27th Mar2017

Strong Black Woman

by admin

Strong Black Woman

She’s a dark, Nubian queen.

Her Strength a spine made of diamonds.

She is a hurricane of a woman.

A woman who doesn’t care about the hushed

whispers the world envelops her with.

She is a bulletproof spirit made of a living,

breathing black womanhood.

Her body, mind and soul contort and buckle

like the capricious African landscape

under the beating sun.

She carries the weight of the world’s scorn and

derision home

only then does the cracking,

calloused veneer dissipate

like drained leaves

as winter winds push them away to reveal the

bare willowy frame they decorated so

distressingly.

No longer is she strong,

no longer is she the hurricane

that knocked the wind storm

so effortlessly out of her.

The world’s narrative of ‘strong black woman’

has left her mourning in silence,

her silent moans echoing back to her in the

uncomfortable quiet.

Slowly stripped of her humanity and her pain,

her vulnerability

A power so practiced it only serves to struggle

against the scorn.

This ‘strength’ is the only power she has left in

her to strike back; to dance to the unchained

rhythm of the ‘strong black woman’ narrative.

Predisposition is to always stifle her sadness,

to hide even her happiness lest she be

labelled ‘loud ghetto bitch’.

She is filled with magic

– the stuff of faery tales –

ethereal and elusive like the slow, howling

winds before the storm.

The moments of deep anxiety

and depression where the darkness within

herself eclipses all else are frequent reminders

of her humanity before everything else.

Her strength will one day be just words in her

narrative not the cover and content,

too often used to silence her true evocation

when the world looks upon her pages

for the nourishment of their thoughts.

Never downplay her power,

for she is,

from the vivacity in her veins

to the tears on her tongue,

a ‘strong black woman’.

And in the earth of her threshold,

is engraved the image of a Nubian goddess,

so pity the fool that crosses

her unconquerable spirit.

20th Mar2017

Black Girl Magic

by admin

She was born a black girl, if human beings were stars,

she is the sun.

Scorching brighter than the world afraid of her

shine.

 

She was born a black girl, any strength she

had was hard earned,

not hers to have.

History forgets the stories of loss and violation

written in her skin,

 

Written painfully in obscured obsidians and

abused Browns.

 

She was born a black girl,

The most undesirable commodity

built for mass consumption.

Tongues that bludgeoned her blue to black,

called her broken

 

She was born a black girl.

A root.

As the world clipped at her genteel roots.

They ceased to exist.

 

In a world of white saviours and evil darkness,

She was born black magic,

She was born

A black girl

 

Black Girl Magic

08th Aug2016

Strength

by admin

Keep Calm and Mbokondo Mnyandu

I tried to stand up to the oppressor

and I guess that made him angry to realize that there is a woman so brave who’s able to voice her own opinions without fear of being judged

that there is a woman who is conscientized she might actually rub off onto others and enlighten the fellow women

He got so scared he tried to make the woman feel small and discredit everything that he clearly was guilty of

Oh but this woman was so brave she dared not break

because they threw all sorts of demeaning words at her

tried to break her spirit by all means

but because she was woman and possessed in her resilience so great

it could power the nation

she continued her fight and one by one fellow women starting seeing the light and changing their ways

they were no longer enslaved by men’s expectations and their fickle idea of what beauty is

oh dear because beauty is skin deep hits you like the morning sun and never fades

woman you are strong, stronger than who they compare you with for you carry your strength it resides in you

Now if you could carry with you these word and recite them like the serenity prayer

you would be building a nation full of confident, assured, strong and beautiful women

#HappyWomensMonth #MbokodoLeads #SheRock

08th Aug2016

And So They Called Me a Woman

by admin

Because I was ‘beautiful’ and smiled differently.

Because I cried hourly.

 

Because I wore a dress on my first birthday.

Because I walked weirdly.

 

Because my father was not close to me.

Because I wore a bra at age twelve.

 

Because my voice was not loud enough for this world.

Because hurtful things hurt me.

 

Because I hated touching dirt at age sixteen.

Because I did what I was asked for no reason.

 

Because the smell of cigarettes was hell for me.

 

Because lipstick was invented

 

Because I found white cloths and kitchen sinks appealing.

Because my eyes see colours dancing.

 

Because I can give life to another.

Because I can stay for a while longer.

 

Because I think everything has meaning.

Because I understand where it is all going.

 

Because pain is a living.

Because I walk through the hours dying.

