CURATOR  OF DEFIANCE :    Mr. Super-Power
It is very easy to watch child soldiers slaughtering other children in the name of war on CNN International and BBC Africa.
Madam Democrat
Hell easy to speak of democracy and peace in the comfort of uptown glitter built by Sudanese gems and golden oil.
Comrade Humanitarian,

Bloody easy to carry briefcases filled with blood money to buy rifles and mental cranking drugs for young boys in Juba to kill their elders.
Honorable Ambassador,
It is hur….r aay cheap for you to cut off Sudanese news headlines and stash them in your political diplomacy library, get paid on the 25th of August, enjoy cups of cappuccino and forget.
Mr. Military Junta,
Sweat easy to swallow your heart and become a warlord, not ashamed to sit on tables to talk peace for people you are killing.
I say, it is not easy to see a Darfur mother’s giving birth biting a bullet. I go on to say,
It is difficult to see grenade shredded Khartoum babies on headlines of global news.
I find it not easy to walk on mounds of gun- caused shallow graves.
To see stacks of machete riddled human carcasses every day of our mighty lord.
African Union,
European Union,
Indian Peace Foundations,
Asian Peace Unions
And United Nations, Where are you?
While gun merchants, oil cartels
And blood diamond cabals harvest bloody wealth,
Sudan reaping death………….
Khartoum harvesting pangs of hunger
We are not mentally deaf and poetically blind ……………
Asijiki! We need a sweet fart of peace in Sudan and beyond.
Poetry is the Weapon of Mass Instruction
Ahoy!!!Tonight, after your dinner with poets of defiance. You can also pick some ink and write a verse of peace for Sudan, IN BOLD LETTERS –

Mbizo Chirasha is Editor and Curator: A Dinner with Poets of Defiance (Voice for Sudan, Brave Voices Poetry Journal 66).



Gestapo with lethal boorish fangs
Darfur’s brand of terror unleashed
Maddened hounds flood streets
spraying bullets on demonstrators
True to its nature, the hyena has birthed it’s kind
Stones and stick slingers are all on streets
Breaking bones and spilling blood
Freedom fighters squashed like lice
Ugly memories. Some of Kigali, Darfur, Buea
stab spiking remembered pain of genocide
The cantankerous tries to resist the wind
Treating man bad makes me mad
The voice of man masked in freedom
Is the rock that resists all storms and waves
Keep away your swords, embrace peace
Evil done is permanent
Freedom has no bargain
Violence can’t kill its might
Bloody baths only slate the thirst
Military juntas all failed yesterday
There’s no future in violence.


NGAM EMMANUEL Cameroonian born Poet, an Accomplished English Teacher, and Graduate of Languages from Bamenda University. His poetry is published international journals and anthologies the world over.


Hope fades and faith dies
Vision blurred and dreams shuttered
Focus lost and plans fail
Divinity snubbed and immorality praised
Wisdom dwindles and thoughts diminish
Rewards of deadly devilish demons
Pain within
Heart burns and mind blows
Pride prevails and punishment awaits
Storms rise and fights grow
Braveness broken and cowardice broadened
Passion killed and patience gone
Rewards of deadly devilish demons
Pain within
Determination dead and destruction affirmed
Voices blocked and value varnished
Flowers wither and life flops
War declared and devils win
Pain within

MILIMO CHINIMBWA is a seasoned Zambian poet, literal activist, arts projects curator, educationalist and broadcaster. He is based in Livingstone city located in the southern province of Zambia. Chinimbwa is the current chairperson of the National Schools Arts Association of Zambia (NASAAZ) in the southern region of Zambia.
These people from the dead –
They come and ask me
Don’t you remember me? Don’t You?

And I look at them and think
They see the blankness in my eyes and show me green leaves we left by the river bank,
The flowers of May,
They show me the stones we collected, those days by the river;
They show me hands that held, soft in the inside, white pink black,
They show me what it meant to love, in roads that we left at childhood’s gate,
And the little dogs with eyes of trust.

In my eyes they see the scars, red veined earth, cracked, burnt, choking in the ribs
And children alone at the borders of countries with walls;

They see me, a woman standing alone, sand dunes rising, rising sky high and my eye a flutter of the bird losing its wings.

And they say- We come to give you water, sister-mother- daughter
We come to give you water.
They hold out their hands and

It rains in the hills.


