BLOOD LETTERS TO BIYA (CAMEROON IS ALSO OUR COUNTRY)      : See puppets moaning out loud under the oppressionalitic burden of uncondomized, rough, rush ridden iron steel imperialistic phalluses. Slicing apart the sacredness and virginity of this earth .Painting the moon red with fresh  blood. Sacred land wounded by riffle gongs, bullet shreds and shrieks of grief. Leaving threads of loss and traces of death .Political bed hoppers seized by autocratic tonsillitis, imbibing their consciences like wine. Sowing vendetta and seeds of crime in the land of great. Guns coughing bronchitis and death strangling frail cities to massgraves .Cannibals roasting generations for dynastic  pride  and plutocractic delight .Slicing mother’s womb naked , machetes guzzling blood .war prostitutes whose state organs are clutched by plutocratic syphilis spraying the virulent bacterium in water wells and village fields wiping generations of the unwanted ,the quarantined . Afrophobia .Xenophobia. The country is now frail from arthritis and syphilitic gangrenes of war. Sing Bamenda sing songs of identity, rise from ashes death. Rise! Kumba, rise Kumba from shadows of darkness. Liberation ! Biya vomit your sputum of vitriol into the dust of your soil and crush it under war cracked feet .Let dry bones of Sangmelima spit goblets of peace into your heart chambers,Biya! .Ambazonia! You shall be the land of the free. Jumbo ! Cameroon is your country.



HARD TRUTH  from  the Founder  of the  Zimbabwe Africa We  Want Poetry Movement  and  Literary Arts  Projects  CURATOR, M
This journal instalment is protest poetry and verse of resistance voicing against the brutal killings, political Satanism , moral decadence and tyranny perpetuated by political devils , puppets and war gods in Cameroon against the citizens of Cameroon . As Brave Voices and Solidarity Voices from Africa and abroad in solidarity with people of Cameroon suffering under the yoke of xenophobic, tribal polarizations , cultural discrimination by imperialistic puppets and unrepentant African Napoleons . We say Cameroon is also our Country. BIYA here are OUR BLOOD LETTERS TO YOU. The Zimbabwe Africa We Want Poetry Movement through Brave Voices Poetry Journal , MIOMBOPUBLISHING and the 100 THOUSAND POETS FOR – ZIMBABWE says no to killings , to dictatorship ,to segregation , to stolen ballots , warlordism and banditry . We call for peace and unity through metaphor and Verse. Receive our BLOOD LETTERS (CAMEROON IS ALSO OUR COUNTRY.) .Our Poetry our Swords! For more information, submissions and literary activism vibes contact the CURATOR MBIZO CHIRASHA at . This our last Brave Voices Poetry Journal in 2018 and it breaks the record of reaching 25 contributors. ALUTA CONTINUA!




GOODENOUGH MASHEGO is an award-winning writer and poet based in South Africa. He has published three volumes of poetry, Journey with Me, Taste of My Vomit and Just like Space Cookies. Mashego is co-founder of South African hip-hop label, Lepulana Musik under which he released his chart-topping musioetry project Just Like Space Cookies – Listening Sessions Volume One which is available on Google Play and iTunes.


some games don’t have names
so we call them the crying game
when the director yells ‘cut’ the orgy ceases
paramedics invade the pitch
wolves lick their mane as they disappear in a ditch
hospital casualty wards line their porters
mortuaries sanitize their slabs
pathologists slide on fresh surgical gloves
Blood Bank begs for group O negative
today they test not for HIV nor hepatitis B

some people partake in games that have no names
they wear armour carry machetes they are stars of our shame
battle themselves hoping to survive self-emulation
out of one should prevail a winner & loser when the sun sets
we cut our noses to spite our faces
like van gogh slice off my left ear so i hear not my tongue sing
God Bless the Queen give her another jubilee
La Marseillaise forget not the 1789 revolution
why play a game with goal posts in France and Britain
when mother Africa is music i sing her a lullaby

[for Cameroon]

the pinky drew a line in the sand
& called it a boundary
so red ants from the north
shall not cross to the south
those that call the north home
shall know not about the south

about that life of plenty
that they live in the north
share not in trials & tribulations
they suffer in the south
north meets not south
only through shadows when
the sun sets & rises shall they hug

pinky drew another line on my tongue
called it a linguistic barrier
so francophone meets not anglo
neither anglo do francophone
merci shall mean not thank you
nor thank you mean merci
for we tasted the cyanide with the tip of our tongues


alexander nderitu

ALEX NDERITU is a Kenyan novelist, poet, playwright and critic. Some of his work has been translated into Kiswahili, Chinese, Swedish, Arabic and Japanese. He is the Deputy Secretary-General of Kenyan PEN and the Kenyan Editor of the US-based theatre news portal, His first book, ‘When the Whirlwind Passes’ has the distinction of being Africa’s first digital novel. In 2014, his narrative poem ‘Someone in Africa Loves You’ represented Kenyan literature on BBC’s Commonwealth Postcards. In 2017, ‘Business Daily’ newspaper listed him among Kenya’s ‘Top 40 under 40 Men’. Official website:

Weed and opium
Have a grip on the Africans
Sending them to hell at a premium
Living people turned into zombies
They just follow, never question
The Big Man or his position

After the church masses, they’ll use poison gasses
To massacre without conscience
All because a man in robes told ‘em
To kill for peace and rape for virginity
Elsewhere, citizens from all classes have assembled
To see and cheer their so-called leader
Who promises an ever-brighter future

Can’t you see what is happening all around us?
Chaos is the order of the day, there’s no consensus
If religion is the opium of the masses
Then politics is their weed
And fake leaders are the pushers, giving them what they need
To stay in a collective deep sleep,
Supporting the status quo

African leaders know how to manipulate the public
Using the age-old method of the-carrot-and-the-stick
Just like the old colonial masters knew all the dirty tricks
Including how to control communities by divide-and-rule tactics.

