An African affirmation
by Thabo Ramogogane
Often this dichotomy, inadequateness, and a sheer paradox
Who am I? How do I define self?
I feel dispossessed, everything is stolen
Anthropologists say it's the cradle of humanity but how do I know that for a fact?
My people are dying.
We are engulfed by diseases, AIDS, Malaria, Yellow Fever, and Kwashiorkor.
Oh Africa my beginning, why did you have all those resources?
Natural resources such as minerals, diamonds, gold, and silver.
Maybe you would have not been a victim.
But how do I know? Maybe we would have made you a victim ourselves
Oh what a paradoxical state, rich but yet so poor.
Violence seems to be our culture.
Ethnic cleansing, religious persecution. Why Africa?
Men missing limbs, only having their bosoms to survive.
A child living a life of a parent, things indeed have gone south
Your beauty has vanished from sight; your beauty is only in our nostalgic minds.
How do I restore you Africa? Maybe not, you are Africa.
Aluta continua Africa!!!!! (The struggle continues)
The Journey
By Reshard Horne
I am going through this.
Institutionalized. Electronic. Programmed.
The child who’s seen his whole life as God’s robot-man.
I can’t see.
Don’t touch. Don’t taste. Don’t live.
The God-man soldier on the road to destiny without a brake pedal or wheel.
I hate this road.
Turn or burn. Fly or fry.
Conform to our paradigms and our church way Reshard.Drone.
Reality:
I don’t want none of this.
Decrypted. Inverted. Disengaged.
The child who wants to fly.
I see something.
Freedom? Expression? Truth?
The God-man soldier who subverts man’s lies and finds God’s truth.
Self aware: I hate this lie.
Do that. Want this. Crave that.
Is this how you plan to fit in? Do you think you ever will?
I will do without none of this.
The God. The love. The life.
The man who has the peace.
Black Widow (Latrodectus Hesperus)
by Precious Yett
Oh, shy nighttime Mother of golden children
who cocoons hope within her multi-armed
bosom until it breaks, spills, and spawns
who thrives in the summer and barely survives in winter
It is cold now
For so long you have carried
the needy on your back of shiny black
that now you lose strength and are left to be
preyed upon by WASPS
as well as people who prefer you controlled, removed, cleaned out
yet you are resistant
although those who remain string you along
They fear you because in some you cause:
sweating, swollen eyelids, drooling, dry mouth
CONSEQUENCES
They say you have sharp fangs in your arsenal
Your beauty is deadly, attitude venomous
It’s true you have captured an infinite many
they suckled until they were dust-dry
now they rip themselves from your “tomb”
causing your shoe-button eyes to cry
Your lover was only around for a month or two
left you a single cannibalistic mother
when he died
You birthed almost a thousand children
yet only see twelve alive
Some say you are a murderer
but only when he cheats
How dare he when he spent the duration
of his miserable life searching for thee?
Your offspring scream “Father!”
rushing from your flailing arms
not needing wings, only strings, to fly
You sit belly upward, to ponder
why they need him to thrive
He could be so immature at times
Complaining that you were moody while molting
although he did so too periodically
Sigh.
Oh Madam Araneae, Mother of many children
the hour glass of blood is dwindling
They no longer care if they catch you alive
Please don’t let them exterminate your children
Or, you too, will die.
by Thabo Ramogogane
Often this dichotomy, inadequateness, and a sheer paradox
Who am I? How do I define self?
I feel dispossessed, everything is stolen
Anthropologists say it's the cradle of humanity but how do I know that for a fact?
My people are dying.
We are engulfed by diseases, AIDS, Malaria, Yellow Fever, and Kwashiorkor.
Oh Africa my beginning, why did you have all those resources?
Natural resources such as minerals, diamonds, gold, and silver.
Maybe you would have not been a victim.
But how do I know? Maybe we would have made you a victim ourselves
Oh what a paradoxical state, rich but yet so poor.
Violence seems to be our culture.
Ethnic cleansing, religious persecution. Why Africa?
Men missing limbs, only having their bosoms to survive.
A child living a life of a parent, things indeed have gone south
Your beauty has vanished from sight; your beauty is only in our nostalgic minds.
How do I restore you Africa? Maybe not, you are Africa.
Aluta continua Africa!!!!! (The struggle continues)
The Journey
By Reshard Horne
I am going through this.
Institutionalized. Electronic. Programmed.
The child who’s seen his whole life as God’s robot-man.
I can’t see.
Don’t touch. Don’t taste. Don’t live.
The God-man soldier on the road to destiny without a brake pedal or wheel.
I hate this road.
Turn or burn. Fly or fry.
Conform to our paradigms and our church way Reshard.Drone.
Reality:
I don’t want none of this.
Decrypted. Inverted. Disengaged.
The child who wants to fly.
I see something.
Freedom? Expression? Truth?
The God-man soldier who subverts man’s lies and finds God’s truth.
Self aware: I hate this lie.
Do that. Want this. Crave that.
Is this how you plan to fit in? Do you think you ever will?
I will do without none of this.
The God. The love. The life.
The man who has the peace.
Black Widow (Latrodectus Hesperus)
by Precious Yett
Oh, shy nighttime Mother of golden children
who cocoons hope within her multi-armed
bosom until it breaks, spills, and spawns
who thrives in the summer and barely survives in winter
It is cold now
For so long you have carried
the needy on your back of shiny black
that now you lose strength and are left to be
preyed upon by WASPS
as well as people who prefer you controlled, removed, cleaned out
yet you are resistant
although those who remain string you along
They fear you because in some you cause:
sweating, swollen eyelids, drooling, dry mouth
CONSEQUENCES
They say you have sharp fangs in your arsenal
Your beauty is deadly, attitude venomous
It’s true you have captured an infinite many
they suckled until they were dust-dry
now they rip themselves from your “tomb”
causing your shoe-button eyes to cry
Your lover was only around for a month or two
left you a single cannibalistic mother
when he died
You birthed almost a thousand children
yet only see twelve alive
Some say you are a murderer
but only when he cheats
How dare he when he spent the duration
of his miserable life searching for thee?
Your offspring scream “Father!”
rushing from your flailing arms
not needing wings, only strings, to fly
You sit belly upward, to ponder
why they need him to thrive
He could be so immature at times
Complaining that you were moody while molting
although he did so too periodically
Sigh.
Oh Madam Araneae, Mother of many children
the hour glass of blood is dwindling
They no longer care if they catch you alive
Please don’t let them exterminate your children
Or, you too, will die.
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