ARATHY ASOK resides in Kerala, India. She is a bilingual writer and has recently brought out her book of poems Lady Jesus and other poems ( Authors Press, Delhi, 2018). Her poems have appeared in national and international journals, in print and online (in Samyukta, Poetry Chain,anti heroin chic, Poets in Nigeria, Blue Nib magazine, Door is Ajar and Culture Cult). They are included in an Anthology called Native Petals and Iliyali(forthcoming). Her stories have been published in Rupture, Credo Espire and have been translated to her mother tongue and published in Indian Express Malayalam Online

My pen repel greatly
Ranting of the famish and destitute lately
Of my great people in our own land

Our pride progressively was abandoned
When the prodigal sons deflowered
Posterity and our will overpowered
Our gigantism of the old saunters away
Like the white man’s CIG that its smoke flay

The wrestlers of the dark times
Are turfed out from the ring primes
Who will fight the gloomy atmosphere
Of evil bound by a guiltless face which austere
And finds fidelity in paralyzing the works of old?

My heart is holed
When I see the face of my self
That reflects on the poverty mirror inept
With their bowls in their hands void
Which quell taste of meat devoid
Even at the egress of the night, mooned.

Our land is butted like the martyr, expunged,
Tortured and staggered by her children.
Our hands bleed and artless faces of the barren
Weeps, that which flows along with the dead gloom
And poverty, hurt, gorging ailments and death, is our goal which roam.

Oh! Dear Ancestors
Your striving offspring are roved like jesters,
An alien pigeons, while others marred.
Unfetter your region from the unprogressive congress encased
By the unworthy gents of vicious conduct

My pen rebel extremely bucked
Waiting for you my forefathers
To whip and thunder mayhem on the vile ambassadors.


RHODA OYIZA ADINOYI is from Kogi state, Nigeria. Youngest Poet in the Brave Voices Poetry Journal August Edition .Oyiza is the author of the popular poem “LETTER TO MY ANCESTORS” and many more poems.
“I’m devoted in illuminating the hearts of my septs through my verse.”

It was fun
basking in the new sun
The sting of its corroding rays
reminding us how yesterday came to pass
Hooray to the new days upon us,
Heads up held ;we stood with our dreams
Bitter days behind us, we rose to define the better
We donned the freedom on our faces to look the new
Chanting a taste of freedom for all to embrace
Dancing thus to the new rhythm
playing along to our anticipation of freedom

It was all to life,
an endearment as long as the freedom anthem plays on our turf
Washing our hands for an anticipated meal that comes with the hour
Tick tock , tick tock as we await the walk of freedom
One step turned an outright shock
The trusted brothers turned the muzzle against the people
That way we mastered the paradox of freedom in the face of greed and power;
We discovered pythons from our own turf
They do not wail alone in Sudan,
The missing piece of freedoms in Khartoum
is a wound on thy beloved Africa
There is no fun in the new sun,
Peace in Africa is on the run
No spark of light in this rendered freedom
When we speak of freedom its only to observe the shadow
There is no serenity in this vicinity
Brutality and barbarity is their coined measure of civility
Brothers and sisters in the Dafoe cannot dance to the rumblings of war
That song is verily sore, that song cannot watch us fall
Popularised, politicised propaganda propagated to pollute the people
Politics perpetuating promiscuity to promote partisanship
There is no peace in Sudan;
The missing piece of freedoms is what the Africans long for

Greed and power turning everything sweet to sour
Gunshots the percussion to the civil wars playing across the turf
The dream of freedom remains in Mandela’s prison bed
Freedom is amiss if you wake up from the delusional slumber
They hit the weak to keep the dripping tit to their lips
Those gunshots you hear are not merely to instill fear,
If they do not see their kin’s blood its not politics
That way we mastered the paradox of freedom in the face of greed and power
We discovered pythons from our own turf
There is no peace in Sudan;
the missing piece of freedoms is what the Africans long for
There is no serenity in this vicinity
I rise to shame the bitter taste of such civility

EDWARD DZONZE, Internationally published poet , an award winning slam poet .Organizer of Action Hub Poetry Projects , Writer and Spoken Word Artist par excellence .