Bill Clinton knows how to have sex in the Oval Office
(And successfully avoid getting impeached for this),
Ugandans know how to make multi-storied buildings using bricks
While South Africans have mastered languages that contain clicks.

Tiger Woods knows how to play golf on the greens,
The Williams Sisters know how to play tennis,
Dr. Dre knows how to profit from hip-hop beats,
And Kanye West knows how to make hits for the streets.

The Pentagon knows how to bomb a country into ether,
Stealth fighter pilots know how to evade radar,
And NASA knows how to put a man on the moon
And fly a rocket like a witch on a broom.

Dateline NBC know how ‘To Catch a Predator’
Obama knows how to jump to President from Senator.
But what we need now more than ever
Are people who know How to Make Peace, Not War.


REAGAN RONALD OJOK is a Ugandan poet. He is a poet from the heart. His poetic fangs strikes hard like thunder, searching all corners of social, political and economic quagmire. His sharp poetic pen crafts thought, imaginations, dreams into reality.

The spirit of your ancestors is calling_
Wake up from your political anesthesia
Wake up from the bondage of sniffing in overdose the political fart
Ballot or barrel, rise up in unity to claim your freedom

Ubuntu Yaoundé….Ubuntu Cameroon!
Our comrades_
The power of a united people
Is stronger than the people in power
Rise up Cameroon, rise above the water,
To liberate your future from political captivity

We worship a loving God
He shall not abandon us in the hands of dictatorship
When oppression crowds out basic rights_
Then tyranny begins to germinate!
Fear not thy fangs of oppression
For African Union is sleeping
It is too drunk with power
To save your nation


NGAM EMMANUEL BEYIA, Cameroonian born is poet, educationist, and an advocate of socio-political change. His writings address various issues and every reader is likely to find one that suits their interest. His works have been published in magazines and anthologies the world over. He has also received numerous awards of recognition
He studied in THE UNIVERSITY OF YAOUNDE 1, Cameroon, where he obtained BA in French and English. He then enrolled into Higher Teachers Training College, graduated with a bilingual diploma. Upon graduation has been teaching in local High schools in English speaking Cameroon.


“Do animals really have rights?”
My friend suddenly asked with a
sneer of amusement in his husky voice
Taken aback l paused to think. Short of words,
Without a second thought l said “yes”
I may never be able to say why l said so
But l remember that l said if there was
an animal kingdom there would be a king
Who had as duty to guarantee
rights of all animals in the jungle
visibly excited when l explained further
that Lions won’t have to treat dogs like a sty
for dogs deserved at the worst
to taste at least the entrails of the catch
Monkeys, apes and others wouldn’tscreech
if they had a fair share of the ripe bananas
Fowls and ducks wouldn’t ask wholesome meals
I believe they would’ve gladly peaked crumbs
marine or swamp lives l tried to explain
could’ve all perished if their waters were polluted
“In the days of the dinosaur and dragon”, l continued
“my grand father told me with deep regret
that peace reigned amongst all the jungle dwellers
who lived in fraternity with great respect for rights
the power tussle came to dominate
shattered the peaceful virgin forest,
Big animals strayed into the sanctuary
planted seeds of imperialism
defiled the aboriginal institutions,
and built new fragile structures
watered by greed and corruption
Skirmishes scared so many
to alien abodes
those left behind barely survived
the jungle’s survival of the fittest
the weak heartless cannibal’s victual are
while herbivores devour with ravenous
appetite almost all the green foliage that
once was the pride of this equatorial
forest standing scanty and forlorn”




is an accomplished poet and an published author of long fiction and poetry from Nairobi, Kenya. She loves nature. Her greatest passion is in reading while at the same time writing poetry.
O Cameroon,
Haven’t you seen the bloodied brothers?
In Rwanda,
In South Sudan,
And learnt the outcomes,
That talking keeps at bay bloodletting?
O land of our sane brothers,
For long living with hope,
Dividing by communication that should thaw differences,
But now,
Simmering murmurs,
And banners screams,
Men in suits and naked deaths litter your streets,
O Cameroon,
Language binds,
Not divides,
Language builds,
Not destroys,
Have you not seen the piled up skulls,
Of children and elders before their time?
Have you not seen?
Boat loads of fleeing souls,
Turning up belly up on foreign shores?
O Cameroon, Touch your cheeks and up wake,
Before history writes your story,
In bloodied ink as so many on this continent,
Have done for the deafness of their leaders.
Is man not man,
Whether the bigger house or the small one,
Is man not flesh and blood,
If he speaks Europe or Eurasia,
Is man not a creations creature?
Whether assimilated or adopted,
A crisis looms,
One more time,
Over century issues that under the carpet got swept,
And the ugly step child bastard of secession,
Rumbles in the valleys and hills of a people sharing food and lovers,
What happens when inclusivity and dialogue are bastardized?
What happens when free and fair appointments are lassoed like cow boy gams,
Violence springs like overnight mushrooms,
And rivers of anger burst banks to smoother speech,
And an old grudge surfaces,
To cry an old wound,
Even as we write poetry,
A land awaits graves diggings,
Unknown yet known,
A curse doing experiments everywhere in Africa,
The sorry story of seeds of discord long planted,
And us the harvesters of tidal tears,
Because power drunk us,
And greed dances on state houses,
Where common sense has been replaced by ignorance.

organic Star,
is a passionate African writer and Poet. Active Poetry Coach, Publisher at StarWrite Productions and Author of The Dance Of Dawn.
Her works have appeared on, anthologies, Poetica Magazine and many platforms. She is the Head of Writers at The Portal Network International, Member of Writers Space Africa, Editor and International Project manager.
Chinua Ezenwa Ohaeto, winner of The New Hampshire Institute of Art Writing Award speaking about her did say…
“Star is a dynamic fellow With a beautiful mind… Her writings measure the environment, relationships and understanding of self.”

