Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

A bitter treat

Enlarge poem

Behind her eyelids she hears voices fighting each other
Without a pause in her silence.
Her silence shares noises of lightning and thunder
Without her causing the violence.
The violence had spread poisons biting her under-
Her brown and sore skin, divided.
Divided by bad choices; “Why did my father-
Rip out and force me for my things”.
Now there are no chords for her violin,
No doors for her hiding
Nor the law is abiding.

In the core of his thieving self and unsober mind,
Lies demons wicked in unheard degrees.
Degrees always giving wealth to a dark road of crime
Unlike seasons that withered without burning trees.
His trees form an unbreathing realm where the sun is overnight.
With visions injured, he doubts their certainties.
His certainties know no children’s health but loafers’ fun.
She wishes women wizards could come and serve him tea.
And that death occurs in him
Or her death is bursting free
From this man-made adversity.

She’s barely grown, with belly blown.
She carries loads, him and his bone.
She has no friends, he cares so less.
She can’t confess, he gets so mad.
She’s dripping red, his sleeping bed.
She isn’t fed; he’s sipping ‘bread’.
She whips it out, he screams he shouts.
She’s feeling ouch, he’s filled with fouls.

Her unborn dies, his son from lies.
Her gun drawn eyes, his one stop sign.
He drinks his actions, she seeks protection.
He breathes aggression, she breathes but lessened.
He kicks, he bashes, she licks the patches.
He beats, he lashes, she’s weak, she’s ashes.
His daughter’s eyes are slowly dying.
He orders her life, but no reply.
He calls her twice but she’s cold as ice.

Their borderline is crossed with lying,
But their world and mine are both combined.

Andile Nayika

Featured Poem:

If I was a thought

Enlarge poem

If I was a thought I would choose to sail –
On the shallow seas of young minds that loose and fail,
Confined by confinement in a prisoner’s shoes in jail.
Minds accused to ail as patients of eternal sickness in abuse’s tale.

If I was a thought I would choose to be planted –
Root-deep and fertilized in the mentally – bruised and demented
And refuse to leave centred the power of a foreign enemy
Exchanging blows with false reality close to falling sanity

If I was a thought I would build sacred temples –
Within souls where hatred settles as the devil’s naked samples.
In your grey thinking matter I’d give rise to vagrant rebels.

If I was a thought in blindness’ mind I’d cry for support
to rearrange the purpose of chaos in the life that we have got.

If I was a thought I’d fill holes in empty places –
Where cold roams through broken windows to kill souls of angry faces.

If I was a thought I’d be no accidental idea-
Built on luck and co-incidence, harassed and strangled by fear
But a self- mental pioneer;
A thought of revolution’s emotions in motion to settle right here.

Ecalparr_badilisha_poetry

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (0)
  • Pride (2)
  • Optimism (0)
  • Anger (0)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (6)
  • Reflection (0)
  • Captivation (0)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (1)
  • Sadness (0)
  • Fear (1)
  • Jubilation (0)

Comments

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Biography

Andile Nayika was born and raised in Grahamstown, South Africa. He was first introduced to storytelling and poetry by his late grandmother. He has published his works in various poetry publications like Oppikoppi’s Ons Klyntj. He has also written for media houses such as the Mail & Guardian in Johannesburg. He is a founding member of the Writers Movement, which collaborates with the Rhodes University English Department to produce the Cycle of Knowledge.

Andile Nayika

Ecalparr_badilisha_poetry
Ecalparr_badilisha_poetry

Biography

Andile Nayika was born and raised in Grahamstown, South Africa. He was first introduced to storytelling and poetry by his late grandmother. He has published his works in various poetry publications like Oppikoppi’s Ons Klyntj. He has also written for media houses such as the Mail & Guardian in Johannesburg. He is a founding member of the Writers Movement, which collaborates with the Rhodes University English Department to produce the Cycle of Knowledge.

A bitter treat

Enlarge poem

Behind her eyelids she hears voices fighting each other
Without a pause in her silence.
Her silence shares noises of lightning and thunder
Without her causing the violence.
The violence had spread poisons biting her under-
Her brown and sore skin, divided.
Divided by bad choices; “Why did my father-
Rip out and force me for my things”.
Now there are no chords for her violin,
No doors for her hiding
Nor the law is abiding.