Will these tears flooding our doorsteps ever dry
When time decides to leap and slip into a deep sleep
burying with it our grave pains and sorrows
that erupt like an agitated volcano each passing moment.
When will our eyes ever know the colour of peace?
We who are forced to live in a zigzag manner
in order to dodge the ever swinging hummer of death
Who has become the most popular song
in our homesteads where the gong of happiness and joy remains utterly silenced
muffled by ugly screams of gunshots and sad cries constantly on the rise like a crescendo,
We whose backyards frown with a mocking smile of death
blotted by stinking odours of bloodshed
protruding from man – made concoctions of confusion.

Will our land flourish with reason again
and embrace a season so evergreen?
messed up and exploited by serpentine hearts spitting disguised sermons of peace falsely preaching a dream they never wish come true,
the ones besotted with selfish ambition
and heartless enough to fool a full generation
watching it go down the drain of extinction
eclipsing it with sweet promises of a better tomorrow.

Will the clergy exorcise these demons manifested in our land
Or who shall shut the beaks of these stubborn barons –
the proud ones loud enough to be heard
even in deceitful mobs of the demagogue
camouflaged as priests in political synagogues
dancing like drunk whores at the mention of mulla.

Are we not one people parted by swish and sashay
of malicious tongues that have befriended terror and horror
forcing innocent hearts to quiver with fear
where life has become a sour razzmatazz
and children are rocked to sleep by whimpering mothers
Before we drown in complete extinction
We shall unravel this riddle
Come sweet liberty and patch up the portholes in our tattered hopes and dreams
that tumble and stumble battered by the many plagues of war
feasting on our sanity everyday.

Benedixio Moore Khoti Consul - Zambia

BENEDIXIO MOORE KHOTI is a proud African from the country Zambia. He is an upcoming writer, songwriter, spoken word artist, lyricist and a storyteller. An Executive Member on the International African Writers Association (IAWA),A Gold Medal awarded member in the largest online literary platform motivational strips .



A poor boy looks beyond his door. His sister’s footprints may have been

ripped-off on their journey,

but by God they’re gonna

find their way.

Gonna seed seed a glorious achievement — the voice of mankind, never to retreat, but carry onward!

Rise, Rise, Rise,

Take these seeds scattered here with each step — replenish the world over to germinate human dignity — this fertile ground of reclamation.

Unleash the fields

of Africa — unconquerable

against exploitation.


This moment without pause;

All noble creatures and ancient spirits rise.

Grasses bend to the

wind-trail rise,

open wide for brotherhood —

beyond rivers and rainforests, oceans of depth.

Hemispheres warm a cold bud. Hands join pulsating through cold void.

Organic division of the cell, mysterious quest of beginnings —

make your mark here,

pulled by almighty.

Eyes open from Zimbabwe to the Caribbean, across the shores of Haiti

west to Nepal.

No more villagers without voice.

No more venomous grips

dragging junkies crawling in pain.

The least of you is heard.

My sweat is your sweat.

The smallest wildflower

multiplies, drinks rain under our sun;

invests its last breath

to regenerate the good earth.

Where the smallest creature fell rises a great tree — we stand. We take our stand,

return to our promise —

a rhythm without end

lifting quiet notes of wilderness.

The smallest pebble of canyon rock

tips it’s sway

Your earth is a freedom call. Take heed and Rise.

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

Before you scatter my body
Ask your bullets to
Annihilate my thoughts too.
The blood of the dead does not die.
Thousand words bloom from it.
Desolate trees sprout there.
It is is your cowardice that
Kills at will in darkness.
The number of bullets in your guns
Will soon run out.
Thoughts not silenced are
Like deadly battle marches.
I shower you with
Just a load of contempt.

AMBILY OMANAKUTAAN is a protest Poet, Writer and Activist from Kerala, India. She is writing continually articles in newspapers and magazines. Her poetry is published in so many magazines, weekly and daily platforms. Omanakuttan is an advocate of gender rights, human rights and environmental conservation .She uses her poetry and essays to speak out and to amplify vulnerable communities. She is a literary revolutionary armed with her pen and poetry to free her people.


By the bees
Making being a bore
And belonging
A burden.

The energy in Salah
And other’s
Who speak truth to power
Beguiling the heart
And bringing humanity to hades.

The Athenian damsel
That has become
The cynosure of all eye’s
To the consternation
Of those watching.