Vain songs
Vain lies
Blood cries in our minds
Where war is now a maddened cross
Chewing the future apart.

We stand idle
Dark. Still and bloody
The village sits in mourning.

Mothers dream of something
Lost from our wrists
Where is the bracelet of our peace?

A child runs out with broken bones
Dripping out of him.
Of all there is is nothing left
If violence takes the lead.


EMMANUEL DOUGLAS MULOMOLE was born on 8th December 1994. He is a conscientious poet, avidly quotable writer, story writer and Life advice writer. He is from Africa, Southern part which is Malawi as his country. Many of his poems have been published on national and international website and some of her poems have also been published on international anthologies. He has won many awards from international poetry forums.

“D E A T H”

Gloomy light with poisonous death

Death of grazing all our brothers
Like grasses that the cattle graze
Here and there, so quietly

Death of picking all our sisters
Like grains that the birds pick
One by one, so swiftly

Death of biting all our good people
Like a legless reptiles bites
With its movement, so noiselessly
ISOR BARIDAGARA DEEZUA is a naval rating in the Nigerian navy that specializes in underwater warfares.He is kind, gentle, calm and humble with deep love for humanity. He likes writing, singing, reading and travelling.


My charming smiles now hides
Within my broken heart
Be kind to me I plead

My belly looks like pot
The homestead of hunger
Be kind to me I plead

A wound so deep in me
Yes, healing tried but failed
Be kind to me I plead

A whisper so much loud
Than my voice so faint and thin
Be kind to me I plead

My stricken soul bleeds on
In ruins my dreams are laid
Be kind to me I plead

An emptiness lords me
A void so hard to fill
Be kind to me I plead

My body clothed in mud
Alien to beauty I am
Be kind to me I plead

Be kind to me I plead
Your love can wash my pains
And mop my tears away

I know am close to you
Somewhere down the street
Be kind to me I plead

The poor you know we are
We beg for crumbs to eat
Be kind to me I plead

I see in you a friend
I stretch my hands in want
Be kind to me my friend

I hear the season is here
A time to love and share
Be kind to me my friend

(Inspired by the kind heart of Gracia Gernale AsianPoet.)

NGOZI OLIVIA OSUOHA is a Nigerian poet/writer/¬thinker, a graduate of Estate Management with experience in Banking and Broadcasting. She has published over one hundred and fifty poems in over thirteen countries and featured in over twenty international anthologies.
She has published three poetry books and coauthored one, they are THE TRANSFORMATION TRAIN, LETTER TO MY UNBORN, SENSATION and TROPICAL ESCAPE respectively. She writes hymns, psalms and has numerous words on the marble. All her books are record breakers.
Come home prodigal son
Else Satan has won,
Restore the family bond
Be no more vagabond,
Your words are opposite
And your life composite,
Politics; my wayward brother.

Politics you are too hot
Boiling like water in the pot,
Ready to burn anyone
Even if nothing, he has done,
I hardly get amused
Because i am confused,
Politics; my wayward brother.

You forced us into a kettle
And built yourself a castle,
Tom, Dick and Harry
You marry and remarry,
Careless like a Prostitute
Wide like an Institute,
Politics; my wayward brother.

You have put God away
And made monsters your stay,
You live in the sea
And Blood is your tea,
Virgins are your meat
And babies are your seat,
Politics; my wayward brother.

You abolished our customs
Replaced them with condoms,
You debased our currency
And gave us false prophecy,
You demolished our Schools
And expanded your pools,
Politics; my wayward brother.

Ungodly is your scent
Your manners are indecent,
Your colleague was assassinated
Your friend; impersonated,
Your Uncle was blackmailed
Your Nephew too was jailed,
Politics; my wayward brother.

The rumour was very bitter
The murmur was on letter,
At you; all fingers point
In fact; they are blunt,
Come and clear the air
Please be free and fair,
Politics; my wayward brother.

You were not this barbaric
Neither were you demonic,
Something went terribly wrong
That wrote you a dirty song,
Return, Mama is old
Come home Papa is cold,
Politics; my wayward brother.


ADRIATIK JACE was born on 21.05.1971 in Përmet. After graduating from high school, he continued his studies in Tirana University. The passion for literature started when he was very young, passion which it grow throw years, as well as numerous reading, was transformed into poetry and creative spirit.
The diversity of life, Life metaphysics and deep sensation experience, those are the basis of this poetic creativity, which comes through symbolism and metaphor, that is used on creative style and creative art for the moment.
Poetic dimension touches the highest peaks, has beautiful colors, deep meanings and furthermore express the idea that goes beyond limits of himself and runs on a tomorrow’s path and the next light. As a missionary of hope and confidence that has been created through verses the poet expresses concern, and he creates bridges of understanding. His purpose is to represent world’s peace and human integrity.


