Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Without a Trace

Enlarge poem

Passionate souls formed I
Rose from ashes, into my bosom
Breathed freedom and I lived
I’ve never met them
You have only read about them on history pages
Referred to as others without names
It’s has been ages
Families rambled apart – hate is all my heart sings
Death played reggae in his head
He danced to redemption songs till he vanished
Into the heavy air and landed somewhere in Africa’s kind hand
My family had tears for dinner that night
Year: 1977
Day : blood smoky heavy and grey
Age : twenty
Living behind sister, mother, child and many yet to be born generations of his bravery
It sounds a lot like his obituary
Yet we were made to believe that traces of his flesh were spotted somewhere in Angola
And without a trace
Black weakens into many shades
Green and gold goes well with greed
And black remains shame
As you celebrate your prestigious foundations
I pray that his soul finds its way back home
You lie to my face
Fake his death certificate
Change your mind again
Tell me he lives in a mental institute without a trace
I cannot put my voice on mute
Until their lips leak with truth
Until someone decides to speak
Of the last time the green car dragged his feet
To where his bones are dying of thirst
Or where he lives lifelessly
Whiles I suffocate in this democracy
We’ve become dry leaves
Growing far away from the roots that feed
We run towards the light that burns
Then cover our skin in make-up
Trying to fill our cup
We spill it, because we’ve lost it
Hoping that media will fix it
With a quick guide on how it’s done in Europe and America
And Africa wears the most expensive weave
We drink his blood in bottle stores
Whiles poverty gives birth to more infants
Feeding on brandy tasting milk from their mother breasts
Its mothers raising sons and daughters sleeping with their fathers
Its society cursing freedom and black not part of the rainbow –

Nation weeps

Siza Nkosi

Featured Poem:

Trapped between the bible and the constitution

Enlarge poem

I am a mother
I fear my daughter will carry the weight of this society’s agony
Cut from the same cloth as the old political repression and social segregation
If these are berries of my liberation
Then wake up all the freedom charter writers
And those heroes without names
Wake them up the cause of their deaths is unknown
There isn’t enough land for my daughter to play
The space between her room and cell phone
Isn’t enough for her childhood
She’ll never get to have the world in her palms
Watch it twirl the way it did when we used to play itopo
She’ll never get to create glue made of grass and sunlight just for fun
Or tuck her skirts in her panties without giving ideas of rape
In this society, she’s a second class citizen because she’s female
Sexually harassed
Working twice as hard to claim her rise
I work 8 hours a day
Leaving her in the supervision of the media
Whose lessons are more appealing than a mothers love
Fashion plays sexy dress up with her delicate figure
As if prostituting her worth to men with unmanaged hormones
For 16 hours she breeds herself
Feeds on dead TV content
In retrospect
When love was another reason for sunrise
Promising
Patient like my dreams are to my wobbly spirit
We had the best orgasms when we were virgins
Watching the stars whisper our future to the moon
Whiles our souls made love
I fear my little girl will never meet love’s face
Or hear its whistling song in the street corner around sunset
Because love’s fate is inside a used condom
And sometimes it comes with infections
That contaminate beds purified by vows
Introducing death that will make her head her parents household
Conviction will shadow her possibilities
Cause she might fall into bad testicles
And learn to raise a boy child alone
Then they’ll call her names
Forgetting that this society is a home that fostered her
I am a mother
Trapped between the bible and the constitution
These Jurisdictions do nothing for my children’s education

siz_nkosi_badilisha

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  • Vigour (1)
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Biography

Siza Nkosi is a published poet, lyricist, guitarist and a mother who has shared pages of her life stories on stages with renowned poets and artists. She currently works as an IT Networking Specialist. She is one of the first women to fuse poetry with the acoustic sound of the guitar. She is the founding member of House of Siza, an NPO that seeks to change people’s lives through the literature. She’s a resident poet for the MoFaya Poetry Movement and Divulge – a creative space for artists to share, connect and network on their projects.

She was part of the Spoken Word Project where ten South African poets showcased their spoken word skills and engaged audiences in a torrent of words and stories. She also took part in the 2012 and 2014 Polokwane Literary Festival and 2014 Northern Cape Literary Festival as well as the Vhember International Poetry Festival in 2015. Her work has been published in the Timbila Journal, the Sol Plaatje European Union Poetry Anthology for 2014 and other online poetry journals and magazines. She recently published an article in Urban Tymes Carlifonia. The texture and quality of her work is informed by real life experiences and stories that narrate the realities of people around her.

She is presently working on her debut poetry music album and a collection of poems.

Siza Nkosi

siz_nkosi_badilisha
siz_nkosi_badilisha

Biography

Siza Nkosi is a published poet, lyricist, guitarist and a mother who has shared pages of her life stories on stages with renowned poets and artists. She currently works as an IT Networking Specialist. She is one of the first women to fuse poetry with the acoustic sound of the guitar. She is the founding member of House of Siza, an NPO that seeks to change people’s lives through the literature. She’s a resident poet for the MoFaya Poetry Movement and Divulge – a creative space for artists to share, connect and network on their projects.

She was part of the Spoken Word Project where ten South African poets showcased their spoken word skills and engaged audiences in a torrent of words and stories. She also took part in the 2012 and 2014 Polokwane Literary Festival and 2014 Northern Cape Literary Festival as well as the Vhember International Poetry Festival in 2015. Her work has been published in the Timbila Journal, the Sol Plaatje European Union Poetry Anthology for 2014 and other online poetry journals and magazines. She recently published an article in Urban Tymes Carlifonia. The texture and quality of her work is informed by real life experiences and stories that narrate the realities of people around her.

