SLOWLY
VOLUME 1
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Kancane, Kancane
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Disjointed thoughts - endless dreams: The childish live forever. Plagued by uncertainty, searching for a piece of sanity, something tangible in the endless slipping and sliding. Stuck in a never-ending loop of “I don’t know’s” and “Fuck it’s”. Most days are spent buried in my hand, scrolling, reading, liking, “socialising”. The other half rushing through life wondering where all the time slipped too. In the narrow space of torrential responsibilities and squeezing out the last few drops of childhood we find ourselves, here. Not our complete selves, but versions and trials runs and beta tests to see who we “really” are. Jumping in and out of commitments to find out what we “really” want. Our entire existence is touch and go. Fumbling around and hoping no one notices that you’re just a kid pretending to have her shit together. You’re a kid still afraid the other kids won’t like you. You’re a kid drowning in adult clothes. You’re still the same kid that spends hours daydreaming, the same kid that finds solace in adventure time and cartoons. You keep waiting, wishing, wanting and sometimes rushing for the day where you wake up and it all settles. Where are we rushing too? What are we waiting for? While drowning in the rush of anxiety, simultaneously anchored down and haunted by the past, He reaches out to me and says “Fake it till you make it” followed by a soft smile with kind intentions. I try hide the fact i’m full to the brim with fears but like clockwork i finally spill, she catches me and says “It’s okay, no one knows what they’re doing”, with her resilient eyes that’ve seen far too many mistakes committed to believe in anything other than trial and error.
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These are Kid souls, souls that never believed the illusions of “growing up” ; “getting their shit together”. They never listened to the screams that told them to leave childish things behind. These are the souls that stand tall and cradle your softness. Kids are the bravest of us all. They wear their heart and fears on their sleeves. Their dreams are merely yet to come, not silent stories for pillows. They paint on walls. They sing the song and don’t know the words. They spend their days at the Dam, in the forrest, and at the beach imagining new worlds. May we never “grow up”. May we never figure it all out. May we live forever. We wear our hearts and fears on our sleeves. our dreams are realities yet to come. We paint on walls. We sing the song and we don’t know the words. We spent our days at the Dam, in the forrest, and at the beach, imagining new worlds. May we never “grow up”. May we never figure it all out. May we live forever.
-Hlohi N.
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Miscarriage. It’s hers and not his. the death of a foetus. a baby. a child. At some point men need to realise that once it occurs, they merely form part of a support system. “I feel like I’ve lost a part of me” she said he replies “Me too”. This feeling cannot be mutual. He didn’t feel her birth within himself, He was told of her existence. He didn’t feel her grow within himself, he was informed of her growth, “She’s 13 weeks old now” she told him while he rubbed on her belly. There’s no kicking & turning until the 25th week. And lastly he didn’t feel her die within himself. But he knew that the look he read on her face at the moment it happened could only mean one thing. In other words, he knows his lover well but the knowledge he has of his recently deceased daughter is similar to that of an absent father. He knows of her existence, but knows very little about her. His love for her is debatable, Can you truly love someone you don’t know? Can you truly love someone you only know about? She felt her daughter’s birth within herself She felt her daughter grow
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She felt her daughter die. She lost a part of herself. At this point he can be there for her, on those nights when she can’t sleep on those days when she can’t do anything productive at those moments when her thoughts become too much for her to function. All he can do is be there for her but he can’t go through it with her. the pain is not shared. It is not equally felt. Miscarriage It’s hers and not his the death of a foetus. a baby, a child. At some point men need to realise that once it occurs, they merely form part of a support system.
Inspired by ‘The Formula’, a Short Film by Emmanuel Adjei starring Sevdeliza. Watch it on Youtube. -Oba(keng)
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We fall in love with men Whom are not at ease with themselves. Men who do not touch Their souls from time to time. Men who father wars but not their own children. Men who fight battles With the world But lose To themselves, Where it matters the most.