 

Because my name is countless assumptions.

Because science says.

 

Because I sit down.

 

Because I am like the others like me;

6 black-and-white-stripes-watercolor-fashion-woman-art-print-beverly-brown-prints

08th Aug2016

Sentiments of a Poet

by admin

This is what a feminist looks like

Inverse racism

Personally, what worries me more than anything when I consider the discussions black people are proudly, fearlessly and fearlessly and outspokenly having these days is what I had called inverse racism?

Inverse racism is not reverse racism; it has nothing to do with the concept, so nobody should tie me on that. Inverse racism is when you end up hurting black people in some way with the original intent of helping them, or hurting whites. It is about preferring black weakness to white strength, simply because “it’s black”, as if those are the only two options.

The fact of the matter is if you make decisions or deliberations based on what white people think, your mind is colonised. There are some people who are so in love with whiteness that they make it their standard and aim for it-sad and stupid. But equally bad are those people who are so full of hatred (i.e. fear) of whiteness that they go out of their way to make decisions against it-more sad, more stupid.

Being anti-white is not pro-black……What am I?

Women Empowerment

It takes a real man to see something wrong in society especially if it is caused by your kind. If there is anything I hate like white supremacy, it is the treatment of women in our society (especially black women). It sickens me to see the rape statistics in our country and across the world. It sickens me to see that there are no women in the South African Forbes top 10 list. It sickens me that even today woman have to pay for sanitary pads or tampons. It sickens me that only 2.4% of CEO’s in this country are women.

You see being a real man is like asking for the removal of a referee that is helping your own team to win. I am a real man because I see something wrong even though I don’t have anything to lose.

Why are we more offended by swear words and middle fingers instead of the struggles woman face in this man’s world? Why can’t can we get free condoms but women can’t get free pads? Why can we justify rape by saying “She was asking for it”?  Why do we not ask these questions? Why are we so reluctant to speak out about the injustices and evils of this world? Why are we so ignorant?

I grew up mainly around females and I learnt a lot from that, firstly I was taught to respect women. This was not only taught to me by the women in my life but my father too, he showed me how to treat women by treating my mother right. Secondly I find it somewhat disturbing that some guys think that knowing how to braid hair or going to the shop to buy pads as a guy is feminine and gay. We need to grow up as men of our society. We need to love and protect women (even those deemed to be ‘fuckgirls’) because at the end of the day, we are the reason they are at the bottom of mankind.

I am against women abuse, I am against selling sanitary pads, I am against women exclusion in the economy, I support women empowerment, I am pro-black, I am black and proud, I support black empowerment, I am unapologetically black and I refuse to be ignorant.

I am a confused Xhosa feminist.

18th Jul2016

I See You See Black

by admin

The sun burns Wicked Bodies…

 

Day sees us dying in our smiles

And night waits for us – who we really are – alive.

 

I know you think I don’t, but I do;

I see you see black.

 

And I am here to tell you I am more than that;

Why are you amazed at my presence?

Why are you surprised

That I can have a mind?

 

I am More than an just Art piece, I am More than just a Number,

I am Nothing to watch in that Manner,

 

I have a Heart,

I am Together and I fall Apart,

I Bleed, I feel Rain,

I was bore by a Woman,

I can smell Roses,

 

I am More than the questions raised in ‘Philosophy’,

I am More than just a Dark part in ‘History’

 

Why did I ever need Science to tell me I am a human being?

Why does the colour of my skin have to make me something else?

 

 5_dark-and-lovely-10-x-14-acylic-on-canvas

 

 

 

 

Note: The above Poem is not racist and not intended to offend ANYBODY, but it is just a mere inspiration from the Block 3 First Year Philosophy topic, Philosophy of Race, and My pride in My ‘blackness’.

16th May2016

The Poem That Is So African

by admin

4 Africa-map-on-faceWhy is it we need a day, a week, a month

To say we are proud of being us

And glad to be each other’s sisters and brothers?

Why is it we need a day, a week, a month

To be proud black people, and darker?

We were born into this –

The melodies,

The dances,

The greenest mountains,

The whole of our families,

The clothing,

The crying,

The blood dripping,

The dying,

The hoping

The waking,

The celebrating,

The coming together,

The darkness,

Our dark skin colours…

Why is it we need a day, a week, a month

To look back on where we come from?

Why is it we need a day, a week, a month

To paint pictures and tell stories of our freedom?