She is presently working on her debut poetry music album and a collection of poems.

Without a Trace

Enlarge poem

Passionate souls formed I
Rose from ashes, into my bosom
Breathed freedom and I lived
I’ve never met them
You have only read about them on history pages
Referred to as others without names
It’s has been ages
Families rambled apart – hate is all my heart sings
Death played reggae in his head
He danced to redemption songs till he vanished
Into the heavy air and landed somewhere in Africa’s kind hand
My family had tears for dinner that night
Year: 1977
Day : blood smoky heavy and grey
Age : twenty
Living behind sister, mother, child and many yet to be born generations of his bravery
It sounds a lot like his obituary
Yet we were made to believe that traces of his flesh were spotted somewhere in Angola
And without a trace
Black weakens into many shades
Green and gold goes well with greed
And black remains shame
As you celebrate your prestigious foundations
I pray that his soul finds its way back home
You lie to my face
Fake his death certificate
Change your mind again
Tell me he lives in a mental institute without a trace
I cannot put my voice on mute
Until their lips leak with truth
Until someone decides to speak
Of the last time the green car dragged his feet
To where his bones are dying of thirst
Or where he lives lifelessly
Whiles I suffocate in this democracy
We’ve become dry leaves
Growing far away from the roots that feed
We run towards the light that burns
Then cover our skin in make-up
Trying to fill our cup
We spill it, because we’ve lost it
Hoping that media will fix it
With a quick guide on how it’s done in Europe and America
And Africa wears the most expensive weave
We drink his blood in bottle stores
Whiles poverty gives birth to more infants
Feeding on brandy tasting milk from their mother breasts
Its mothers raising sons and daughters sleeping with their fathers
Its society cursing freedom and black not part of the rainbow –

Nation weeps

Featured Poem:

Trapped between the bible and the constitution

Enlarge poem

I am a mother
I fear my daughter will carry the weight of this society’s agony
Cut from the same cloth as the old political repression and social segregation
If these are berries of my liberation
Then wake up all the freedom charter writers
And those heroes without names
Wake them up the cause of their deaths is unknown
There isn’t enough land for my daughter to play
The space between her room and cell phone
Isn’t enough for her childhood
She’ll never get to have the world in her palms
Watch it twirl the way it did when we used to play itopo
She’ll never get to create glue made of grass and sunlight just for fun
Or tuck her skirts in her panties without giving ideas of rape
In this society, she’s a second class citizen because she’s female
Sexually harassed
Working twice as hard to claim her rise
I work 8 hours a day
Leaving her in the supervision of the media
Whose lessons are more appealing than a mothers love
Fashion plays sexy dress up with her delicate figure
As if prostituting her worth to men with unmanaged hormones
For 16 hours she breeds herself
Feeds on dead TV content
In retrospect
When love was another reason for sunrise
Promising
Patient like my dreams are to my wobbly spirit
We had the best orgasms when we were virgins
Watching the stars whisper our future to the moon
Whiles our souls made love
I fear my little girl will never meet love’s face
Or hear its whistling song in the street corner around sunset
Because love’s fate is inside a used condom
And sometimes it comes with infections
That contaminate beds purified by vows
Introducing death that will make her head her parents household
Conviction will shadow her possibilities
Cause she might fall into bad testicles
And learn to raise a boy child alone
Then they’ll call her names
Forgetting that this society is a home that fostered her
I am a mother
Trapped between the bible and the constitution
These Jurisdictions do nothing for my children’s education

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (4)
  • Pride (1)
  • Optimism (0)
  • Anger (0)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (0)
  • Reflection (0)
  • Captivation (0)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (1)
  • Hope (0)
  • Sadness (0)
  • Fear (0)
  • Jubilation (0)

Without a Trace

Enlarge poem

Passionate souls formed I
Rose from ashes, into my bosom
Breathed freedom and I lived
I’ve never met them
You have only read about them on history pages
Referred to as others without names
It’s has been ages
Families rambled apart – hate is all my heart sings
Death played reggae in his head
He danced to redemption songs till he vanished
Into the heavy air and landed somewhere in Africa’s kind hand
My family had tears for dinner that night
Year: 1977
Day : blood smoky heavy and grey
Age : twenty
Living behind sister, mother, child and many yet to be born generations of his bravery
It sounds a lot like his obituary
Yet we were made to believe that traces of his flesh were spotted somewhere in Angola
And without a trace
Black weakens into many shades
Green and gold goes well with greed
And black remains shame
As you celebrate your prestigious foundations
I pray that his soul finds its way back home
You lie to my face
Fake his death certificate
Change your mind again
Tell me he lives in a mental institute without a trace
I cannot put my voice on mute
Until their lips leak with truth
Until someone decides to speak
Of the last time the green car dragged his feet
To where his bones are dying of thirst
Or where he lives lifelessly
Whiles I suffocate in this democracy
We’ve become dry leaves
Growing far away from the roots that feed
We run towards the light that burns
Then cover our skin in make-up
Trying to fill our cup
We spill it, because we’ve lost it
Hoping that media will fix it
With a quick guide on how it’s done in Europe and America
And Africa wears the most expensive weave
We drink his blood in bottle stores
Whiles poverty gives birth to more infants
Feeding on brandy tasting milk from their mother breasts
Its mothers raising sons and daughters sleeping with their fathers
Its society cursing freedom and black not part of the rainbow –

Nation weeps

Comments

Your email address will not be published.