If the death would choose its own color …
I’m sure, will definitely not love black tone
Terribly long.
With the ugly hoody rubbing half the horror …
It would not want, on its fingers, the shameful horror to go up… No, it would like to be dressed in designer clothes and high quality snickers… How fare behind we are with the image of death.
It is dressed as a young lady ..
Yes, with high heels ..
It chest is full of jewels.
And on it’s fingers are dozens of rings … with every kind of stones. There is a leather wallet (even the skin it choose is from any animal as it’s wish) .. There is a mansion..
Even with a pool, hydromassage and jacuzzi …
With golf course and tennis …
There is a car, the last type,extra cylinder …
There is a helicopter with private jet …
Death, my friends, is not the way they described it.
The films lying.
Death is very rich.
Even when the souls of the poor fall, it shows its wealth.
Kills with kind weapons ..
It is more often the case is, that the death,put the arms in their hands, they kill each other … How happy the death gets
As a child upon receipt a adorable gift …
Situated on a coastline.
And with her fingers it gives ” ok” the names that fly on her “tuch” tablet … ” How happy the death gets.
As with winning a “candy” game
And the souls break out and drown in her sac.
Oh, only the bag that hasn’t changed..
It is the same made of wool and coarse yarn lin…
Death has a lot of work.
It is the only one who does not feel the global crisis.
Everywhere flies.
For its plain, never gets full with gas.
Death works hard.
The worker is death.
It works with no schedule, its seconds are overflow, with flying numbers, as a power contactor in a factory … Death cannot be cut off from Africa….
It seats there
cross-legged and pulled the bags one after the other …
She stands under an umbrella on the beach, drinks ice drinks and licks ice cream … and its bags overflow … And she sings like a child.
How much work the death have.
Africa, gather and let the death without work!
Cameroon is enough!
Leave the death without work!
Life is there. Embrace it!!!


I find myself homophobic.
I can’t chew many things
I’m the old cut
Undefeated goods
Without values
I’m bored to the paroxysm point
I like myself in infinity
I’m sick and a great narcissist …
I start and never finish things.
My heart hurts more for a drowned child,
than a constant divergent.
It hurts more
a child without water
from someone with ear-waiters.
Listen to music …
Screams for equality.
It hurts so much that I want to shout
When someone don’t have what to wear
And someone flags make with rainbow’s color…
I’m sick, I feel bad and sorry
It chokes me make me sick and tired
There are those who have never skated shoes
living with animals,
Suffering …,
others, with real leather coats
Children in dirt …
the elderly who lose their lives in the whip.
Others, with new cars,
horse stalls,
They spending millions …
And don’t know what to do
While somewhere …
Children cry …
The father got killed in front of their eyes.
There are inequalities all over the world.
Freedom of speech Useless concept…..




CHRISPAH MUNYORO is graduate of Applied Art and Design, Graphics and Website Programming at Kwekwe Polytechnic College in Zimbabwe. Munyoro is a talented writer, journalist and a dedicated Design Artist. She is natural linguist, fluent in many languages among them English, Shona, Esperanto, Setswana, Swahili, Italiana and Yoruba. She began as a columnist writing feature articles in the Gweru Times in Midlands Province Capital of Zimbabwe. She has worked as a Midlands Chapter Chairperson of the Zimbabwe Association of Freelance Journalists. Munyoro was once a Zimbabwe Representative at Zone IV Regional Youth Games in 2014 Bulawayo in the boxing discipline. The multi-disciplinary artist is registered under AIBA the international body of boxing. The Writer, Artist, Poet, Journalist and athlete has been writing poetry since her tender years and she has participated in various writers, poetry, journalism and sports


The phantom pain deeply rooted in the dark rivers of heart
Robbed aspirations erased mercilessly
Parents milking from the feeding breasts
Youth deprived of manna -the bright future
Doom and gloom reeking of sickness and stink mess
Souls demented, bloody teared by mangy tattoos
Big fat cats preying demonically
Slogans of peace toasted in bloody wine glasses
Brewery of tears, sweat, pus and blood brewed
Concoction erupting from Cameroon
Rampage spreading throughout Africa
Born and christened into poverty and vandalism
Sounds of machine guns the nursery lullabies
Luring the masses into believing barbarism is the swag
Hunger an appetizer
Pain the main meal
Destruction the desert
Greatness bulldozed by egomaniac salamanders
Armageddon of pure madness puked and sowed into the blemish
Hierarchy wearing idiocy-centric sneers



james coburn
JAMES COBURN is an Oklahoma poet in the United States. His first book of poetry “Words of Rain” was published in 2014. The book was a finalist for an Oklahoma Book Award. In 2016, ten of his poems against terrorism and to save the Sunderbans (wetlands) were published in “Onnyodhara” (The Alternative Way) Eid-special issue festival edition in association with “Anushilon” (The Culture & Literature Society) the National Literary Organization of Bangladesh. Coburn is a 2013 inductee of the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame. He has been published in several anthologies. Three of his poems were published in Tuck magazine in 2017-18. He is a resident poet at

Shape shifting
ignorance hunting man,
so afraid of enlightenment,
you spin oppression.
Deception is your tool to plunder.

You fear voices in the wilderness
crossing rivers, revealing your stench,
your vortex of bile rotting your gut.
Words of poets
synthesize with sun,
magnify your indifference.

we see what you are made of.
Villages starve amid dust.
Rivers are dammed upstream;
neither life nor money flow,
leaving grasslands dry
where water falls in tears.

Poets sense your pulse;
we are leopards of the night
searching phantom land of corporate jungle.
Seething against silk curtains
with eyes on manicured nails.

Leopards stretch
on the prowl, make midnight runs
down cityscapes lit by full moon,
rub against wine bars and traffic lights
as taxis swish through rain puddles
filling asphalt cracks.

Claws mark trails
denied at press conferences.
Invade marble hunting ground.
A rebellion of words blow away
the corrupt dictators of the world
and climate deniers
clenching plastic cups
and sipping morning coffee
on 44th-floor window
made-to-order metropolis view
of bodies eking out a living. Starvation.
Bullets ricochet killing a mother
carrying home bread.

Leopards rush around corners,
leap across balconies, sniff desks
finding jungle flowers
fossilized amid stoic faces.
Cats hunt down hallways, panting,
tongues hanging low
knowing night must fall
and somebody left the light on.


Hard to destroy
the invisible enemy,
I know the warmonger by his deeds
when one refugee child perishes
due to a lifeless cause.

Cloaked in a chameleon’s garment charming
the masses with words, planning no revival,
but what has been left
to fallen herds.

many months have passed;
the earth has moved since landfall.
You are on my mind
more than usual.
Life changed.

