Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
forgive me
for committing the sin of looking for you
here, there, and everywhere.
forgetting the cardinal truth
that you’re the omnipresent one!

to think i could think of you,
the one who’s beyond all thoughts
my trespass too.

forgive me.....

© 2022
Fey Jun 5
Rays of mik-white porcelain
covered her delicate fingertips -
as she painted the vast sky
a crescent companion.

© fey (05/06/22)
N Jun 2
Longing must be an act of worship, and I do it fervently. “I wrote you endless confessions that turned into poems. But you still banished me.” I said to my deity. “I admit, I am but an unloved thing aching to be loved. Oh, it hurts. It hurts to worship you.” I cried to her during one of my confessions. “I wish to share my loneliness with you” I said, trying not to break.
“Goddess of adoration, I shall worship you in secret. In the dark, I will come to you with my ardent desires, unholy cravings, and burning longings. For I solely exist to please you.” I said under my breath. “Your mouth, a glowing thing in the dark. I set ablaze at the mere thought of my tongue merging with the river of you.” I whispered, shaking with an unspeakable hunger. “Allow me to show you how deep my devotion is. I could burn for you” I said.
Alienpoet May 11
Her heart and soul filled with fire
all she yearns for is desire
never caged in a wire
Her wisdom hidden
from prying eyes
The patterns she has given us
a sequence
Her love touches our lives with frequency
yet we haven’t seen her for what she is
her love hisses and fizzes
like a chemical reaction
Yet her divine spark lights the dark in an interaction.
CIN May 10
Gods arise and i hide behind the sun
What could a soul like me do in the presence of divinity?
Eyes of gold cut toward me
And i know the message they hold
But i, the coward, simply look away into the flames

Its fitting here, lying on the sun
I pretend my agony is from the flames
Even though a soul has no physical body
Yearning has scarred me like glimpses of the moon
And i remember life in solitude

****** hits like sinking deeper into the sun
I look past the sky into the heavens above
Clouded by a lazy orange haze
I watch the gods weep to make rain

Sorrowful existence with no real meaning
A star burns in the distance
I pull fire over me as if i could feel the heat
Like comfort could ever come to me

And when a god sends way for me
They lift me from the flames like a leaf on water
Like a shell from the sea
They mold me a body and toss me away to the earth
Says ‘come back to me, my child, when you can feel bliss’

And i grow up desperate for love
Desperate to feel pleasure in the midst of pain
Learn a thing or two about happiness
And false hope of a single god
Wander the earth and revel in its beauty
Scar the skin they so gracefully gave me

And when i have lived as much as i can
I become cowardly again
I see their face in my dreams
I get old yet stay the same
Die in my sleep one day

My soul rests on the sun again
And they come to greet me
Says ‘did you learn what you could be’
Hugs my scarred body
As i nod timidly

I learned of pleasure
I learned of love
I learned to feel
At home in the heavens above
sometimes i'd rather believe that this is my purpose rather than anything else. It feels like i was born in pain, even though i know i wasn't. Sometimes its nice to just pretend im a child of the sun. .
Mamolefe Apr 24
I was first born a solar system.

Living in a realm where I wheezed stars and suns. My eyes, black holes to a new universe.
It was a time where planets burst from my belly and latched onto my ******* - no longer hiding in my vortex of a womb.

The world swung around my neck heavily. Steadily, I adorned my fate gracefully...

...because I was born second a mountain.
My hips creating hills and heaps while my tears birthed oceans. I carried the crescent moon in my left eye - Venus in my right.

And often times, I’d shape shift and kneel to the ground, grabbing the soil of the earth.
Its mud, dancing under my nails and knuckles. Its dust, smouldering the creases between my palms.
Sand, caressing and matching the tones of my skin. Accenting hues from the palette of eternal life.

My mouth, birthing spirits and spells. Souls - mining from my ribs.
My womb, carrying ancestors and avatars - Coloured girls glowing in browns, blacks, purples and blues.
Their nebula personifying secrets from Zion as they break through the realm between my legs.

As I continue to carry my message in the wind; breathing life into lifelessness;
narrating stories of hope in times of hopelessness; morphing my magic across the abyss.

I was born third a Nubian.
A Maasai, I am the one they call MAKEBA.

