Sabrina Mbulawa

Kayla

It wasn’t until I met you that I discovered that softness could exist so beautifully in human form

You made me comfortable enough to forget that I was tainted

You opened my gates and walked your way through the reservoirs of my pain; war ready with a box and a knife

Carving my hurt away and placing it where it couldn’t bruise me anymore.

Even though i never asked.

Even though you didn’t have to.

You reminded me of love

A different kind that I wasn’t used to but was anxious to wrap myself around

You made me feel…safe.

I found solace in your arms and belonging while drawing the stars on your chest as you lay asleep.

With time, I remembered that relying on someone to keep your light alive, gives them just enough power to kill it ;and

through my brokenness, I became terrified that you might have been the piece to complete me.

In the end, I chose to welcome the best parts of your affection with the thorns I grew trying to protect the purity I prayed I hadn’t lost yet.

I’m grasping onto the hope that one day I might be able to explain to you how I’ve come to find both love and fear in you

 


 

Name:Sabrina Mbulawa

Medium: Poetry

Location: Botswana

About the Artist:

 “Words have always been my favourite form of expression. I’m infinitely inspired by sensuality, nature and the idea of complete self-love.”

 

Contact :

IG: @lovesabrinaneo

Laura Bonginkosi

Maktub 
(Arabic word meaning “it is written”)

Aurora
I love you
I yearn for the day I may hold you
The moment I may trace
Your silhouette
As is mine – the same
a forbidden apple – my love for you is
A guilty pleasure
My siren, you are beguiling
But maktub
My desire for you
Is sacrilege

Maktub Illustration By Me. - Drawing 11654343402


Name : Laura Bonginkosi

Age:20

Medium: Poetry

Location:Bulawayo, Zimbabwe

About the artist:

“My poetry / prose pieces express my pain or worry and my self portraits are a visual presentation of my thoughts & You will come to notice that I use sexual references in alot of my pieces as a creative signature. Art is the source of my happiness, peace and identity.”

Contact details:
Email :mbevelaurab@gmail.com

Social media(s) : IG – laurabonginkosi

Vincent Khumalo

WE LIKE THE EARTH AND THE MOON

Baeb look I could view us differently
Perhaps at a certain distance maybe
Reaching out to you its so hard l know
These days you oftenly far from reach
It feels like you the earth and l the moon
My light aint enough but blinks for you alone
Your thoughts are like the various continents
Which are far apart from reach and thats sad
Just like mother earth you are covered in water
Which chokes you sometimes to think unfair
Since you have only given me the moon to stare
I stare at you only in your darktimes and beyond
Cause during daytime you fresh as a rose and a pearl
I might be far but believe you me l care about you
Its you l need like Oxygen upon a human soul
I could wash away the pain and depression
Given the oceans Yes l would at any given time
I could make you a woman again a goddess maybe..

 

 


Name: Vincent Khumalo

Medium: Poetry

Location: Zimbabwe (Bulawayo)

About the Artist: 

The term act can be used to refer the very way of life a human being can express his/her emotions and feelings.In other words art acts a media exchange were words and actions fail act takes over.Act acts a voice to the voiceless.This expression can be in poetry ,drawings amongst other forms of art.My form of art is based on poetry.I chose poetry because this be the only platform l can speak my heart and soul out.Poetry to me acts a mouthpiece to a society that is so much under emotional criticism such that speaking out is a taboo.When speaking out becames a taboo l have used poetry as a form of self expression to a few things that happen around but can never be said.

Contact:vincentkhumal2017@gmail.com

Twitter handle –  Kryptonite@VincentKhumal17
Facebook – Vincent Khumalo ( Kryptonite )

Sakhile Donga

WEEK 20

 

 

‘Two sides to a coin’

Take her for instance. Configured to love you, soothe you. Disown you?
Never
Her emotions are aligned to quiver whenever you not with her
‘Come home my love’ she whispers.
She trips on a rope called love at the cost of her gift from up above, her child.
That same child penetrated by the mothers lover.
He had her under his covers
Let’s call him panda!
Not the one with broads in Atlanta But;
The broad propaganda.
Who is gonna save that poor girl?
Silently screaming she tucks herself in the wounds of her heart.
Hurt is her pillow
Shame is her blanket
She can’t uncover her bruises on her inner thighs, the finger marks both sides of her hips
Even to the most high.
She just sits there and cries!
As the clock tick tocks
She tip toes around her fears.
With time she will heal!
Not only does time heal.
Time seals the shame, the hurt, the secrets, the pain.
What if I told you the mother knew;
Would you hate her?
What if I told you that was once her too;
Would you save her?

‘Stole’

Let me fall asleep to the sound of my heartache.
Brought it upon self,
You still the best mistake.

So here’s my letter to you
Ironically it’s something you will never go through.
If I could, I would

I would turn back the hands of time
I can’t! Even for a dime
I just hurts, undoing every single knitted moment I had with you.