In the core of his thieving self and unsober mind,
Lies demons wicked in unheard degrees.
Degrees always giving wealth to a dark road of crime
Unlike seasons that withered without burning trees.
His trees form an unbreathing realm where the sun is overnight.
With visions injured, he doubts their certainties.
His certainties know no children’s health but loafers’ fun.
She wishes women wizards could come and serve him tea.
And that death occurs in him
Or her death is bursting free
From this man-made adversity.

She’s barely grown, with belly blown.
She carries loads, him and his bone.
She has no friends, he cares so less.
She can’t confess, he gets so mad.
She’s dripping red, his sleeping bed.
She isn’t fed; he’s sipping ‘bread’.
She whips it out, he screams he shouts.
She’s feeling ouch, he’s filled with fouls.

Her unborn dies, his son from lies.
Her gun drawn eyes, his one stop sign.
He drinks his actions, she seeks protection.
He breathes aggression, she breathes but lessened.
He kicks, he bashes, she licks the patches.
He beats, he lashes, she’s weak, she’s ashes.
His daughter’s eyes are slowly dying.
He orders her life, but no reply.
He calls her twice but she’s cold as ice.

Their borderline is crossed with lying,
But their world and mine are both combined.

Featured Poem:

If I was a thought

Enlarge poem

If I was a thought I would choose to sail –
On the shallow seas of young minds that loose and fail,
Confined by confinement in a prisoner’s shoes in jail.
Minds accused to ail as patients of eternal sickness in abuse’s tale.

If I was a thought I would choose to be planted –
Root-deep and fertilized in the mentally – bruised and demented
And refuse to leave centred the power of a foreign enemy
Exchanging blows with false reality close to falling sanity

If I was a thought I would build sacred temples –
Within souls where hatred settles as the devil’s naked samples.
In your grey thinking matter I’d give rise to vagrant rebels.

If I was a thought in blindness’ mind I’d cry for support
to rearrange the purpose of chaos in the life that we have got.

If I was a thought I’d fill holes in empty places –
Where cold roams through broken windows to kill souls of angry faces.

If I was a thought I’d be no accidental idea-
Built on luck and co-incidence, harassed and strangled by fear
But a self- mental pioneer;
A thought of revolution’s emotions in motion to settle right here.

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (0)
  • Pride (2)
  • Optimism (0)
  • Anger (0)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (6)
  • Reflection (0)
  • Captivation (0)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (1)
  • Sadness (0)
  • Fear (1)
  • Jubilation (0)

A bitter treat

Enlarge poem

Behind her eyelids she hears voices fighting each other
Without a pause in her silence.
Her silence shares noises of lightning and thunder
Without her causing the violence.
The violence had spread poisons biting her under-
Her brown and sore skin, divided.
Divided by bad choices; “Why did my father-
Rip out and force me for my things”.
Now there are no chords for her violin,
No doors for her hiding
Nor the law is abiding.

In the core of his thieving self and unsober mind,
Lies demons wicked in unheard degrees.
Degrees always giving wealth to a dark road of crime
Unlike seasons that withered without burning trees.
His trees form an unbreathing realm where the sun is overnight.
With visions injured, he doubts their certainties.
His certainties know no children’s health but loafers’ fun.
She wishes women wizards could come and serve him tea.
And that death occurs in him
Or her death is bursting free
From this man-made adversity.

She’s barely grown, with belly blown.
She carries loads, him and his bone.
She has no friends, he cares so less.
She can’t confess, he gets so mad.
She’s dripping red, his sleeping bed.
She isn’t fed; he’s sipping ‘bread’.
She whips it out, he screams he shouts.
She’s feeling ouch, he’s filled with fouls.

Her unborn dies, his son from lies.
Her gun drawn eyes, his one stop sign.
He drinks his actions, she seeks protection.
He breathes aggression, she breathes but lessened.
He kicks, he bashes, she licks the patches.
He beats, he lashes, she’s weak, she’s ashes.
His daughter’s eyes are slowly dying.
He orders her life, but no reply.
He calls her twice but she’s cold as ice.

Their borderline is crossed with lying,
But their world and mine are both combined.

Comments

Your email address will not be published.