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Art & African news


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Waiting for the inevitable

Like a seed in fertile soil

I germinated.

Like a plant, I grew strong and bore fruits

But now I know:

That like a flower in the autumn

I will fade.

Like dew on a sunny day

Melting is imminent.

As the sun rises

So, will it set.

After day

The night will follow

Yes, after birth

Death is inevitable.

 


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Begging for her freedom

She had wide and broad shoulders

That carried us all

During the roaring and ferocious winds

Out in the cold all alone.

That was my mother.

 

She fought and won wars

That were too complex for her.

While all those she trusted

Turned their backs on her

And alone and lonely she conquered.

 

Today in her sleep

Those who never dared to face her

Still torment her name

As they cannot touch her soul

And in her slumber, she still fights back.

 

A woman is a rock indeed

That stands still in the face of challenges.

With her mouth permanently shut

I can still hear her war cry

And it pierces deep inside me.

 

Can you let her rest?

For she has very little energy left

After facing all the wars on her own.

Let her enjoy the eternal peace

And please, afford her time to prepare for our inevitable arrival.

 

 


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You may be gone but…

Every time I go to sleep

I see your round wrinkled face

Covered in a smile,

Though you never had a reason to laugh.

 

Every time I listen

I hear your sweet soothing voice

Telling me to march on

Because the land of honey was near.

 

Every time I think of you

I see all your toiling

Meant to put a plate on our laps

Even if it meant scavenging like a stray dog.

 

Every Time I hear your name

I confirm that you were a brave woman

Who gave all her life

For the love and life of us all.

 

And though you are gone  

I feel you live among your grandchildren

Even though they are yet to meet you

And feel your ever present and endless love.


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The last prayer

Take me back

To my mother’s womb

Where there is warmth,

Happiness and love.

 

What was once my home has been strafed.

Flying bullets have blinded my eyes and blocked my tiny ears.

I hear nothing but wailing children

Yelling for their mothers and father prostrated on the ground.

 

The powerful have spoken

All I can do is duck now and again

To save my only possession –

My innocent soul.

 

Mortars and smoke

Hide the sky from me,

But not me from You

For Your eyes, can see through the thickest darkness.

 

Come for me now

I see no light

It’s midnight darkness,

And hope is what I lack.

 


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Song of the condemned

It’s been years waiting

For the huge brute.

To do his only job

Of demonstrating his prowess

Amid women’s ululation.

 

“On your knees & keep your neck straight,” he would say.

In his hand a razor- sharp sword shall turn and twist.

My heart shall dance against chest.

Though fallible like me he holds my life

Or lack thereof in his hands.

 

A pitch- black cloth shall descend over my head

Preventing me from seeing

His cruelty.

But still I will see my way to Him.

I will see what they cannot see.

 

The man or is he a real man?

Will swing his sword once above my head

And once against my neck.

Yes, the long-awaited moment will have finally come

Turning the ground blood red.

 

Freedom comes in many ways.

I will strut Home and free.

Leaving them guilty

For they know they are no God

But sinners like me.

 

 


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She didn’t make it

If only she made it…,

She could be hugging and kissing:

Dad, mum and brothers.

Making her presence felt at home,

And getting inducted to house rules

Before becoming a lady.

If only she made it…

She could be eight by now,

Dressed in her bright school uniform.

Playing with her mates,

And venturing into the real world,

Before becoming a big girl.

If only she made it…

She could be soaring like an eagle,

Away from the embracing wings of her loved ones.

Learning to hunt and survive,

And slowly learning to be a responsible citizen

So that she could be a wife and a caring mother.

If only she made it…,

But sadly she could not survive

Even the nine months protection

In her mother’s warm and life-giving womb.

She could not be given love, life and a name of her own

Because she didn’t make it.