We are the sons and daughters of sorrow.
We dream of lands of plenty,
a birth right taken from our ancestors, indigenous to land.
On every continent forsaken,
a river yet to bend,
with depth reaching footprints,
to a refugee discarded. Let the stream open within.

Love becomes stranded
When a stranger asks for peaceful asylum,
Children shunned may return as vipers
in a generation when they become
what their parents were fleeing from.
Nonviolence walks to survive.




MICHAEL MWANGI MACHARIA is a poet based in Kenya. He is interested in the arts in various forms including photography, fine art ,music and dance. He was anthologized in Echoes Across the Valley (2000) and has contributed articles in local newspapers. He also enjoys identifying and promoting youthful talent.


When the world wakes
From eternal unbroken reverie
To reality of a country
Torn apart by foreign tongues;

When the mass graves
Tucked with innocent villagers
Those that couldn’t ballot
Celebrated with hail of bullets;

When the grim reality
Of hapless shepherds in collars
Armed with crucifixes and oil
Swept by the raging storm;

When a continent is roused
From slumber of inaction
Too shamed to look at itself
At the mirror another time;

Will there be a country left
To rebuild from dust and ashes?

Walking down the street ,
He Mouths common epithets
About ‘us ‘and’ them’
Smiling with mindless glee
At the reckless ignominy
Flames of passion dancing
On grass thatched huts ;
Does he share in the victory
Or in the collective loss
Of shame and pride

SYDNEY SAIZE was born Sydney Saize aka Haile Saize I in Harare, Zimbabwe. His poetry is published in a couple of publications including the recently Anthologies of Best New African Writers 2017 and the Zimbolicious 2018.
Cameroon where did you adopted such fuckery?
Treating the nation like a circus
Do you think its progressive to swear perjury?
Running the economy so reckless
Ethnicity is in it’s diversity
Africa is one identity
And religion is man’s personal thing
Your propaganda shouldn’t turn us blind
Suppose we differ in political affiliations
But that should not poison our pure minds
In an election let brotherhood reign.
By Haile Saize I
A father of one and a poet for peace, love and justice.



ANTONIA VALAIRE is a Jamaican multiple award-winning Author, Poet and Inner child Press International Cultural ambassador. She is a BA Holder in History (major) and Philosophy (minor) from The University of the West Indies. Her Book, “Pearls among Stones” was awarded Prime Ministers National Youth Awards for excellence in Arts and Culture. Also, Major art award for Literary and Performing Arts in Drama from JAYECAN. Her other publications are Out from Babylon System: Liberation of Mind, and Black Gold for which her poem, “Stone cold sinner” was a finalist in Hessler street fair poetry contest, Cleveland, Ohio.Some of her publications includes are: Gleaner newspaper, Jamaica, Poetry NZ 47, New Zealand, Tuck magazine, Female first write be share be read, 2014 winner, reflection mag, India, shortlisted in Desmond O’ Grady poetry in Ireland, shortlisted in jaBlog! Junior authors poetry contest, L3 Magazine, Also among top 30 in World Healing, World Peace poetry anthology by Inner child Press in USA, featured Poet at Jamaica Poetry festival which is organized by veteran award -winning Dub poet Yasus Afari, Jamaican Poets Island- wide High schools and Colleges tour organized By veteran Dub Poet, Malachi Smith, and An assistant instructor to veteran Dub poet, Cherry Natural and Poet laureate, Lorna Goodison in All flowers are roses programme.


I am told I have the right to vote
It is my sole obligation
A goal orientated achievement for my nation
Politicians I must select and elect
Their obligation is to fulfill my dreams
Make me feel special and supreme
Only to understand it is like a brand
Not necessarily genuine rather world celebrated

When they fail blame human weakness or even God
I do not expect perfection
That is not my expectation
What I desire is for durable roads, health care,
Job opportunities, security, access financially higher education
Flaws in system, yes inevitable
But Corruption Nah
Human greed refusing need
Society breathes while we inhale
They dictate we follow
Now everyone is in the gutters mislead
Swamp infested left to be devoured

It is drawing near to the hours
Who gave them the power?
Feel mighty and strong
As they try to reach Babel tower
We need intervention as our situation is under construction
As people cry for poverty and crime reduction
Calculate the sum give the value to this equation
Religion and politics in Holy Communion

I am told I have the right
Right to what
The independence of declaration stated never acted upon
Just an illusion
If I have the right then why is their sanction
Why my action cause a negative reaction
I am told I have the right to expression
Yet when I express I have critics to assess
Before I am approved
They say it is just the rule
Am I a fool to believe I have the right?
A right dictated by whom?

Taken from Poetry collection, Out from Babylon system: liberation of Mind


Miroslava Panayotova 4

MIROSLAVA PANAYOTOVA graduated from the Plovdiv University majoring in Bulgarian philology. Her whole lot of poems, stories, tales, aphorisms, essays, criticisms, translations, articles and interviews in periodicals and collections. PANAYOTOVA’s books include Nuances(1994), God of the senses( 2005), Whisper of leaves( 2017), Green feeling( 2018); Two collection of stories: An end and then a beginning( 2017), The path of love(2018),Two eBooks: Laws of communications /aphorisms/( 2018) Old things /poetry/(2018).She is a member of the Union of the Independent Bulgarian Writers and a member of the International Association of Independent Writers “Sodrujestvo”.

This life is probably a bird
or any wing of buterfly.
In crazy night it closes eyes
as flower closes leaves in dark.
So what if your opinion
differs of mine – and his –
of heaven?
Do not all breathe this air
anaesthetized to be alive?

Grasses don’t know, but hope.
We know and hope.
The meaning knows and hopes to change
the fact because it wants like this.

