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 Apr 2017
India
And she was fascinated with death;
she had seeds in her hands
and she watched the flowers wither
after their short stand.
 Feb 2017
Mistry
The good
The bad
And Me, The ugly
I'm not the first nor the last to be bullied
Ugly
For years I let that stick in my head
Doubted myself
Pills! I tried to end this life
But I'm growing
I like her
I like the girl in the mirror
I like her long face
Her brown eyes
Her dark, small lips
The scar on her thigh
Her tiny waist
Her coffee skin
Ugly?!
What is that?
Oh yah I know, the world
The world is ugly
But she
She
Is
B
E
A
U
T
I
F
U
L
 Feb 2017
Mistry
Run, they said to me
I have always been told that life is like a race and in my young mind I believed it was a race against everyone around me, but as I grow up and mature slowly into the person I am meant to be, I realise the only person I am running against is myself and the one person really routing for me to win is my heavenly father ( God ).
I also think we run in different places, because we face different challenges and we are given different blessings or should I say gifts. Some may run  on a track field and others may run on a road full of potholes, but I would like to believe I run around the netball court and I have reasons for that, first being the fact that I set goals and when I reach them I set more, I guess you could say I don't believe in finish lines... there's always place for improvement and secondly I believe in life after death and after this life of flesh I believe I'll be an angel in heaven that just keeps on running.

Run, I say to myself
RUN!
 Feb 2017
Mistry
She is a work of art
The epitome of beauty
Covered in her African butter
She wears a crown handcrafted by God
When her foot touches the ground even the devil bows down
She was happy with her perfect imperfections
Till you came along and made her feel like absolute trash
Playing mind games, you're really good at that
Threatened by her crown, you told her to take it off
"Straighten that Bush over your head"
Told her that her berry was not sweet enough
" Bleach your skin, light is the new beautiful "

When you were out with your peasant till 2am
She started reconnecting with the God within her
And He restored her confidence

When you least expected it, she packed her bags
Put her crown back on and went back to owning her throne
You and your cheap peasant didn't even last after her
You can't enjoy your side dish without your main meal

Now tell me....
How on earth do you even sleep at night?
 Feb 2017
Mistry
The African sun.
So it's December
Summer in Africa
30cm away, that's how close the sun feels to the earth's surface
Naturally I have a short skirt on
And the worst thing I could have done is walk out the house
Because, you know
"I'm asking for it"
I walk past a few men
Who look at me like some meal
One walks towards me
Pretty young
He's basically ******* me with his eyes
As he goes behind me
Opportunity strikes!
HE SLAPS MY ****
Why?
Because I asked for it
Disgusted!
I turn
Slap to the face
Because he too!
Asked for it
 Feb 2017
Clarencine Perrine
Lovely Syria
You who once stand as a Brighten Sunflower
I am seeing your tears
Feeling your sinking heart
All your Tulips are dying
The white, the pink, even the violet
Lovely Syria
I am asking God to have Mercy
Mercy on you and your Tulips
How your moon has turned red overnight
How your sea is now a survival bay a way of hope
Some fading Tulips at sight
Floating on the tide
Syria, Oh Syria
How the living bruised Tulips are crying for those who are no longer there
How the Dawn which brings hope
Is for you now a  Dawn with a bitter sense of hopelessness
For all your living creature seem to be dying from the inside
Dying from the unrest they brought to you
Your children are crying for Mercy
The spread Tulips are not even better on the 5 huge lands
Syria our once Land of peace for all your Flowers
Please, get back on your saddle
Our Lovely Syria
 Feb 2017
Clarencine Perrine
P.
Beauty of my life
Sweetness of my heart
Reflection of my desires and lust
My soul and body can only do one thing when it comes to you
Adored, Adore and still Adoring
Every inch of you
Beauty in my eyes
keep on being this tenderness
Which warms the winter of my soul
Which lights the chimney of my body
You give me all that is good, peaceful and self-contained
You the reflection of my happiness
My white Spring Rose
My ocean is in your eyes
May this Love, be Love, Love, and a Lightening love
 Feb 2017
Clarencine Perrine
In the run for Power
We realise that all strategies
Are acceptable since
The end justifies the means

In this run to be at the Head
We realise that some people lose
Their gloves and show their true
Heart, to who long supported-them

