Category: Poetry

By Nana M’bawa It could have been Could have been laughter Could have been  anger Could have been walks to the park Could have been the first words The first steps It could have been She mourns What could have been...

by Okota Ching’oma The  echoes of the noise grates my ears Echoes of bells clanging, clanging,  warm taut drums pulsating Pulsating Do I choose the bells? Or the drums? Echoes of a trumpet now, Is there any rest...

by Alpha Chizuzu Your little hand clings on to my finger  Yearning for comfort Your eyes open wide, your vision still blurry Your face, not fully formed Inarticulate but still so beautiful I look down at you  suckling on your...

by Tamanda Kanjaye Second prize winning poem of the 2020 Makewana’s Daughters Competition   Little Boy,   I know you’ve been fed a toxic meal Of toughening up and never caring Of taking every single blow Without ever...

  by Monica Machado First prize winning poem in the 2020 Makewana’s Daughters Competition    by Monica Machado I can write you a poem on six days About how the Earth changed after you left On the seventh day We need to...

                            by Zozo Nadimba                  The first time I died, my exodus passed me by,And I let it,Every night whilst my sanity...

By Mary Khumalo The silence of the nightDreadful feelings of fearAnger of the butchersIn search of golden limbsTwisted in agony of painWhen the throat is slittedThe silent criesOf a mother who labouredTo birth a childOne that’s...

  Our love was warm Our love was whole Our love was home Only for the summer. Because after summer came fall, The fall of us. After seasons of learning the art of Biting my tongue to erase your taste Holding my breath to keep...

by Sarah Chikuni   I am a daisy; growing parallel to the sky, I am bright and warm; catching everyone’s eye. I am generous with what I have; and I never complain, I was raised to be humble; and always share my gain       I am an...

The young ones, new at the gameYank upon me, their inexperience lending itselfto tight, rough grips that leave my smooth skin raw.I let them, without saying anything.This is what it is to be handled by most men -Uncaring,...