The Dance with the Wind: For Herbert

Mentions of a caressing whisper are a cliche

And so are exchange poem battles for a touche

Unspoken words, tongue bites and running fingers… 

Lung kites, caged hearts,  the silence lingers

Do you not see the laughter in my characters? 

The possible embrace in my giffy entrances? 

I have you tied in a knot now

Do you not see that none of it comes to nought? 

But maybe, it does, dont we both stare at the stars for solace? 

Travel lands untravelled in search of ourselves? 

The waves have us in their tides, my dear Herbert

So when you fly keep a parachute in your locket. 


The Werewolves 

The Werewolves 

Woe to us, the moonlight beams full and bright! 

Woe to such who get lost at night! 

The wolves hunt us fiercely by the pack

Friend or foe, remember to watch your back! 

I have seen their yellow eyes in the dark of night

Their mighty legs fill my being with fright! 

The village stands just some miles away

But in frigility, what am i to say? 

Woe to us, the moonlight beams full and bright! 

Woe for I got lost at night! 

These fair ladies have captured my sights! 

But tis’ deep familiarity i see in their eyes

Their night walks leave trails of blood 

And the villagers march with faces smudged with mud

Woe to us, the moonlight beams full and bright! 

Woe for we will perish in the night! 

The werewolves are an unknown peril

The witches haunt us in our daily carols 

Woe to us for not seeing the light! 

Woe to your judgements of acts done at night. 

Cease to find comfort in the easier seen

For things are never truly what they seem. 

Smartphone =less sex. 

Today at lunch my friend, Estelle was talking about an article which was discussing the fact that sexual activity has seen a 20% decline since 2000. Being the person I am, this naturally astounded me and I sought to do a little research . 

Apparently, the year 2000 brought along a techno-boom, especially in the more developed nations. The rest of the world also went through this terrific transition, except at a much slower pace. As these gadgets evolved into  complex smartphones, most of the population fell into a hands-on trend to establish ownership of the sophisticated device. As a result of the easily learned attachment to smartphones sexual activity has rapidly decreased, according to British medical researchers in the Lancet. The article states that:sexual activity has declined down to just under five times a month for the 16-44 age group and three times a month for the overall adult population. This basically means that we have begun to get so caught up with the modern world to a point that we barely feel in the mood to shag. 

When we go to bed at night we automatically glue ourselves to our phones and catch up on the latest gossip, tweets and update our Facebook posts. We barely feel the need to have a conversation with the living breathing human being right next to us. The strong urge to explore each others bodies and find that affection in our partner is quickly fizzing out. 

In less than a decade to come, the statistic on population might soon lead to internet and phone bans, just like in China at a point. Psychologists have ascertained that phone attachments are learned behavior which can be unlearnt before it turns into obsessive behaviour. 

The pressures of modern life also have many of us in a twist. These mobiles also bring food to the table along with depression. Due to the fact that our bank accounts are low, our sexual appetite is also excessively droopy and ‘sex’ becomes an act in the downstairs bathroom with one hand , tissues and a cheap pornsite on the other hand. It’s not just us growing into, and penetrating, the secrets of technology. It’s our technology growing into, and penetrating, us.

Marketors have been taking advantage of sex to sell products since… well, since forever. This is different from that, because it actually works far past the desired effect. Our devices have a digital record of our every “like” and love, and passion/obsession. We rely on our gadgets to keep track of our various real life activities, wishlists, schedules, and yes, even our sexual fetishes . We bring a device to bed with us consciously and enthusiastically. We fondle it and interact with it privately and intimately on a level that is tangibly gratifying. We send immodest suggestive texts and boob popping media with it to each other across vast distances, heavily breathing out our nude raw thoughts together in digital patterns. 

At this point in the article you already know where you have been going wrong. How about a no phone month challenge? Just receive calls and make those which are extremely necessary. Place your phone far from you when you spend time with your loved ones and find out how gratifying it is to listen to  them talk about their day than referring to their 140 character limited tweets. Stare in each others eyes more and simply enjoy each others company whenever you both make time to do it!  

Good luck! 

Ellen Alexa Mubwanda

Death, Taxes and Failed Politics 

​The religious brain never gave me wings

It stole my gifts and all creativity brings

Spirituality is where it’s at

The best possible way to nudge God as you can get

To have a mind opened 

And a heart set

On the things that truly bring peace

And not a TV set

I have a liking for all that glitters 

Those  glistening earrings and convertible give me jitters 
The  religious brain never gave me wings 

Taught me to trust in objects and not the maker of them

Grab that cross, that oil, hold them high to assure God

That you’re with Him and it’s okay to save you

But wait isn’t it He who’s supposed to be with you? 
That religious brain never gave me wings

Must be because I was born with a vagina

At 12 I thought it was cos ‘ I’m a minor

But as I trudge along I’m pushed behind so many cocks 

Waiting ever so patiently for my ship to dock 
That religious brain never gave me wings 

Compelled me to love deeply and get along with all that think likewise 

And loathe the freethinkers and any who interrupt I should despise 

Oh, how my blood rushes at sight of their rude remarks! 

I’ll pray to religion mentally that their asses he smites! 
That religious brain never gave me wings

I loosen my grip now because my father is dead

He lost his grip and landed in a grave 

Way too early, religion, don’t you see? 

We gave you everything and became whom you commanded we should be

Oh, that’s right! You didn’t promise wings

Just death, taxes and failed politics.