Is not the history the beginning
of the guesswork for the other?




Wilson Waison Tinotenda, an aspiring poet, human rights activists, page poet, flash fictionist as well as an editor of the ( Deem literature organization ). Born on the seventh of January 1998 at a local clinic in Chitungwiza of great svikiro, Tsuro Chaminuka. A Zimbabwean by birth and originates from Malawian tribe. The son of one Godwell Waison and Angeline Mandimika, being the first in a family of two, Annah Waison, little sister .

Africa my Africa, Afrika my Afrika we…
We mourn of the latter day in distresses of
Boring political expeditions that claims more
Than a life daily, I am weary of the old adage
That heralds of political supremacy over our
My rights, veto veto veto only counts, no votes

Afrika of proud warriors in the ancerstral
Savanahs, Of this black blood that bends under
The weights of humiliation. We mourn of this
Latter day, for brothers are poised between the
Deceitful wiles and vanity vines piles to erect
Shame and sorrows in our own Cameroon…

We are tired of the old adage, Politicized by
Propagandist, totalitarian chiefs too and not
Our voices to be perceived, we cry out aloud
Cease all these brutal touches that divides us
CHUKWU PATRICK IFEANYI popularly known as Patmatician is a short story writer, poet, mathematician and an advocate of socio-political change. He is a creative and avid writer who has written stories and poems on various issues. He is a mathematics teacher and a literature addict. He is from Enugu State, Nigeria.
Burned by the despicable tears
And groans of frustrated followers,
Tears caused by the tyranic leadership
Of prey-sidents.
Africa bleeds
The bled from scars
Long caused by rotated ruin of the cankerworm
Camouflaged in human flesh
Sucking the peace and right of the citizens
They’ve thwarted freedom and created a free-doom
A doom for the people who are supposed to bloom
They’ve made and nailed promises
They’ve advocated and thwarted justice…

It’s time Africa rises
Rising from the slums of political divisions
From the chains of corrupt and greedy leaders
Let’s rise, united with unresistible force
For we are the messiahs to deliver ourselves
Not the prey-sidents nor execu-thieves who are taking turns to misgovern our land

While we wait and watch
With teary tales of unimaginable inhumanity
Spreading like wildfire, around and among us
While we ponder and wonder
With saddening stories of atrocious cruelty
Contradicting our compassionate minds
While we wish and wail for a stop
To the sinful slaughters of our people
And the wicked works of the ogres
That had made a home of you.
O thou:
Forest of masquerading massacres of our shouldering soldiers,
Junction of brutal beheading of our beloved brethren,
Field of fatal fight between justice and jaundice,
Cesspool of calamitous cruelty of the criminous clan,
Ground of vexing vices from vicious villains
Stage of dilemmatic drama before our innocent children.

For whilst we consolidate and cry with the bereaved
We pray justice takes its full cause
And this evil no longer on our eye to behold
Oh Sambisa, for you were a forest but now a pool;
A pool of blood and tears of our beloved Africans



KOFI ACQUAH is a Student, Poet, Writer, Spoken Word and a Performing Artist from a Creative Writing & Perfoming Art Society in Ghana called: “The Village Thinkers”. Kofi hails from the Central Region of Ghana. He is a certificate holder of the 2015 American Poetry Marathon. Shortlisted twice in the poetry category for the maiden and second editions of the Ghana Writers Awards, 2016 & 2017.Shortlisted in the Poetry category for the 2018 African Writers Award held in Abuja-Nigeria. Acquah contributed to the following journals and platforms,
The XXI Century World Literature—India (2016), Voices of Humanity Vol.1—USA (2016), Tuck Magazine, the poets without limit, modernghana, enews gh, poemhunter, The New Ulster journal—issue 62 (2017) etc. Kofi Acquah was the poet and artist for the 2017 Adonko Radio and Television Personality Awards commercial poem, held in Accra, Ghana.
Mud walls cried with me
Moon kept descending seven
Night passed at serving
Spittle dried without pity the burden
Voice choked at hunger sundown
She is wrinkled to age
Just eye on her to sink sorrows
In the heart, in the brains
O’! There me to hollow
See. . .
A clapping butterfly
Didn’t dare my sorrows
I watched her feet in afternoon dirt
& pierced my heart with the earth
Let die the palm & wine like a tapper
& only the shoulder will be left
… in death
No guard— no gourd— no gad
Everyday rolled
Even envy paid role
& I was there. Last night too was dread
Everywhere black
But I was deep down to red
Pump & pump, no water drops
My feet burst ashamed
My sole threatened my soul
I am O.U.T
Once Upon [a] Time was in a hole



DR SADIQULLAH KHAN is a gifted poet of immense insights and creativity. Writing on a range of subjects his themes are social, spiritual and politically aware. Looking the domains of day to day living, delving deep into the sufferings and joys he seems to be the voice of dispossessed and the vast majority of poor he passionately identifies, yet his art touches the high mark of existential writing, unique in style and composition, he appears to lead his own genre. He belongs to Wana, South Waziristan in Pakistan.)


My word barbed-wire am cantankerous –
Could reality be as opposed
Judgement as out of wit –
Could finesse be as devoid.
Or the rustic-beauty
The metal-petals I weave
On iron-thorns
Be not master-piece of art.
Or you not pitiably ignorant
Rough of taste and not been
Connoisseur of fine-line.
Refinement and delicacy –
Or gentle-irony and sharp-sarcasm
Or your silence upon my truth?
Find an excuse
To avoid or simply your face turn
That you deaf and dumb
Or pretend you don’t understand.
Fear the provocatoin
Or reality-abject
To the conscience a widow open
Or your tongue pick a word.
Subversive indeed
It pulls you to think
Outside your comfort zone
It challenges you indeed –
My word.

