A Collection of Mantras

Last night was cold

It wasn’t me who sat sold

Go back to that seat

It was miffed who sat heat

I want to vanish

Melt so unrecognized

I am already brittle

What could be more visible?

 

Go back to that seat

Lust hastened your feet

Across the ice-coated lawn

You came to be gratified!

Yes! The preacher says it

The mind knower tells it

Everyone quotes it

Still I can’t hold it

 

Feels like sandy soil tossed up

Returns as wet clay soil

On my head and feet

Stained and unable to wash up

It is my life; my decision

It is your courage; your approval

You drown my children

And tell me not to pooper your party

 

Open the prison gates

I fancy a guided spurt

Do not tell me I am a woman

I want to dance at my children’s funeral

My newest clothes will be on me

My panties and my bra all new

Gonna ghastly hide my nakedness

It is a day of Joy!

 

With those fingers again

Point them at me for gain

Let the ancestors be alert

But tell them you took my womb

And geered at up for being barren

In human flesh Sytx is my name

Rehearsing how to die

Dying is a skill!

 

Next Sunday in Church

Sitting in this divine laboratory

The men apportioned the right side

The women told to sit on the left

The bells shall ring

Can we sell the priest’s regalia?

I will be able to pay for my funeral

First skill in dying.

 

The preacher mounts his pulpit

I know the sermon already

Today’s service is for the righteous

“Two blind men cannot lead each other”

But you are wrong pastor!

Two blind can lead each other into a pit

Now, it makes sense to me.

Keep giggling in your omniscience

 

Two blind people leading each other

The concept of humanity and love

The heartbeat of compassion

Blindness trusts; it sees straight

Two blind people leading each other

No damn judgment will be cultivated

Each one knows they are both weak

Preacher let us go; it is lunchtime!

 

While mounting the hill in daylight

Your eyes you deafened

And your hands you gelded

I crawled on in futility

Like an ant failing to master spherical

Now it is dark! And you are a nyctophile

Bravo! On your change of status

All for my descent so you can descend!

 

Last night was cold

But your looks are now even colder

The sinner canonized and incensed

The saint is interrogated

I call blindness on myself for peace

Deafness for firmness

My lips jogs in this collective enchantment

I needed more than just a mantra!

The Author Larry Onokpite is from Delta State, Nigeria. He considers reading and writing as great forms of spirituality

I lied, Yes You lied

To be a homosexual is honourable, a gift from God. It is who I am. God makes no mistakes. Knowing the truth as a gay christian  is liberating and gives me the most joy of my freedom.

But I lied, yes you lied…

I have paid the price for lying to be heterosexual. Pretending to be who you are will only harm you. EVERYONE was hurt, my father, mother, wife, son, my siblings, in-laws, friends and relatives etc.

But I lied, yes you lied.

I was FORCED to lie. I justified these lies with religion, culture, tradition and law.

But I lied, yes you lied.

To myself for all of my adolescence, I lied (yes you lied) to my family and friends. Because I didn’t know any better.

At the time it didn’t seem to matter

To my ex-wife because I was afraid of telling the truth.

I made those marriage vows in 1991, in the days of my youth.

But I lied, yes you lied.

In my prayers asking God to cure me of homosexuality instead of helping me to come to terms.

My religious belief and dogma nearly killed me. I wrongly married a woman and badly hurt everyone.

But I lied, yes you lied.

In my ministry I lied, (yes you lied) because I was deeply ashamed of who I was, it took my seven years to reconcile and give up the self stigma, denial and discrimination.

I suffered emotional and psychological breakdown and through it all I survived.

But I lied, yes you lied.

But I lied, yes you lied.

But I lied, yes you lied.

Through it all the healing begins. I declare that I am a Happy Holy Homosexual.

My holiness is connected to all things sexual.

I love the Lord God with all of my heart and soul.

Giving praise from my head to my feet and sole.

I rejoice in knowing who I am and whose I am.

No more lies, no insults, pain or harm

I am an example of God’s Pulchritude

At best I come with amazing attitude.

Though I lied, (yes you lied) the truth finally sets me free.

I have become the beacon of hope

Helping many others to cope

Thankful to God the Father, son and Holy Spirit, the magnificent three.

Jide Rebirth Macaulay is an LGBT rights activist. He’s the founder and CEO of House of Rainbow , London. He left Nigeria in the cause of his fight against homophobia and for the dignity of LGBT people. Jide Macauley now lives in London and has a British citizenship

 

Night

Sleep tight

Good night

Dream right

Until twilight

With His might

In His sight

Heavenly knight

Without a fright

No plight

Zero fight

Am alright

Protective moonlight

Wake up Bright

Dedicated to “OneLove”

Jide Rebirth Macaulay is an LGBT rights activist. He’s the founder and CEO of House of Rainbow , London. He left Nigeria in the cause of his fight against homophobia and for the dignity of LGBT people. Jide Macauley now lives in London and has a British citizenship

Road to Emmaus

On this winding road
A shadow is close by me

On this lonesome road
A shadow trails after me

Extending from my heels
East to the Sun’s cradle

And now the sun is setting
Slowly into lurid clouds

Spread behind the ridge
That sends out darkness

A shadow is close by me
On this wandering road

Yet Darkness attracts me
As flames attract a moth

Oh my lord, draw nigh
On this road to Emmaus

The author, enter site Bruce Zondiwe Mbano is a lecturer in the Department of Language and Communication Skills at Chancellor College. He has authored short-stories, plays and poems, some of which have been published in here The Fate of Vultures (BBC prize-winning poetry), Heinneman and click The Haunting Winds (published by Dzuka). His poem The Viphya won second prize in the 2000 Peer Gynt Literally Award.

