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AFRICAN POETRY |
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Dear man |
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Dear man.
I would like to ask if I can.
Why do you resent woman so much.
I thought you would like that she is soft to the touch.
Why do you beat her and cuss her.
When it is your child she will bear.
Why do you rape her.
And when she cries you stone her.
Is because you think she is just from your rib.
What if it all is a fib?
Then what are you going to do?
Are you going to say sorry – because it is due.
Dear man.
Why do you bully me at h...
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We are so horrible |
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We are so horrible.
I watched a man being reduced to nothing but a body with blood filled with whisky.
Because we just do not offer the key.
We just do not make it easy.
So I watched him year after year.
Becoming more of a stranger.
His intelligence becoming more drunk.
His breath starting to smell like that of a skunk.
All because he will never ever tell that he actually loves another man.
We made him so afraid.
We are so horrible.
By: Keitu Reid
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I Won't Be Silent Anymore - Antonio Lyons |
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The world seeks to define my manhood in opposition to womanhood.
Why?
Or it defines me in comparison to men who express love through fists, words that hurt, or behavior that controls and limits
Why?
I don’t beat my sisters
I don’t humiliate my sisters
I don’t abuse my children
I don’t drink myself into forgetfulness
I speak for boys left behind, because girls have been forgotten for so long
I speak for boys trying to be men with no resources, no guidance, no hope
I speak f...
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A Requiem for Umma |
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A Requiem for Umma
Words by Charles Nhamo Rupare
I wonder what lovers speak of in the new nation of South Sudan?
Could it be the courtships of libertine lovers in the era of Kush?
Do they speak of the corner street that ignited their passion or do they wonder and ponder on the future of their seeds as dignified Afrikans?
Your capabilities as Afrikans is heralded by the winds across the plains of Nubia sending love notes to northerlies in Khartoum speaking of love of self, peace, a...
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My Grandmother’s Cooking |
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Through the curious eyes of a pubescent,
I sit and watch the hand
That flavors
So perfect and precise,
Her cooking is from great grandmother!
Skillfully, she turns the pot
I watch in awe
As she captures flavors from the past
How does she do that?
It’s the magic of that hand!
The hand that cut the umbilical cord,
The hand that moulded my tender scalp,
The hand that never tires,
The hand that feeds me
Words of advice
Sometimes those words are as bitter
As the remedy for a snak...
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Maita, Siyabonga – We Are Grateful |
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Thank you for
The good seeds you have sawn,
For through your bloodshed
I am called by my name today!
My grandmother sings praises of my lineage
She echoes the sacredness of ancestry
Passed from one generation to the next
Like delicate reeds woven
Into a beautiful village basket,
Each line she utters is intertwined
With messages from ancient wisdom
Her quivering voice
Reminds me of how far I have to go,
In my existence
To leave a mark for my children
Thank you for the sacri...
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Haiti, From Mother to Child |
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Mother Africa weeps
For the wounds of her defenseless child,
Stripped naked by the cruel perils of nature
Like a hen whose chicks have been snatched
By a giant eagle,
She cries in torment
From the rape of her daughter,
Of her flesh and blood,
That of her very soul!
But still,
The spirit of the wind brings messages
Across the ocean
My child, you will not be broken!
You are born of the strength of the ancestors,
Great spirits watch over you!
Hold on to the strength in your black...
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Black People |
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Black people, the sun has set on us!
Our eyes are open,
But only to the very things that destroy us
Only darkness prevails when we have lost
Track of who we are
Where are we going as a people?
Our rivers have dried up,
Echoes of wisdom lay silent,
Our tongues are poisoned
By the lies we have been feeding on
Like a deer that has lost its path
We no longer lead, but we follow
Those that once oppressed us
And foolishly we fall into the trap
Of denying who are,
Hoping to be accep...
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Bio:Thulisile Mabhena |
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Born in 1982, and raised in the country of Zimbabwe, Thulisile Mabhena’s journey as a poet began in the middle of high school, when her English teacher introduced her to the work of great poets such as Chinua Achebe and Chenjerai Hove. Inspired by their unique African style narrated in English language, Thulisile Mabhena won several national writing competitions, as she grew to adopt her on writing style while still in high school. In 2001, Thulisile Mabhena moved to the United States to study...
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Black Anakin Q&A |
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BLACK ANAKIN Q & A
Slam Poet
Black Anakin is often described by most as a revolutionary poet, his work is littered with what some would call consciousness, he speaks about the things that we all wish we had the nerve to say out loud, better still, to put them as eloquently as he does. Born in England to a Zimbabwean family and having lived and studied in various parts of the world, he is what one might describe as a citizen of the world. Black Anakin is the epitome of the saying "don't jud...
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Sarah |
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From the crack of her bosom I hide, from the folds of her belly I reside.
Abused. Displayed. Orphaned. Enslaved. What was her name?
Raised under hot sun, under hot rod if you did wrong. They called you Saartjie, yes, little black girl with coarse curly black hair, and big bold black nipples, which shone when the sweat for your black forehead trickled down
Black check
Black neck
Black collar bone
Black cleavage
Black chest
Black?
Belly with many fold like we playing Texas hold 'em, ...
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