Walking these townships streets as though diamonds lay at my feet.
Gliding on gravel from the ghetto to Greece. Leaving behind a fragrance so sweet.

Blessing the unblessed even when left distressed. Honoring the feminine power that flows within me. The roaring lioness! Smell the audacity of my celestial essence. I am the first to bleed, but last to fall – the S forever embroidered on my breast.

For I am you and you are her and we are She! MAKEBA!

Inkosazana. The melanated fruit that you seek. You stare in disbelief at these words that I conceive.

Sheba!

Ke mang a tshwara thipa ka bogaleng? Ke mang afang botho mo batho ba hlokang motho? Ngubani le mbogodo elingabambeki?

Beka!

My eyes, carrying alchemy.
My smile, a treasury. My skin, reflecting the origin of humanity.

I am, MAKEBA
A piece by Mamolefe Molefe & Reaorata Mashaba.
“Ma” meaning Mother and “Keba” meaning fortune, health and spirituality - which is of Tanzanian heritage.

In this collective project, we bring to life the artistry and alchemy of the Black Woman.

The Mothers of the Universe. The originators of man. The true, living form of God.
Admiration is the cousin of envy,
as I learned long ago in Austria.
I knew a girl from a village in the Tirol.
I don’t remember her face,
Except for the placid smile
on her berry red lips.
She was not beautiful, but pretty
in a Mägdlein sort of way,
"smelling of crushed daisies and sweat".
But her long, butter-yellow hair,
seemed to have fallen from the sun.
She wore a black, Dirndl vest
that hugged her torso, a white blouse,
and a long. striped, pink skirt.
Even her legs were beautiful,
With tiny, blonde hairs that glistened.
I wished I could be like her:
Simple-seeming, unaware, unquestioning.
I watched her stand on a rocky ledge,
On a little mound like a pedestal
That overlooked an green-blue alpine valley.
She was a poem or an imagined girl
From a fairy tale or an ad for Priumula.
She was  a goddess escaped
from the the netherworld
of dairy barns and milking cows.
I thought that she might never return
there from her lofty peak at the world..
But another girl stood beside her.
A spartan sort with round glasses
And a face like a Pug dog.
She seemed to stand guard,
In a sexless, violent way,
Threatening those who might approach.
I fantasized about pushing her off the cliff,
Just to rid us of her presence.
The altitude was spinning my thoughts,
Wondering what would happen
To this Hummel Fräulein someday.
Would she follow the other youth to Vienna,
Smoke and drink espresso in a café,
Or come back to her alpine home
And milk goats while her children played?
The next day, as if still drugged,
I strolled across the bridge to Germany
And the river path to Freilassing.
There I bought a new, blue blouse
With a heart shaped neck
And brown, corduroy slacks.
It was the best I could do then
And Dirndls were not cheap.
So I spent the summer
As an ersatz Austrian,
No longer an American with jeans.
My freedom was almost euphoric,
Including dodging classes
About Bertolt Brecht, Kurt Weill,
Die Dreigroschenoper,
Those overrated poseurs!
(Except for Mack the Knife.)
I even attended Mass at various cathedrals,
just to hear Mozart or Schubert dance
up in the arches with cherubs,
or in front of ancient, colored glass
in the gloom of medieval stone.
I accepted that The Tyrolean Girl
And her antique, sunlit style
Were as inaccessible as
Gentian and columbine, mist-shrouded
on high peaks wrapped in clouds.
I once ran to see some up close
And nearly passed out.
But knowing that, I felt their charm
Had descended from the heights
To entice us in the valleys,
With pink striped cloth, gold hair
And amethyst flowers.
They flee past us like time,
Swift as the rivers in Spring.
Rama Krsna Jan 15
everywhere i look
your blood laced fingerprints.
everywhere i hear
those tintinnabulating anklets.
everywhere i smell,
the overpowering musky marigolds.

but where are you my black goddess?

when no one in the universe
can match your ravishing beauty,
have you chosen
this time
to hide inside pure dark matter?

© 2022
for the great goddess who is beyond time and space
f Jan 8
lord forgive me for i have reclaimed your goddess.
heaven's council feels rather hollow now,
but my home has always been me.
the red thread
Next page