room And no one wonders when diner time is The noise in the kitchen is not that of the pots But a confusing equaliser of who should take the higher note in the unoccupied kitchen As folks and knives killed the chefs of a promised farmland we are forever getting back To cook a knew menu using theorems of the pan “African” cake Sparing the lives of those who matter, blacks…
Rewind, this is just another song with no intention of rhythm nor beats to dance to It beats me how we are blinded by traps yet still can’t see through its million apertures. ŠGoitsemang Mvula, The Nurturer
Like dry leaves falling off a tree in early winter. I see Afrika diminish in Afrika. The Afrika of Afrikans mowing Afrikans in the South for frivolous reasons that aren't reasons this season. It smells of treason when you listen to futile divisive spits emerging from mouths of inert bodies that yearn eating without sweat. Where each one can teach one, so each could eat one. Lazy man eats more than working man as Afrika mines for the world, today there's a daughter Okaying in disdain. The pain chuckles on her face whilst she gestures joy to the unknown, the pain is semiotic to eye the seer who blinked" momma I see your face swimming in pain, superficially you okay but the larynx and eyes oppose thee, you dickmatose blind you. Who fights endless wars to change positions on the receiving ends of the worlds table, like a bullet ducking thief who steals cables.. Smiling sweet walking sour, the journey walked by the thoughtless and senseless souls who fore-foot look and choke upfront on GTI clean leather seats, where truth is unzipped and a session of passion to mystify the life of one is unleashed. ..
I seek truths between hieroglyphic coded feelings of Afrikans who only see light by looking at the ceiling and those who bear them light and illuminate US scenes only upon killings. I foresee and feel a ghost continent that is contingent to premeditated fornication with light and cum doom. Š Siphe Zenani
Allow me a minute And nothing more As I sound my heart And bid farewell as I watch my world kiss it's death Startled........ Afraid...... Trembling....
It knew the outcome The consequences of opposing oppression But only a real soul Is willingly ready to sacrifice their all For the freedom of the people ...... Freedom of the oppressed Freedom of the crying mourning for the heroes of their beloved country For as my heroes walked out the prisoners rooms towards the gate that would lead them to freedom They knew like my hero said If they didn't leave Their bitterness and hatred behind They would still he in that prison oppressed..... Crying for freedom watching as hope fades for this beloved country ‌
They climbed a great hill To shout silent screams That flow past the oppression... And move the mountains and seas........ But after climbing a great hill One only finds that there are more hills to climb That there is no easy walk to freedom ...... Freedom for the oppressed Freedom of the crying of this beloved country........ And many of us will have to pass through, The valleys of the shadows of death Again and again....... Before we reach the mountain tops of our desires..... To reach freedom .. To end the cries of this beloved country To let freedom reign Allow me a minute ........ for the sun never set on so a glorious achievement. ŠThembekile Kilay Deh'Poet Tsaoane
My dog doesn't bark and doesn't bite! Why doesn't my dog bark? Big as it is...well bred and fed, trained right from a tender age. My dog doesn't bark! I have fed it bones and meat; not forgetting the crispy mukene mixed in the builder's favourite: posho but it still doesn't bark. My dog: a strong dog, well bred and body built and with a stature of a jaguar ready to pounce, neither barks and nor bites but only stares. It goes into hiding as soon as it sees you! It reminds me of the great Mona-Lisa painting; the artist had tried all his best in vain to make the artistic impressions; but his Mona-Lisa did not smile!
With questions and doubts; he would be puzzled, and now I'm asking; why doesn't my dog bark?...
With bone in it's foes my dog doesn't bite and doesn't bark! -of what use is it anyway? Shall it not bark for the speechless mabira? When the 1986 beasts fought, they hid in the bushes of Luwero, Shall you not have where to hide, when you run out of Kampala to the East? Oh, maybe-just maybe it is waiting for the days when there won't be any rain water for it to leak? Oh, yes, may be that may make sense in its case Cause thirst and pain by then will be its case! Š Ivory the Poet(Ernest)
In the land of the visitors, hunger has strike like a thief in the night. They take refuge in the land of their merciless brothers. These brothers have no day for mercy. They have been yelling for years now; “Go back to your country.” No guns and knives flew before, just words that kill an inch of humanity. They wake up and get angry; Look at these men who have been stealing their jobs, their women and what could be their lives. They are reminded that they do not belong here. And now their brotherly enemies have eyes with sparks of fire To burn every kwere-kwere that walks on by with a life. They did not consult the man that used to whisper “Please, please do not do it, you are a good man.” The police demanding a voice from the guns they carry. Their presence demanding life rather than protecting. All kwere-kweres are thieves in their eyes. All they can hear are droplets of blood, that will guarantee them opportunities that they will never grab.