They one by one fell
Went to hiding the little tyrants –
Wolves and hungry beasts
They a pack of the crumbling empire
Of the underworld –
They who drank blood
Of the innocents and fed on flesh
Who were hired assassins
They for penny would commit murder
Or name any heinous crime –
They are the ugliest form
Of repression –
They under the garb of law
Under protection brutally kill –
Torture and demean
They rape and thrive on thievery
But they can’t stand a truth
Their thirty thousand lies
And your one truth –
They break apart quickly
Lacking in moral cohesion they
Since are characterless
Brutal and cruel
They are hardened and seasoned
Criminals –
They are an enemy of humans
Flourishing in political uncertainty
They are gangsters –
A respectable citizen fears them
Like a nightmare
Living vampires on day light,
Cowards of the first order
They know that they are above law
Above any discipline
They look like dacoits on the lose
They are capable
They are well connected
For they are either dons
Or servants to a Don –
A saleable commodity
Revengeful and vindictive
They are armed with lethal weapons –
They kill with impunity
Staging an encounter –
They think that they will get away
With it, – but for how long?



JABULANI NDLOVU MZINYATHI is a Zimbabwean to the marrow. A firm believer in the peter tosh philosophy that there will be no peace if there is no justice. Jabulani is a pan African and a world citizen

Then you left in a huff
The living was getting rough
The vortex of violence
The raging fiery inferno
Some say you ran away
The fire razing your home
That you had to extinguish
In the still of the night
You left for another country
That country called exile
There to face horrors of rejection
Family ties brutally severed
The turbulence within
Today tumultuous times still
The news from what was home
What still is home to you?
The mind gripped by anxiety
The bags you pack and unpack
Hearing of the fragile peace
Hearing of self-seeking politicians
Your mind in turbulence still
Conflicting stories reverberating
Throwing your mind into a whirlpool
Trying to bridge that gap
The gap between truth and lies
The tumultuous times dog you still
Well you are not alone in this
The tired masses back home wait
Dying in anticipation of respite
Retaining that resilience still
Swallowing that drug called hope
Trying to look back into the future
Yearning for a lustrous future
Wondering whether the trust is misplaced
Wondering whether the leopard changed spots
For the first cut is the deepest
For the cock will always crow
And the dove will always coo
Waiting in anticipation of the good times
When the wounds will heal
When African laughter will resonate
And the world will join in the fun


Perhaps there is therapy in it
When we take it for a joke
The putrid and ubiquitous foul stench
Firmly ensconced in society’s nostrils
Perhaps it is about normalising the abnormal
For a state of equilibrium is the ultimate desire

We have termed it our national sport
As it devours our very souls
Like the leaping tongues of a veld fire
And now we take it for a joke
This cancer gnawing our very essence
There is an abundance of justification
And the state of equilibrium is reached

Everything now has a price tag
If they had their way they would
Packaging oxygen and selling to able buyers
And the poor would not live a day longer
Yes, they are already steeped in it
And we still take it for a big joke




NSAH MALA is an award-winning writer, poet, motivational speaker, and youth leader from Cameroon. The author of three poetry collections, Chaining Freedom (2012), Bites of Insanity (2015), If You Must Fall Bush (2016), Nsah Mala’s short story ‘Christmas Disappointment’ won a prize from the Cameroonian Ministry of Arts and Culture in 2016. In the same year, another story of his received a Special Mention in a short story competition organised by Bakwa Magazine, the leading online literary journal in Cameroon at the moment. His French poem was cited in the novel En compagnie des hommes by the internationally-accl¬aimed, award-winning Franco-Ivorian writer and poet Véronique Tadjo in August 2017. His forth poetry collection in English, Constimocrazy, will soon be released by a US small press while he is finishing a collection in French, Les pleurs du mal. He has read poetry in Africa and Europe.

Rich continent, ailing northeast
Humans sell humans and feast
Amidst loud silence east and west
Sucking leaders below are the best
Spraying protesters like crop pests
Seizing & bequeathing collective nests
Fleeing youths sold into enslavement
While sit-tighters battle age & retirement
Starved youths crucified on crosses
Like Jesus, while thieves stuff boxes
Dissenting bodies flood mortuaries
While power mongers build dynasties
Where is the toothless bulldog Union?
It’s gone a-borrowing from another Union!
Mutilated constitutions please professors
Who cheer dictators & rubbish predecessors
Silent Disuniting Nations guilty of complicity?
If not, they better rise to stop the atrocity.

JAMBIYA KAI is an emotive writer and storyteller who weaves the tragedy and victory of the human experience into a tapestry of memorable imagery and metaphor. She speaks with honesty on the socio-spiritual challenges of our time.Jambiya’s works are trail to a feast for those accustomed to the jaded perfunctory cleverness of modern wordsmith)


When a man is shackled, be it wrists or feet, lip or limb –
he remains a slave.
White Rhodesia enslaved
it’s black people.
Be not fooled by memories
Of green plains
“White wealth”.
A greedy man is a corrupt man
matters not his skin.
Power is blatant and
cunningly drills into the minds of desperate and
gold hungry fellowmen;
the ignorant –
those with ears
that do not hear
and eyes that do not see.
The good man begs to feed his children.
The greedy black man reigns.
Is the innocent man to live his entire life under the rule of a superior god who undermines his humaness because of the colour of his skin?
Greed and corruption came from one man and his goons.
It was no different in 1970…..
They simply dispensed
more crumbs then.
May the scatterlings of Africa
return and rebuild.
Crown Freedom as King.
and guard your throne
against military rule.
Respite drones like a casper – bulldozing decades of poverty,
suppression and vexation –
Joy swirls on point.
Leaps like a deer let from the stall.
May the whispers and wails
of the walls rest.
Let the gods who forged the Great Zimbabwe with blood stay chained
and cemented beneath it.
Draca has been obliterated.
He’s remains now fertilise
the soil of the graves he dug.
Be wise Zimbabwe,
there is only one God.