In this ***** Game
You who love to play
Is ready to scatter money
With the hope of acquiring-more

Elections of presumed-Democracies
To what extent, Do you reflect
The sanity and intelligence of
Who is to Vote!
 Feb 2017
Nicki Mngadi
I mentally pace back and forth tracing and tracking my train of thought and somewhere along these ragged,ratchet lines I get lost
My past right behind me has had it claws waged into my soul and regrets make their way to my tongue and come out as my apologies of unerasable black ballpoint markers that have mummified my previous lovers.
I have stopped corpsing but these cadavers wont get it
I sat there with my bent vertebra making sense of these calcified skeletons that have made a home in my remodeled closet right after being thrown out.An Elijah to them.
Our love being crucified by them.
But I hope that love is like Jesus or that somewhere in his genetics love is Jesus because if he is, with three days of darkness a resurrection is long over due. His eye filled with uncertainty.Regret wipes his smile away in a heart beat. His kisses turn bitter still hoping that love is Jesus or is the son of Jesus or a cousin even because then the hope that his kisses will be kisses again.

your Love
This is not religious at all....
Its about my past that haunt me and the fear of losing him
 Feb 2017
Nicki Mngadi
Involuntary   gags of apologies escape my mouth
And feeds their easily bruised egos
These apologies swaddle beneath my clenched fists
These apologies rip open my jaws and serve them for dinner
Well I am so
Sorry for being black
Sorry for  being woman
Sorry for being strong

Sorry is the noose that still grapples me in my sleep when watching my unborn daughters and nieces arrive shackled
But I have decided evicted sorry and told him he has no place in my mouth or in my mind
so I unsorry
Unsorry for being black
Unsorry for being woman
Unsorry  for being sorry

UnApologetic now resides
A piece in need of more work.. _But bottom-line I am done apologizing for who I am
 Feb 2017
JR Rhine
I broke up with God
at our favorite eatery
in our favorite booth.

We settled into familiar creases
and asked for the usual.

My eyes lazily staring at fingers
stirring the straw around the ice cubes,
God cautiously spoke up:

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing.” (Thinking about the dormant phone
concealing behind the lock screen
the open Facebook tab
lingering over the relationship status section.)

They silently mused over the laconic reply,
til the waitress showed up with the food.

“Thank you!” God blurted with agonizing alacrity.

I received the sustenance lifelessly
and aimlessly poked at the burgers and fries.

The waitress eyed me with vague inquisition,
popping a bubble in the gum between
big teeth, refilled my water
and pirouetted hastily.

We ate in ostensible harmony,
the silence gripping like a chokehold,
the visible anxiety and subdued resolve
settling like a stifling blanket
over the child waking
from a nightmare—

Til we couldn’t breathe,
and I ripped back the covers
and looked into the eyes
of my tormentor.

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

God, taken aback by the curt statement,
dropped their burger with shaking hands,
silently begging with wetting eyes
a greater explanation.

So I elaborated:

“It’s not you, it’s me.

For your immaculate conception
was created by human hands,

your adages rendered obsolete
by human words,

your purpose and plan for us
distorted by human nature—

I cannot hate myself any longer.

I cannot pretend to know you at all.

Who my mother and father say you are
is not who my friends think you are,
nor my teachers, my pastor,
the president, Stephen Hawking,
Muhammed, the KKK, Buddha,
the Westboro Baptist Church,
Walt Whitman, Derek Zanetti,
******,
and Billy Graham.

I am told you care who I bring into bed (and when),
and what movies I watch,
and what music I listen to—

I have not heard what you say about
child soldiers, the use of mosquitos,
or the increased destruction of the earth
which you proudly proclaimed your creation,
or the poverty and disease and famine
which has ridden so many of your children—”

God interjected,
“But you’re chosen!”

I snorted,

“You say I’m chosen
to spend eternity with you—
why me?

Why’d you pick me among
thousands, millions, billions?

I’ve been told I’m ‘chosen’
since birth
by others like me—

those with fair complexion,
blue eyes,
blonde hair,
a firm overt ****** attraction towards women,
and a great big house
with immaculate white fences
delineating their Jericho.