To see the silver lining
In the sky
And light at the end of the tunnel
For Sudan to soar again
And to the glory of Africa

uche naija
UCHE AKUNEBU teaches Journalism and writing at the international institute of journalism Abuja. Author of 20 books that straddles poetry, prose, plays, and journalism books. Among his bestseller works include; A Press man and his Pen, Press Freedom in Nigeria; The Journey So Far. Among his works of poetry include; Tears in Tanzania, Floodgates of feeling,Amaka ,Python Dance, Come and eat ,Walk with me.Former Vice -chairman of Association of Nigerian Authors, Abuja Chapter. A peace ambassador of the United Nations and Fellow of institute of Nigerian Corporate administration.



Serenity lies in the heart of ocean
Paddling in the river of joy
Afloat the water is my tumultuous soul
Yearning for a perfect peace
Glaring up the velvety sky
The cloud canvassing me with love
Tranquility gradually transcends
Like the free flow of ocean
Lighting ambers of sparkly peace
Emitting smiles I find hard to hide.

MUNYAL MARKUS MANUNYI hails from Nigeria. Author of Tightrope – a fictional novel on crime, two other unpolished novels ready for publication as well as a collection of poems which shall soon be published. She is the presenter and founder of a TV show in Nigeria called You & Literature Today. She is also the Co-founder and President of African Union of Writers. Bagging both national and international awards are part of her literary achievements aside getting some of her works published in international anthologies in India and other part of the world.



lady lions lull in the afternoon sun

they lay limp & yellow like spaghetti

but when they’re up

they’re the biggest predator in the serengeti.
the hills are full of grey elephants,

a baby waves its trunk at us says goodbye,

flipping its ears, floppy like lettuce

& we see an elephant that is missing one honky tony tusk,

littered among the grass.
sides slashed like a tire,

the hippo wanders alone through the savannah.

cuts so fresh & red blood peeking out

through windows of skin oxpeckers poke at its hide.

wrinkles stretch over its weary eyes

& this is the circle of life.

life is being a hippo staggering

through the grass oozing yet still moving.
when i was 14 i felt like a hippo.

my sides would peek out of a hot pink tank top,

eyeliner on the bottom lashes only,

slashed my own wrists in the bathroom.
the scar is tattooed to remind me

i am a bird & i just gotta keep pecking.


ARIELLE .K SHAKOUR is a 4th year student studying English Literature, with a minor in Creative Writing at the University of British Columbia. She has self-published a book of poetry, called Exposed Bones & Broken Poems. She has a poem published in UBC Slam Poetry’s Third Annual Chapbook, The Year We Became. In addition, her work can be found on The Garden Statuary and on The Foundationalist Journal. She has one dog. Her favorite food is banana pancakes and she lives in Vancouver, Canada.

Today • Friends
Where shall you perch, friend:
On the twigs in the brown waters,
Or on the shoals of
Our dance less spirit?

And if we weep, and wear the vales of sadness
Would you come within our silent gathering
And kiss us, kiss us, with the lips of peace?
And touch our revolting heads and guns?

Would you kiss the land, with the tongues of peace?

livingstone photo

LIVINGSTONE NGOZIUKWU is a Nigerian poet, writer, book reviewer and an ardent lover of art. Currently lives in Lagos, where the complex glamour of the rustling city serves as a constant muse.


Look at this broken mirror, that shows a broken smile borrowed from the brethren of the neighborhood, It’s the image dripping with blood of innocent bystanders,
Whose crime is daring to say no to tyranny,
And asking fair play be the dance of unity,
Upon the mountainous terrain of Nuba
And the oil rich plateaus of Iglitch,
To the sugar plains of Assam and the Nile rich with fish,
Sudan, you are a sight rushing headlong to hell,
The high command deaf to the cries of Amina and Abiba,
Whose only plea is fair governance?
For the longest you bore the blunt of bully and high handedness
Enough called a poem from youths dry with denial
Your streets echoed with liturgies of change points,
The boss left in a huff and soon another sat in his place,
Only it was the twin brother with a thorned claw for a scepter,
It is not well and the land weeps,
But it can be well if you speak one lingo
And stay firm on the path of right,
Knowing right can go left and leave you dry,
Employ the brains of saints and men of integrity
Stay clear of the company of rogue advisers,
Or those with agenda dark,
Africa bleeds in many spots,
You bleed and vultures circle your skies,
But sons of the dark skin of black Africa,
You shall make it to the sunrise
And rewrite your story a new,
That murky waters flooded Khartoum,
But which,
You must drain with common sense at the court of fairness.