NNANE NTUBE A Cameroonian who is passionate about creative writing. A teacher of languages (French and English) but she is currently furthering her studies at the Higher Teachers’ Training College, Yaoundé. Her poems The Lost Bond, The Pains I Feel, Hungry Voices, Change, Trust in Tears, A Child’s Dream, are published by Spill words press. Her poem, The Visitor featured in a magazine in Zimbabwe; The poems, The Pains I Feel and If I am Your Rainbow appeared in an anthology of Gender Based Violence, #Wounded which will soon be published in Zimbabwe by the POWAD group (Poets With A Difference). Her poems Before I Met You and As I Hold Your Hand are forth coming in a wedding day anthology in Zimbabwe. She is a social critic, a youth activist for peace and an aspiring actress.
Did you know my people have a ceremony?
Fancy driven?
Twists of tongues gave birth to words that danced in the vacuum of our streets, Words that fell on placid soil like a thunderbolt
Obese legs nuzzled the soil
And squelched bloody potholes
We squatted,
On lines they told us not to toe,
Left to gather dust and cobwebs,
And this, they called our ceremony?
Oh, let my thoughts visit the unconscious and dialogue with the conscious! Let me say “yes” to this or “no”!
If you had been a prisoner,
You would’ve understood the suffocating need for me to dance the song my people sing. That hand that squeezed my voice in its bag of political madness
Has ended up begetting monsters.


My mind was raped yesterday
By the sharp edge of his thought
It felt the pain running down my spinal cord
The weight was too much
My legs couldn’t bear,
I could collapse on his words
I could faint on his lips
I could let myself be buried in his mouth
Oh! The thought of sleeping in the casket of his tongue
I chose to live for the thought was wild and my dream, wide
I knew the storms will forever be there
I knew his mind had once been raped
In a city where male sex organs are weapon for silence
Where they’re used as the sole password for success
In a city where I am more of an instrument
than a person
We live with raped minds
But my mind shall not soak in fear
It shall stand its grounds and mount the stairs
Shoot me with whatever words you want!
That can’t stop a tree from bearing fruits.
Dog days haunted all,
Lambasted hearts sang dirges
As the pummel fell on us
Bodies, properties and hopes kaput,
Amortised to ashes,
They, the effigies of the state did these.
It was a pyromaniac night,
The air full of unheard messages
Suspended in the back of tongues
Of canicular sophistries,
Darkness stood before me in mini-skirt,
Soporific skirt,
And my eye lashes bowed
Though I sought asylum in this clawback skirt,
Stout claws still fell on me
Etching pains


AYOUBA TOURE is a budding poet who writes on the ills of society.
He preaches the gospel of African unity. He hails from the land of liberty, Liberia. He’s currently a Frehman student at the University of Liberia; reading civil engineering.

From the Green Coast- afar
I beheld brethren of the land of unison go asunder
Enfants thrust their mother wombs but with violence
People of one clan serve each other with bullets dating proud.

The green forest is chanting grievances each passing moment
For the ammo has corroded his heart
& he now lives in the hands of vulnerability.

Why have we eaten our cerebrum for breakfast
And our heart we dine for supper.

For our flag has been shattered into unseen pieces
By revenging wolf
The red lone star has waved us goodbye
& uncertainty sleeps at every doorsteps

I prayed serenity will come like a new born baby
Just like a rain
It shall pour its droplets on every thatch hut in our village, Cameroon.

Soon we will see dawn coming from nowhere
& the yellow sun shall come smiling.
At dusk, the moon will shine brighter than never before
& gaiety shall have perpetual nap in our bosom.
Very soon, these prophecies shall come to past



MBIZO CHIRASHA  is certified by Directorio Mundial de Escritores through Academia Mundial de Literatura, Historia, Arte y Cultura( 2018). Recipient of PEN Deutschland Exiled Writer Grant (2017) Literary Arts Projects Curator, Writer in Residence, Blogs Publisher, Arts for Human Rights/Peace Activism Catalyst, Social Media Publicist and Internationally Anthologized Writer, 2017 African Partner of the International Human Rights Arts Festival Exiled in Africa Program in New York.2017 Grantee of the EU- Horn of Africa Defend Human Rights Defenders Protection Fund. Resident Curator of 100 Thousand Poets for Peace-Zimbabwe, Originator of Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Movement. African Contributor to the Table of Words Demer Press International Poetry anthology edited by Hannie Rouweler in Netherlands. Solidarity Member of Global Alliance for Politics and Arts. African Participant to the 2014-2020 World Poetry Almanac Anthologies series in Mongolia edited by Hadaa Sendoo. Co-Editor of German Africa Bilingual Collection with German International Translator Andreas Weiland in 2016 ( Zimbabwean Young literary Delegate to the Goteborg International Book Fair Sweden ( presented at Nordic Africa institute, Swedish Writers union , SIDA Diplomatic luncheon , Radio Dialogue , Swedish International library Association , Sweden National Education Summit).2009 Poet in residence of ICACD ,international Conference of Africa Culture and Development courtesy of African Culture Development Institute .Founder of the GIRLCHILDCREATIVITY PROJECT. Curator of MIOMBOPUBLISHING, and PERSONALITIES OF INSPIRATION,



BRAVE VOICES POETRY JOURNAL- A weekly platform of poetry for resistance, literary freedom of expression and protest Poetry in pursuit for a peaceful, just, non-dictatorial and nonviolent environment with a special on Zimbabwe , Africa and other nations around the globe through poetry , Flash fiction ,arts , brave voices and literary activism. Contact the Curator/EDITOR of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal MBIZO CHIRASHA at , post on MIOMBOPUBLISHING Facebook Group or Inbox the Curator on Messenger.



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