Horns, by Kwame Dawes In every crowd, there is the one with horns, casually moving through the bodies... |
Body bereft, by Antjie Krog over my terrified body my hand moves again up to my breast... |
Home, by Warsan Shire no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark you only run for the border when you see the whole city running as well... |
You will forget, by Chenjerai Hove If you stay in comfort too long You will not know The weight of a water pot On the bald head of the village woman... |
Boat journey, by Ladan Osman Sunday afternoon on a city beach. No sand, slabs of manufactured stone. I watch two blondes, maybe sisters, Inflate a raft... |
This is the sea, by Rustum Kozain There is that sea, deep sometimes as the heart at dusk, the shine on its face soon to fade... |
Sharpeville, by Dennis Brutus What is important about Sharpeville is not that seventy died: nor even that they were shot in the back... |
Love poem, by Kelwyn Sole I am a coward. Away from a suffering homeland I feel very little and can tell you even less. What would you need to know? |
Baloyi’s art gallery, by Vonani Bila it’s a round chapel-like gallery baloyi built it with bare hands in the bush with everything he could find without begging or sulking... |
Not my business, by Niyi Osundare They picked Akanni up one morning Beat him soft like clay And stuffed him down the belly Of a waiting jeep. What business of mine is it So long they don’t take the yam From my savouring mouth? |
Raising things, by Rethabile Masilo As evening settles its dark wing on us we lie inside another night till even that night has nothing to say to us, till the crickets are quiet outside and bats are out,... |
The first circle, by Kofi Awoonor the flat end of sorrow here two crows fighting over New Year's Party leftovers. From my cell, I see a cold hard world.... |
Grapes, by Julius Chingono Today I was fortunate to stumble upon a vendor sorting out grapes for sale. He separated the good from the bad... |
Bread for the birds, by TJ Dema It rose above us like a god I remember thinking what or who would willingly give wings to such rage But there it was... |
Living ancients, by Matthew Shenoda For those of us young healthy we will face the mourning of our elders. Bury them... |
Telephone conversation, by Wole Soyinka The price seemed reasonable, location Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived Off premises. Nothing remained But self-confession. "Madame," I warned, "I hate a wasted journey—I am African." ... |
If you're lucky, by Michelle McGrane If you are lucky you will carry one night with you for the rest of your life, a night like no other. You won’t see it coming... |
Edith and Umau, by Ngwatilo Mawiyoo I’ve returned from America because Umau is mortal in the way nation-states aren’t and he is old.... |