Who am I to just come and uproot such a beautiful pair?
Except, that’s what you did
Not intentionally
No, unconditionally

You loved unconditionally
Made me feel alive, revived, deprived from free will
I had no choice but to love

To love love what wasn’t mine.

 


 

Name: Sakhile Donga

Medium:Poetry/ Literature

Current Location :South Africa

About the Artist: 

“Art to me is about the only thing left in this world that no one can take away from us. It’s there in sadness, in happiness, in shame, literally in every aspect of our lives. It is the most common language but yet many are still deaf towards it. Art to me is love. Love casts out all fear and the capability of being able to fully express yourself despite what some may think or say is the true essence of self love.

My poetry or spoken word pieces are my ways of expressing the inner man enclosed by the judgement of the one on the outside. My poetry is freedom!”

 

Contact:sacky004@gmail.com

 

 

Tshepiso Mokoena

Holy Apparitions

Imagine a world so Vast with all the knowledge going stray.

Wisdom that made men lead the tribe when power laid him to rest.
Feminine awakening but artfully deprived
Delicate with  ambitions while being tossed to the side.
Imagine the velocity that blooms with the sagacity the soil holds,
If Steve was a woman would gender be visible like candy capturing an eye of a baby.
Raw in crave and oppressing so passionate
I can only imagine restless cries carried by the wind to form clouds of peace, rain of patience.
Earth wet irrelevancy, society playing green fingers to what they reap.
Everything they could never sow.
Written by Tshepiso, Balidembe and Velry Mokoena

 

Name: Tshepiso Mokoena

Medium: Poetry

About the artist:

” One would define Art as a skill or dexterity or even the power of performing certain action in a beautiful crafty way.

But to me Art will forever be a satisfactory arch where one finds closure by allowing his or her feelings eloquently.
Art can be described as Freedom, a form of screaming in silence. Art defines humans for us humans to define or create Art.
We often barricade ourselves when facing certain circumstances the society or the world has for us but if I were to sit and drown my emotions through a puff of my cigarette, Art is our Scaffold, Art is our Oasis.
My Art simply means allow your self. Breach your emotions in a piece of paper or in a rear of a mic because Art is us humans.”
Contact:bali120400@yahoo.com

Tiwanna Taona Karidza

Exotics

When it was new

It’s beauty was true

Like no other left you  breathless

Like a goddess, priceless

As the hour pass the glass

Beauty in your eyes faded

That, what  was new, faded

 

ITS THE USUAL! THE USUAL!

All the uniqueness, thoroughly explored

Nothing different! nothing different!

Simply because you can touch it

Now eyes search for newer satisfaction

Something….a different amazement

When found!

Stanza one can be reread again

 

 

By Tiwanna Taonesesa Karidza


 

 

 

 

Name:Tiwanna Taonesesa Karidza

Medium: Poetry/Literature

Background: Zimbabwe

Author Detail: A 20 year old poetess. Studying law at Monash university. A published
poet to the anthology “ Pain is a feeling”. Studying and based in South Africa.

About the Artist:

“To me art is a place that only the mind can explore. The only
place where the mind will grow ears, eyes and can be able to
feel. A collection of expressions that are deeper than mere
gestures. Art is a language. A pathway to places unseen.”

Contact: tiwannakendale@gmail.com                       Instagram: @exotictiwanna      Facebook: @Tiwanna Taonesesa Karidza

Lethica Nair


You must not be misinformed.
We didn’t come here by choice.
When the British came
My ancestors knew what to do.
They filled our hair with as much culture as possible- thick
They bridged the ocean in between.
We came with our agarbatti and bhindis
Our traditions and myths
“Do not walk under a mango tree at night with your hair loose.”
“Turn salt seven times to remove the jealous eyes”
We came with our home remedies
“Chew bitter leaf to get rid of a cough or drink russo.”
“Burn sambrani”
“Put coconut oil in your hair.”
“Leg baths for new borns by an elder.”
We came with our Gods
“Lakshmi prayers, porridge prayers, Kavady, Raksha Bandhan, Diwali.”
We came with our bhajans and marigold garlands.
We came with our intricate languages
And broke English so rigidly, only we understand each other.
“Thava(homonym), hava, warrapen”
A rope.
A root.
When the British came
My ancestors knew what to do
They filled our hair with as much culture as possible-Thick.

IMG_7288

-Indian hair

Illustrated by Moipone Tsaoane


Name:Lethica Nair

Medium:Poetry

Location:South Africa, Chatsworth.

About the Piece:

This piece is titled Indian Hair. It is speaks about the misrepresentation of the Indian community living in South Africa. It talks about what is means to leave your country to be an immigrant in another and how that affects the next generation. It’s speaks to a yearning of belonging so you try and use what you have in a foreign place and make it your own e.g the English dialect.

 

Contact:lethicanair@gmail.com

Sylvester Musademba

Fear Is All I Know

Fear is all I know.
The things I cannot control.
Emotions not to be shown.
Fearless is the call.

Promises unsecure.
Trust has been foiled.
Time is the cure.
Fearless is the call.