I’ve already fabricated eternity
here among the other ‘chosen’
and there is a world of suffering
right outside the fence
and I see them
through the window of my bedroom
every day.

Am I chosen,
if I don’t vote Republican

Am I chosen
if I am Pro-Choice

Am I chosen
if I cohabitate with my girlfriend

Am I chosen
if I never have kids

Am I chosen
if I say ‘Happy Holidays’

Am I chosen
if I don’t want public prayer in schools

Am I chosen
if I don’t want a Christian nation

Am I chosen
if I don’t repost you on my wall
or retweet your adages?

I’m tired
being the ubermensch,
for it has not brought me
happiness
and I blame you.

I will not ignore
the cries of the suffering
believing it is I
who is destined to live
in bliss.

I will not buy
Joel Osteen’s autobiography(ies).

I will not tithe
you my money
for a megachurch
when another homeless shelter
closes down.

I will not tell a woman
what to do with her body,
or a man
that he is a man
if they say they are not.

I am neither Jew nor Gentile,
and I will stand with
my brothers and sisters
of Faith and Faithlessness,

Gay and Straight,
Black and White,

and apart from these extremes
free from absolutes
the ambiguous, amorphous
nature of Humankind
which I praise.

There is much pain and suffering
in this world,
potentially preventable,
but hardly can I believe
it’s part of your plan
to save
me.

I will not be saved
if we are not
all saved—

not one will burn
for my divinity.

The gates will be open to all—
and perhaps you believe that too,
but I’ve gotten you all wrong
and that cannot change,
as long as there is
mortality, and
corruption, and
power, and
lust, and
greed.”

God whined, growing bellicose,

“It is through me that you will find eternity,
I am the one true god!
I am the God of your fallen ancestors,
it is because you have fallen short
that you need me!”

I replied, growing in confidence,

“We have all fallen short,
yes,
but we are also magnificent.

We have evolved,
we have created,
we have adapted,
we have survived.

We have built empires,
and we have destroyed them.

We have cured diseases,
and we have created them.

We have done much in your name.
We’ve done good,
and we’ve done evil—

And unfortunately it’s all about
who you ask.

Your name is a burden on the oppressed
and a weapon of the oppressor.

You are abusive, God.

You tell me you are jealous.

You tell me apart from you I will suffer for an eternity.

I’m scared to die, yet want to die,
because of you.

You have made life a waiting room
that is now my purgatory. It is

Hell On Earth.

So you see,
it’s not you,
it’s me—
a mere mortal
who has tried to put a face
to eternity
and it has left me
empty.

And also,
it’s me,
for I have learned to love me,
as I have expelled your self-loathing imbibition,
and the deleterious zeal
I have proclaimed
through ceaseless
trepidation
and self-flagellation—

I have learned to love me
by realizing I am not inherently evil,
that my body is not evil,
that my mind is not evil,
and, ultimately, that
there is no good
and there is no evil.

My body is beautiful,
my mind is beautiful,
this world is beautiful,
and we are destroying it
waiting for you to claim
us.

I leave you
in hopes to see you
again one day,

and perhaps you will look
different than I have
perceived or imagined,

and in fact
I certainly hope so.”

Just then the waitress strolled back up
with a servile smile:
“Dessert?”

“No, thank you,”
I smiled politely.

And with that,
I paid the check,
and took a to-go box—

walked out into the evening rain
to my car,
put on a secular song
that meant something real to me
and drove off
into the night—

feeling for the first time
free
and alive.
 Feb 2017
Carolin
I feel numb and cold. I
feel isolated and bored.
My hands have sinned
again. This body is no
longer holy without you
by its side. Without your
hands caressing my
arms and thighs.

I painted a map on the
wall. Planned to build a
raft to float across the
ocean hoping to land
on your shores.

I can't sleep alone
anymore. I have to
move next to you. I
forgot what is it like to
feel. Lost my appetitive
and will to survive. I
need you badly in my
bed sheets tonight. I
stained the walls
with geography.

Paint splattered on my
shirt. And now I'm left
with nothing to do but
to write you a love note
and head out to build
that boat.

I'll be kicking these
waves soon. By dawn
i'll be wrapped up in
your arms. And we'll
be kissing again under
the moon light. But now ,
i have these feral
waves to
fight ~
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