Who Again is Spitting Fire?

Were we not there

When the mountain nearly

Slipped from its axial

Did we not hear?

The trees speak past

A lion’s roar

Did we not disregard?

The tremors

For they held no semblance

Of an earthquake

And did we not make sense then

To act not

For we were still potatoes

Buried underneath

 

Have we not rolled away?

All the dung with our beetle limbs

To liberty hill

Did we not scream?

At the top of our lungs

Free at last!

 

Why then are we hushing?

Our baby not to cry

Why are we choking its life?

What Harold has awoken

Who again is spitting fire?

Chris Msosa is a malawi-born Poet. He has recited his poems at several Art and literature events including Lake of Stars and the Story Club. Visit his blog, Chris Poetics for more poetry.

In Africa

In Africa we are rebels

In Africa we are on their tables

In Africa we read more their tables

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are

FRELIMO

LLA

AL – SHABAAB

MPLA

BOKOHARAM

LRA

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are rebels

In Africa we are wrapped in their labels

In Africa we are glued to their cable

In Africa we still hope to sit at their table

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are

FRELIMO

LLA

AL – SHABAAB

MPLA

BOKOHARAM

LRA

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are rebels

In Africa we dream more their fables

In Africa we are hooked

In Africa we are booked

In Africa we are crooked

In Africa we are umbilically uprooted

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are

FRELIMO

LLA

AL – SHABAAB

MPLA

BOKOHARAM

LRA

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are rebels

In Africa we learn well their lessons

In Africa we work hard to fill up their silos

In Africa we have emptied ourselves the African mile

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are

FRELIMO

LLA

AL – SHABAAB

MPLA

BOKOHARAM

LRA

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are rebels

In Africa we are wolves in their sheep clothing

In Africa we write their mystery over our history

In Africa we are circus lions following instruction

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa we are

FRELIMO

LLA

AL – SHABAAB

MPLA

BOKOHARAM

LRA

In Africa we are unable to be African?

 

In Africa before spilling blood

For whatever good reason

We must first learn being African

Chris Msosa is a malawi-born Poet. He has recited his poems at several Art and literature events including Lake of Stars and the Story Club. Visit his blog, Chris Poetics for more poetry.

Biko

I have not seen

a monument raised.

I have not seen

vultures waiting.

        I have only seen

        Batons

        Unloving hands

        Blood streams

        Swollen body

And words said, forgotten

A man alive, then dead

And forgotten

 

Biko, what was all that fire for?

Chris Msosa is a malawi-born Poet. He has recited his poems at several Art and literature events including Lake of Stars and the Story Club. Visit his blog, Chris Poetics for more poetry.

At Your Old House

At your old house

We were the misplaced

Jamaicans

Who lit up their smokestacks

At 2am, whilst playing

Fela and Nina uninterrupted

 

Our tired bodies

Waiting on our invigorated minds

Not many sat outside

Their homes in June

Talking Marcus, Malcom and brother Biko

Not many out here

Took plunges into Piñon noir

Without the notion

Of ever thinking

It was never a habit for the black

 

Not many talked about

Vegetables

And organic gardens

Without losing their black

 

Not many, loved to love

And talk Africa

Except for the two souls

At your old house

Chris Msosa is a malawi-born Poet. He has recited his poems at several Art and literature events including Lake of Stars and the Story Club. Visit his blog, Chris Poetics for more poetry.

Free Mixtapes

They say Love is a thoughtful mixtape, today Afreecan Read is showing u some love! Here are two free mixtapes for you to downlad and have fun on this valentine’s day.The Herbsman’s Love Potion & Valentine Love Lines!

Also check out our valentine’s day love poems: What love Would Be Like in Ten Years; She Smiles and Naked Parables.

Happy Valentine’s Day!!

What Love Would Be like in Ten Years

Among the many things I still remember about us is what you once told me

That you wondered what love would be like in ten years

And I still remember where I found you, among the backyard junk

Your face a folded expression and your hair like the dirty things around you

 

You wouldn’t speak except to say you thought of the easiest way to self-denial

And your face remained half buried between your knees

Until I told you I was like you in several ways and you looked at me, disbelieving

Till I stooped and brought my lips to yours, pressing gently

 

I remember the night we passed them under the lamppost

Two figures kissing, and the world cared nothing about what they did

How you spat and said it was a shameful thing, but I understood better

I could feel it, the hurt in seeing what you were denied unrestrained in others

 

Like you, I felt the world should also hurl stones at them

 

Now I think about what love will be like in ten years

And I know there may still be this constraint on our love

That cares nothing about the similarities between our bodies

But then, the world will be achieving little

 

This seeming silence between us, I know, is the coefficient of our voices

And in ten years, love will rise with it to tire every opposition

 

Ebenezer Agu lives in Nigeria. He is in his early twenties and has a degree in English and Literary Studies, from University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He loves listening to music and reading novels and poetry; Rilke is among his favorite poets. He is presently working on compiling an anthology of contemporary African poetry.