​Dirges of the Orphaned 

Written by Ellen Alexa Mubwanda and Realise Mwase 

(inspired by events in Syria)
The flower I planted is ripped today

Shreds of its petals sprinkled where it lay.

Smoke burns my eyes and my chest feels heavy 

The clouds seem to be among us and the air is murky

Afternoon seems to have lasted shorter than most days 

I watched as my new school was set ablaze 

It’s almost past midday and ‘um isn’t back yet

Wonder which of these rushing people she will meet

Maybe I can pass them a message 

To tell ‘um I’ll wait and be patient
Papa talked of a screen

Over popcorn and a grin

So I never feared the flashes

I laugh at the shed as it crashes

Till my shirt was aflame

I thought it was all a game

The walls cast bricks to pelt us

The floor starts heating to melt us

I see the fresh blood on my feet

Papa said God is within reach

Jesus, you said I could sit on your knee

Where are you, Prince of Peace?
The silence kills me the most

Making it seem like all hope is lost

I know what’s going on is wrong

I prayed to Allah to keep me strong

My clothes are shreds, even my pretty buttons 

My legs hurt from continuously spreading apart

I’ve run so far from home but not alone

I reek of bul  because I got so afraid 

The sound of bombs hurt my ears 

I wish they’d stop along with my fears 

I don’t know if I’ll ever meet ‘um again 

I’ve seen adults do it, I wish I could bargain
Our geese were burnt

In a morning of mourning

I miss the days we would learn

Before the bombing and droning

The fire lured the moth

And my big brother was snoring

Then I never saw them both

The fear in my little heart is growing

I miss the wind on my kaffiyeh in the park

Smiles and the thyroma in the wild

All the bliss that I had was bombed to ash in the dark

Death spreads her aroma in the sky
‘Um perished at the marketplace 

I just want salam for the human race 

Why the fighting? The killing? 

Can’t we talk anymore and show feeling? 

If I live…and get older 

I want to spread word of getting better.

Is greed a seed defining their creed? 

They let us bleed before helping us feed 

Phony peacekeepers all mired in greed 

Failing to follow up on speeches in deed 

Peace indeed is the gospel we need 

Let loose the knights of harmony on golden steeds

Drop food and not bombs 

Your lust for the crust is feeding the tombs.


Suddenly decided it had to rain today

Dripped all the tears cascading down my face

Should’ve have been happy but that was not the case

Every e-mail rolling in urgently, my chest could not slow pace

Told me he wished i was back so I could take a break

Said how things had gone bad,…like most of Spongebob’s friends

With his voice came the sound of castles broken down

But fought to keep a brave face like his father’s son

How does one imagine a rainbow when this storm is done

God knows I’ve been in this battle for far too long

Four year old kid ; Dad  with eczema

He couldnt do much so i had to live with ma

May have been too young to understand,Lil Kiara

But i felt that darkness spreading further

Fifteen year old,  pops and lil sis in the back

Never knew the world to be souless but anyway they did hyjack

Left me and my dad bleeding to death

Had a few nuggets of hope and faith so held on to that

Back home mom was struggling to keep a roof over our heads

Never had enough money for food so they had to sell our beds

I’m still grateful they invested in our brains

Gave it all i could and kept myself good grades

Family never helped with our school tuition

Explains why Dad tells me never to crave friends and unnecessary recognition

Anyhow got me graduated and shipped off to another nation

The stories from back home are not much of a pretty colouring book

My baby sister with her talent though could probably help me take another look

Always tell her she a star and don’t need to believe any lesser

Her shy gorgeous smile and shiny eyes make our life so much brighter

Would get a job from where I am if I really could,father

But my skin colour confirms a qualification my grades couldn’t cover

They deliver the devil’s doom as soon as I have arrived

Mow off all the grass to my greener pastures, I am deprived

Stripping off all ambition till mediocrity is revived

But my type of  persona can’t allow that

Acceptance of one type of hat just because I’m black?

While the white kids get caps,bandeaus,crowns and then the throne?

I’m not sorry and I will get measurements of my own

And let you know who I am as if you went through my phone

Think its time we change the way we see each other

And not judge by the mistakes made by my brother

I’m one of me so I’ll just tell you to look no further

I won’t stop till they say Emma Watson is the white Ellen

My fear just died and determination drove the hearse

I’m no soldier , won’t put camouflage on my face. 

Paint Storms 

​I fell in love with you in the same way I fell for my art. Both so slowly, so artistically. I wished to paint you on my most prized canvas. The change of mind was out of an unwillingness to alter perfection. Plus I had not enough paint to run through the details of your dresses. My beautiful undiscovered portrait… Had I been granted enough talent I would whitewash all the sadness that lingers in your chest. Brush lightly yellow paint on all your gloomy days, because its always a happy shade. I would pick out my most  happiest painting and take you on endless dates on that scenery. I remember how much you treasure the stars. Our silhouettes still point at the yellow twinkling dots above them. Dried in still time, I’ve forever made you young. My, oh, my, how you still dazzle me. My pieces hold glitter now. Our daughter never tires of smudging her dainty hands in it. She’s so much like me. Perhaps your own portrait of me? The thought makes me feel warm inside. I altered the garden and painted a rosy apple tree, just as you always imagined. And how right you were! It completely steals all the attention from the pain all around it. For a split second it fights for me to forget. Run your paintbrush slowly through the lives you left us. Paint yourself in. Let yourself back in. Quieten the dying beating of your heart. Look in my eyes, once more and tell me we will be alright. Together. Here. 

The heat of the fire will die down. I promise you, this time… I’ll paint storms.