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-Kidosho
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(I gave you a few options) sketches of Spain i paint your face subtle yellow royal brown tender eyes strong smile you are part of and apart from me you sink in make me float suddenly no desire resides just me at your front door foot of your soul capturing another tasting the breeze from the other feeling the unchartered territory of the cosmos you take me to new news yet we lay in old forgottens one’s that taste as sweet as the first try etched your name in the cave may we dwell in eternity’s belly forever and temporary
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- Hlohi N.
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HLOHI. N
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Be silent allowing the water to whisper secret
Secrets that reveal m
Secrets that p
Into r
Let th
Breath above
Feeling your back arc
And as you exhale waiting for
Embrace the water that washes over y
Remembering there is nothing to fear when yo
Because the balance provided by fire and ear
Be silent for Release freeing yourself
To the peace of wait-lessness
Elevate your body to set your
Allow your stillness to
Desp
Alone in this s To wait-less On the affirmation of others. Awake in this silence
To wait-less o
For th
Alive in this si
Wait-less
For you are worth more
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ts to your skin
memories long forgotten
patiently wait and welcome you
remembering that you, right here right now
You are wait-less
Be silent as the tides tease at your centre of gravity
he ebb and flow cradle you into meditation.
e water
ch, your chest rise awake to salute the fire of the sun,
r Prana to set sail
your eyes in a thin film
our head dangles between horizons of water and air
rth reveals in you.
spirit afloat
o move you. Move with you. Move in you.
Afloat in this silence know
You are wait-less
pite how heavy the world feels.
silence learn
work
on daydreams of what was and what could be
he future is plump and ripening
ilence
- Kalemela
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KALEMELA
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After Dark I paint the night You were a distant star That fell into an apple tree To only be consumed as Knowledge. Of a past life One that shared love And hid itself from light You became wise. Yes But you left an important part Of yourself with HER, I ATE YOU (crunchy) -DRUGFREEPOETRY 20
KALEMELA
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Hers was a gentle love Like ripples in the water She will float you into oblivion Leaving your eyes salty upon submarining in her Swim down to her ocean bed so you can see her other surface But the further you delve the more she darkens For there are creatures deep inside that she herself has never swam with before And others she wishes never to see once more. She ripples. They splash.
-Kalemela
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Eventually, You become forgotten by those that you care about the most. It could be the wrongs you ensued on them in past that cause them to drift away. Or simply the winds of change blowing every thought of you away from them. Whatever it is, Your only choice is to deal with it. Whether it be reconciling or moving on, Your happiness should be the goal. Eventually, You forget about the people who care about you the most. It could be the wrongs they ensued on you in the past that cause you to drift away. Or Simply the winds of change blowing every thought of them away from you. Whatever it is, Their only choice is to deal with it. Whether it be, reconciling or moving on. Their happiness should be the goal. - Oba(keng)
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How To Mourn In The Diaspora. [Mourning in Absentia] You pick up your phone to absence and Allah. You sit on your bed and pray For lost time and Your housemates do not hear you. [You do not know what to do] You swear at the oceans and the land You curse your dreams and hopes and distance. [You ask your new lover to take you dress shopping] You ask yourself how to mourn in the diaspora. You lie on your bed and question existence. [You check the internet on how to mourn] You will refresh pages and check flights You will call them [You will not put down your phone] You do not know how to mourn in the diaspora.
[CĹŠcĹŠ- I am sorry I was not there, I pr
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rayed to NgaÄŠ and thanked you for my name.]
