International Poetry الشعر শ্লোক ကဗျာ ליבע ਪਿਆਰ өлүм

African Poetry with Tendai Rinos Mwanaka

Another Day Here

 

The voice of the Masjid

Arouse the cockerels through,

And each dawn in my sleep,

Just before my eyes gasp her first and I,

I hear your voice calling softly in my head.

It's been silence since you left. Deadly silence

 

Come get me paradise. Come get me...

 

Fifty years laying on your side.

Fifty years making pillows off your chest,

The hairs softly mating mine, in unison,

Our hearts beating as one, temptatiously within.

Loving you is dying each new step of the way,

With you gone, I am a bundle of dead matter walking.

 

Come get me paradise. Come get me...

 

The imam screams the salat a third time,

The fourth more loudly than before,

Your voice quickly melts into shadows

Taking flight too fragile for walls to screen.

I am awake. Yawning.

Akor Emmanuel Oche writes poetry and creative non-fiction. He is The Secretary General ofAfrica Haïku Network and Manager of OCHEBOOKS PUBLISHING. He writes from Lokoja. Nigeria.

The Invisible Hand

 

And I lay 'neath the earth pondering

Particles of my body into the wind,

Scattered all over the place like a bad dream,

But I wasn't alone, I was with seed,

It looked at me almost perplexed and bewildered,

I didn't have any answer,

Maybe the sun might- I fathomed,

Or the moon- I reckoned,

They've been here for ages,

Watching the brave and the weary

Struggle in a world for an honest or dishonest pay-

Hay to make sure they live through the next day,

Yet again like a pillar of salt,

Void any remorse they could only watch.

Tree roots sprang through my veins,

CO2 for O2 was the bargain-

I mused, how? Skeletons don't give back

But then, all it needed was clay from body parts,

A stream nearby, nourished its leaves

Providing canopy for my broken pieces.

I lay for as long as I could,

Washed off by the rain and dews

Into a river of forgetfulness,

Alas, things have moved on since I left,

No more flowers on my grave,

Never mind, I'm one with the ether

Awaiting the next chapter

By the Invisible Hand.

 

 

 

Beven Nebafor Awusa has been an enthusiastic Cameroonian writer for over a decade, and has never feared to write what comes to mind, reproaching socio-political vices and advocating for equality, peace, love and respect.

9 one one

 

This is a bullet in fine uniform

A bouquet of bloody fists

With a leg-icy in law

 

And there’s a brain behind

To teach this

You don’t need a shooting permit!

That’s no squirrel.

 

In front:

 

We

The people in no uniform

Write the Hashtag in bold

 

#US990/2015

#US419/2016:2

 

#TG500/2005

#TG16/2017:4

 

We tweet our song on the screen:

 

We shall overcome

 

Sooner than later

This time.

 

 

 

Patron Henekou is a poet (Soufflesd’outre-cœur) and playwright (Dovlo, or A Worthless Sweat), and co-organizer of the Festival of Literature and Arts (FesLArts) at University of Lomé, Togo. Patron is the 2018 African American Fellow at the Palm Beach Poetry Festival.

African Poetry Editor Tendai Rinos Mwanaka is a leading poet and writer of the new generation of African writers and works hard to promote African writing through anthologies he has curated and co edited. Mwanaka has been shortlisted and won several writing awards, including being shortlisted for a record 7 times for the UK based Erbacce poetry award, 3 times nominated for the Pushcart, The Caine African Writing Award etc.

Kazikwa

 

Africa’s children.......

their desolate moons         festoon too many inane eyes

their hungry winds            exhume their starving cries

a never ending hostile season   sucked their smiles

tiny fists and feet    hurling stones

unborn bones   infested faceless foetuses

begging without words

their desperate deaths        shall dwell at our laden tables

scrape our wombs

castrate our worlds

bleed  us  wounds

inhabit our words

the barren sky breaks   the sun scores

a hand not a hand

a mouth not a mouth

a child not a child

no laughter

no toys

no games 

no dreams

we will never know their tormented names

little slow  stunted steps    meagre minds   forsaken

unknown beakless birds

their unspoken plead

pitiless shadows of a different war

a milkless mother comforts croons

empty spoons

humanity mocks 

nothing shocks 

fatherless figure sticks

thin thread twigs        

brittle silhouettes 

bulging eyes

like animated anatomies     hollow palms  has-beens 

urge unto our plasma screens 

 

 

from callous coffinless places      where we have never been

into our luxurious family rooms

between million dollar ads  and  fads

diseases famine we have never seen

 

our earth is not holding them      what is their deserving

whilst they stare voiceless at a heartless heaven  that they know nothing about…..

 

 

 

Mari Ballot is an author and poet living in South Africa who has been passionate about poetry and nature from an early age. She writes about atrocious political injustices and the complexities of corruption.

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