Stuck in the past.
Whilst everyone went past.
Will I ever let any of it go.
Fearless is the call.

A bleak future.
Frozen, my heart starts to grow
Hope, warmth is the foe
Fearless, I hear your call.

Phantom
About:
A narrative piece poking at the paralysing grip that fear has on us as humans. In the
end, there is hope we can overcome our fears if need be.


My Shame

If I had one more chance,
Would I say it in a trance?
Every moment I missed,
Opportunities to speak!
Misguided by the world,
The cruelty of being weak!
In mind and in heart,
To praise a beauty apart.

A marvellous site…
Exquisite to the eye.
Only a deity…
Could bring about to life.
When the vine next sprouts,
This time will I spout?
Are these thoughts in vein?
Again to be put away by shame.

Phantom

 


 

Name:Sylvester Musademba

Medium: Poetry

Location: Pretoria, South Africa

Background: Zimbabwean

Contact:sylvester.musademba@yahoo.com

Anesu Kanengoni

How to Tell Your Mother You Want to Die

You slowly rip open her heart

Cut out the mysteries her body still holds after it was done holding you buoyant in her universe

You make yourself a monster

A murderer

You steel yourself into the task at hand

You tell her, your child does not live in this vessel

You tell her he was evicted ages ago

You look at her in her eyes that threaten to unleash a tsunami

Your own eyes a deluge

You tell her it’s the kindest thing you’ve ever thought of yourself

Cut her with the scars left over from when you cut yourself

She questions herself and how she never knew

You convince her she raised an award winning liar

A master of deception

Because how could she know when all you did was duck and dive from her love heavier than the souls of the damned

She lets out a deep breath.

You’re not sure if she’s trying to push it all out of her lungs so she doesn’t have to sit there and melt with you

Or if she, like the goddess she is, is trying to breath life back into

Like how she did the first time you were a flicker of thought in the universe.

You deny her autonomy over this vessel she created

You tell her she has no right to want you to live

And then sit back as the fabric of creation unravels in front of your very eyes.

You tell your mother you want to die in the purest form

The only language she has taught you to speak with great fluency

You tell her by doing it

Then sign it in her blood that you may never forget her in that next plane

That she may know this was a sacrifice made for your peace

For your sovereignty over the geography of your own mind

That it was an exercise in reclaiming the cosmic energy that is you

Maybe then she will understand when you tell her you want to die.

 

By Anesu Kanengoni

 



 

Name:Anesu Tanatswa M. Kanengoni

Background:Zimbabwean

Location:Ukraine

Medium:Poetry

About the artist:

“Art is sanity. To put it very simply and very precisely, in my experience art is sanity. It is how I grasp to life and love and joy when there is none to be had, it is my mind staying a buzz at all hours. Art is the closest thing to God-awareness I have ever and will ever come because as an artist, I am a creator in some way, and understanding what is takes to create, puts me in tune with whatever divine cosmic energy created the universe. Art is me  sharing from my experiences and soaking myself the experiences of the people around me to create something that is, hopefully, beautiful and inspiring and healing in some way.”

Contact: nesukane@gmail.com      Twitter : @Magical_Zimbo  

Instagram : @magical_zimbo

Diana Motsi


Ride to an African hell

Stair case by staircase

Sweat dripping off drop after drop

From the neck to the toes

Pushing away forward like a hyena feeding off a dead elephant.

Bones spread out across thin skin

Brushed brutally by yellow sun.

Has our flesh been led to extinction all left are dead bones raided by demonsthat feast off the stench of death?

Brutally feasting on what was fruitful and ever knowing

Taken back to mere pieces that give off the stench of conservative aura

Of old women who bore revenge,brew violence and made the world a war zone

Drag me to an african hell where there are pitiful cries of what could have been

Drag me there while singing hyms or playing drums loud enough to rescue my totem 

Nurse me with sound 

Hype me with devotion drank in a wooden cup

Harbor my cries ,grab my mourning and collect my tears

Help my tribe  make the most elegent of all rides to hell

Pushed in glamour,opposite to the life l lived 

I want to end my journey in the most devine kingly way.


Name:Diana Motsi

Medium:Poetry

Background:Zimbabwean

About the Artist:

My art is more than just expression.It fortifies my trinity.My heart spirit and soul.My art color and smile.It mounds my existence.It is more than my identity because it also paints my capacity.My strength and weakness.My art is freedom to be to think and to act.Either in sound in picture and fashion

My art is recognizing the art within other people and help them embrace it by capturing their expression in word and picture.Every moment is precious whether it has color or not hence my monochromic appeal to photography

My writing is expression of its bitter kind.It is unapologetic but soothed with a vulnerable touch as l seek to address the ills of societal confinement that is so strong it has infiltrated art which was originally a symbol of being different and free.Because art has been defined l seek to view my art as undefined ,accepted by me because it is mine in its bitter honesty.My art is in words and in people .

 

Contact:dianamots@gmail.com