Friday, August 23, 2013

Writers Must Write by Success Sibanda

They must write of fears,
Of politics and tears,
Of the election that nears
Of the silenced voice each hears
They must write despite jeers

Of the wrong that is not right
Of the wrong that will never be right
That which makes evil bright
That which violates any human right
Writers must write

We must all write
On paper; in hearts
Of foes and sweethearts
Of the wrong and the right
Of what might not and what might

Writers must write.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

The Seventh Morning by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Image -
On the seventh morning
when I woke I found your
letter on my pillow and
when I read it, my heart
within me was like a stone.
You had taken back the
promissory ring and now,
in spite of the ambient
light, I felt numb, dimmed
with grief, that you had
left me to dwell alone.
My life is like a broken
bowl that cannot hold
a drop of water for my
soul, nor is there a cordiality
to lift me when I'm low.
All I ever see is the barren
dusk, no bud or greenness;
and without you, I am a
frozen thing, a falling leaf.