Each day is a reminder of where we come from,

Each day is a song of our freedom.

Our names and mirrors reveal us,

There is no hiding the Africanness.

We are naked before the world,

Never to be known as nothing else – but Africans;

African Americans, African Asians,

Everywhere we go the history follows,

And it follows each day.

You are my brother and my sister every day,

Do you hear me, African human?

We do not need Africa Month, Africa Day

To remind ourselves that we are proud of who we are.

We should be proud of it, celebrate it,

Dance to the drum beats,

Dark Skin,

This fire within,

Attires made of animal skin,

Our souls cut open

To be released into some Heaven,

Blood coming from our noses,

The smiles of our many children

Covering the pain that is there

That just will not leave,

The air that we breathe,

The sun setting,

The magic in our every story’s setting…

 

Each day we are African, not only in May.

 

 

 

09th May2016

No More

by admin

No More.

I can’t take this anymore.
Can’t breathe no more.
Robbed of happiness, like it was a thing of some sort.
Can hear my heart shouting for no more.
As if it’s a clock with batteries but not of energy, so it’s asking for more.
Can hear defeat from distance waiting on me 6 feet down the floor.
So, I put that picture on the wall.
Because never will come the day I will forget that war.
Sparked by episodes painted on his mind- an empty hall.
I put those scares and pains and seal them on that jar.
Cause they move with me like a wrecking ball.

Every time I close my eyes, I fell his fist on my body, so rather I fall.
Cause he forced himself on me, build a road where there was no way.
So fuck him I say.
How dare him? But I’ll find him and slay.
“Give it time” they said.
They said everything heals with time.
But I know, I’ll never let him get away.
So with him, he has a part of me that was not built with clay.

Now I know, that the past is a king somewhere.
I swear it has authority of some sort.
Now I am its slave, I am poor.
I have to go down and beg for some more.
Cause only this anger can hold of a soul, so roar.
I used to think the sky was not the limit, cause I was more.
And that I was fly, and strong.

Damn, now I have to fly back to the shore.
To grow the roots of my heart, and make sure.
Sure that even though it’s sore, I will endure so more.
Ask for nothing no more.

No More Image

09th May2016

Dear Doll You Were My Idol

by admin

Dear Doll you were my Idol

All this hair and all these clothes

How I walk and how I talk

It’s all something I learnt from you

Grew up thinking it was all white and blue

That all I fancied was going to come true

 

In the age of click, click and flash

Where you learn to be hush, hush about your emotions then dash

Love does not seem to exist in my vocab

It was all perfect at first still trying to figure out where it all went wrong

 

I mean you have been there through it all you were my pillar

‘till I looked at that distorted image in the mirror

Pretty made up on the outside but all damaged inside

Picture perfect online but living with a heavy heart and swollen eyes in real life

Friends envied only if they knew

Dear Doll you were my IdolDear Doll You Were My Idol

26th Oct2015

A Young Writer

by admin

Mpimanyeto Mashimbye shares a beautifully-written poem about what it means to be ‘A Young Writer’.

images (10)

 

As a writer,

A young writer,

I’ve always believed in words.

I’ve believed that as a writer I could put Anything in to words given enough time And freedom to think.

 

As a writer,

A young writer,

I’ve written of all sorts of things.

My beliefs, views and emotions have Littered pages and my thoughts have Poured out of pens.

 

As a writer,

A young writer,

I’ve made a number of mistakes;

Written thoughts too soon and

Wasted beautiful words on situations That weren’t nearly as enchanting.

 

As a writer,

A young writer,

I’ve blinded myself with my own work And reasoning; “if I’ve written it in the Book then it must be true, it must”

As a young writer I have been foolish

 

As a writer,

A young writer,

I have learned. It is not true simply Because it has been written. Ink carries No more truth than the human hand that Handles it.

 

As a writer,

A young writer,

I must see beyond the words and their Splendour.  I must not be fooled by my Own imagination and create museums For things i wish were art.

 

As a writer,

A young writer,

I’ve come to realise that I don’t have all The words that I need.

I’ve come to realise that it is okay to be Tongue tied and speechless.

I’ve  come to realise that I am not a god.

 

As  a writer,

A young writer.

An aging writer.

An improving writer.

I search for new words, better words, The correct words.

 

As a writer,

I will find the words.

I will find myself.

help with term paper writing services for statistical problems buy research paper no plagiarism i need help to write an essay custom homework on books