All they smell, are the fumes from their anger, steamed enough to plunge a knife in their souls…
All they feel, is the injustice that they have brought upon themselves. They have fallen two steps behind themselves. All they see, is that they are different from their kwere-kwere brothers But they do not see that we are all kwere-kweres somewhere. That we would want to smell pollen of our success when it blooms on their lands. Not to hear any singing birds of hatred but the waves of serenity with whistles from doves. That someone would impose the same injustice to us.
We have all heightened our senses But we are hungry for love. © Mbalenhle Gummede “Mbaliey”
Steeped in all its glory stands the academy of excellence Do i feature anywhere in its spacious portals? I walked in years ago, starry eyed with pigtails, Panic lurking, the misgivings of a child I stumble, fumble with the newly learnt lingo Teased and mocked...even scorned by peers and teachers I bow my head in shame, silently revolt within. A certain detest and disgust gnaws from the deep recess The bright sparks of the class seem invincible and I shrink vulnerably into the realms of disquiet Perils of folly....creates a phobia Supreme is the authority of the tutors Every move of theirs, i cringe I bow my head in worry, silently revolt within. To please them, a dire necessity Makes me love the arithmetic And explore the sciences Lay shrouded the free spirit awaiting liberation Thirst to question and skills of reasoning Duly put to rest dreading the derision of the master I bow my head in fear, silently revolt within. Ridicule and contempt reigned Much to the dismay of an uneasy mind Didactic was their approach, dwindled my enthusiasm Muted was my plight, subdued my nature, reticent my identity! Had I not bowed my head in shame, worry and fear, Would I not have been a different entity today? Š Sandhya Padmanabhan
I write this letter to… You! I hope you will find time to.. Use! This letter as a.. Tool! A tool to change and better your lives Encourage and nourish your lives To see things differently And disregard what rape culture teaches you… That man is more important than a woman That man holds all the authority That man can do as he pleases to a woman without any kind of a consequence That man can rape, torture and abuse a woman And that is acceptable because boys will always be boy And woman are worthless things, Sex object Possessions A toy than can be used to get rid of man’s boredom, I dare you… Rape culture… Is the worst kind of a teacher Most of the boys are learning from? It taught guys that if she doesn't like you, You have to wait for her to get drunk So you can go and force yourself on her It taught you that, It's not wrong unless someone comes to her rescue…
It taught you that, Using violence, vulgar And making her life hard, Will book you a first class ticket straight to her heart… And most of you right now Can't wait for me to get off this stage so you can crucify me Call me name See me as a less of a man Because I chose to stand for the weak classifies Those that rape culture taught that they are no good for anything. I know this poem is now going to be used as my admission of guilt, crime and betrayal against the Man’s largest corporation called rape culture That claims that, It's their fault to get raped That if they didn't want it, they wouldn't have dressed a skirt that is that short Yeah right! That is a lame excuse used by idiots with overwhelmed bruised ego Who don't even have guts to rightfully approach a girl and say; Hi, my name is so and so I'll admit it, you look beautiful Caught my eyes May I only have five min of your time I promise you won't regret it And I dare, it will be worth it… You can't do that, can you?
If I've learned anything about being a man, Is that, being a man is designed to be a contact sport And far many of us, we retain before we even see what the field or the ring looks like. And they… Being woman, even if they can be empowering, their existence was designed to not stand a chance. Yes I am afraid to talk about this issues out loud, because I know that the first line of action in our society, is to trust the corrupt police more than we trust our own brothers, Is to make sure my neighbour’s son is thrown into prison instead of me showing him a way home.. And think prison will teach him how to respect woman better, Jails, will not fix broken boys, Jails, will break them harder Until every boy, is a piece of a broken glass hurting anyone and everyone around them. So, I'm not saying you should feel sorry for anyone And I'm not going to apologies for the way I feel and told this poem. But all I'm saying is that one day, I’m gonna be father, and I'm gonna have a son And if I don't raise him in a community that will help me teach him how to respect woman better nor learn anything better from me, Then what rape culture will teach him when I'm not looking Will be a ticking bomb, To mass distraction. © Lemohang Tebeli “LemoDePoet”