- Kidosho
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KALEMELA
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We are blinding Darkness, we are blinding. Blackness, Power binding Woman, we surviving. We are striking Thickness, we are striking Thunderous thighs, we are frightening. Different bodies, we mesmerizing. We are the darkness that lays you to rest We are dark that pain and struggle knows best We are the darkness that births light We are darkness, baby we outta sight Darkness we are Blinding, Blackness Power Binding. -KALEMELA
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Wash. I once tried to wash The stench of depression off my skin Only to reveal blood and bones and an inconsolable darkness. - Kidosho
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KALEMELA
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Fait Acoompli During a starry night I ressembled immpressionistic art. Materializing under Times relatively thinner and smaller but visible brush strokes. Laying in a naked transfer. A blurry deterministic still, formed by a trail of ever passing micro second moments. A pure becoming without being unaware of the slightest changes underneath Ptolemy’s constellation. Under fixed stars and fixed orbits. Waiting at the brink of eternaty’s gate. In an expanding universe where my soul sought expansion. An understanding. Of Purpose, of Reason, of Being. Constantly asking of the whereabouts of god. And whether god came withman or man came with God. Awekening the forbidden memory in the Garden of Etten. Ears that never listened. Asking which fruit I and I ate. Whether the Fruit came with the Snake. In the same manner Fire came with Prometheus. And whether I out of everyone could see all. And whether he could paint eternity. -DRUGFREEPOETRY
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May we never become Anonymous corpses in a Foreign Land. May our souls Not linger soulless Over Unknown territory Lost In search of a Home Unknown to Us. May we never sleep At bottom of ocean floors Forgotten.
- Kidosho
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Image: Kidosho
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On some random day, Which will only come to be Many days from now. My love for you would Still be everlasting, like I said it would be many years ago. On the same random day, I might or might not think of you. My mind could either be occupied with thoughts of another I could’ve found or maybe just food. Either way, I’ll undoubtably be missing you. Random days, They randomly come to be with random thoughts being conjured up like doodles on a page. I’m pretty sure these random thoughts will be memories of times I spent with you. Memories I kept in hope of them reoccurring. But, On some random day many years from now My love for you will still be everlasting, I’ll probably still think about you, and the memories I have of you would still be remembered and cherished. ----However, on this random day I could finally be over you. Love, Karl.
-Oba(keng)
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We all Harrison Ford when he finds out he’s a replicant too It’s the 21’s Century and you think they can’t replicate you? Grandchildren of the atom, we were adopted by cyberspace The 1 percent are now building their war bunkers in outer space So tell Elon Musk I’ll need a ticket to Mars Before the West divides the red planet and leaves the carcass of Earth to our grandchildren and descendants, who’ll remain here as remnants of a global war, where the losing side is facing extinction. Tay Zonday called it Chocolate Rain, I call it the truth. So I’ll subscribe to WorldStarHipHop, to numb me from proof. That when man made the internet, we may have reached our roof. Or ceiling, or whatever word’s appealing to describe the evidence of pealing on white walls of our Platonian caves of failed media concealment. So what’s the use of a black boy who dreams of warp speeds and alternative realities? In a world of likes, hashtags, and memes? With a thirst of corporately manufactured personalities. Where everyone seeks a space for unhindered self expression. Then monopolise what is deemed creativity if it wont conform, to a hive’s dimensions. -R.S. Olivaw
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TH3KWL3ST 41
[CAN’T GO BACK, RETRACT TO WHAT ONCE WAS. I’M PAINFULLY PRESENT. HERE. VIVID AND CRISP. RESENTMENT SITS. I’M AWAKE. FUCK…]
I’ve been toiling with a masquerade enraged deranged tore my skin wore vanishings lost myself found nothing i’ve been here the whole time. waves just crash harder winds blow wilder sounds silent and none loud sung in mind sleep is a minefield life a mirror thought i sunk fought myself running from presence death reflecting how will i paint? to be original, new to be of origins true to be. painful and beautiful. harmonious and here. -Hlohi n.
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TEAM Contributers: Aisha Mugo Awande Buthelezi Chawezi Chirwa Hlohi Ndlovu Jessica Loko Mule Obakeng Ndebele Editor: Obakeng Ndebele Layout & Design: Hlohi Ndlovu Karl Ndebele
For Us By Us
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We’ll get there...
Slowly
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©Destiny’s Black Children™
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