NANCY NDEKE is a Poet of international acclaim. A reputable literary arts consultant and a distinguished Literature Scholar. Her writings and poetry are featured in several collections, anthologies and publications around the globe including the American magazine Wild Fire, Save Africa Anthology. World Federation of Poets in Mexico. Ndeke is a Resident Contributor of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal. African Contributor to the DIFFERENT TRUTHS, a publication that sensitizes the world on the plight of Autism edited by Aridham Roy. SAVE AFRCA ANTHOLOGY edited by Prof. Dave Gretch of Canada and reviewed by Joseph Spencer.



We’re all weaving the world
With our tormented few days
Left behind in other men unserved
The moral will carried in a daze,

We’re all cobbling the world
Torn by the men at their game
Striving to own the flag unfurled,
Our sweats and blood to their fame
That we men are led by toys.

We’re all knitting the world
With our arms leaving footprints
Such infamous thrones served,
Plenty of poverty as blueprints
That men are merely led by toys.

We’re all webbing the world
With black strands of wires
For the thick-skinned world;
Her thought cops smoking fires
That we men are led by toys.

We’re all stitching the world,
With threads of hope and love,
They defiled and tore unfurled,
For she must heal on the move
That these men are led by toys.

We’re all mending the world
With hills of beans, but guns
Cough and vomit fires unfurled
By tight fisted hearts of men
That all men are led by toys.


Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st is a published Ugandan poet, artist and Literature and English Language teacher, an Acoli by tribe, born on 25th February, 1992, Kitgum, and Northern Uganda.




In the belly of war

There’s nothing like peace!

In the stomach of hardship

Quality education is an illusion

In the belly of bomb bast

Human being are buried alive

Children become an orphan

Mothers turn to widows, and

husband a stranger in their own land

In the presence of hardship

There’s nothing like balance diet

O there’s nothing like sweet dreams.

Why not say no to crisis and wars!

O why not protect the future

of our unborn generations!

Why not allow the citizens of

Sudan to drink from the sweet river

of honey, provided to them by nature

Where are the world powers?

O where are the United Nations?

Let them know that Sudan is under siege

O let them know that a country is in crisis

Let them make haste to save the future

of our innocent children, wallowing and

perambulating in the wilderness.

Author’s Bio-sketch
ALI JUDE UCHENNA is a young Bard, born into the family of Mr and Mrs James Amah in Akiyi Nkalagu Ebonyi state Nigeria.




This has become a hypocrisy
The Sudan democracy,
Politicians with empty promises
Solely as their false prophecy,

The government is the new meaning of hell
President with horns now the devil,
Demons as members of the parliament
And minerals as their only need to settle.

In the midnight plague of Sudan
Greed is the route of all evil,
For all leaders consider
The rule of gold above the golden rule,

Vampires they have become
Sucking all national incomes,
As their road to the riches,

The innocent cry
As the land dries up
While life is drained from the living.

I see dead people walking
People walking freely on streets
While so dead from inside,

Poverty has become their grave yard
Stigmatism and black nepotism as bullets
That are trading life for death,

That I stand on top of these graves
With my poetry as flowers,
Now that flowers are not even enough
To morn souls we lost yesterday,
And the beautiful Sudan we painted
From our early childhood ages.

POLLY MAKOTOKO is a Ugandan – Mosotho poet living in the Kingdom of Lesotho. Founder of Afro Poetry Movement (a powerhouse that specializes in poetry and music performances along live instrumentals).




I was just but a child, who was caught up in your mess.

I did not knew much at that time
All I heard were the exchange of harsh words
It is only now that I have realised it was verbal abuse
I was just a child caught up in your mess

I witnessed your fist fighting
Exchanging of blows as if it was funny
How you threw furniture and tantrums at each other
I was just a child caught up in your mess

I was torn apart by your separation
You made your choice yet I had my own wishes
Using me as a tool to win your fights
I was just a child caught up in your mess

At school teachers were always frustrated
Citing that they were being under paid
Hence it was me who suffered the consequences
I was just a child caught up in your mess

In hospitals doctors and nurses just looked at us
Walking past us as if we were part of a gallery display
Helplessly I lay on my mother’s bosom
I was just a child caught up in your mess

I saw your faces on newspapers and posters
I saw your faces making headlines on the news
I was told that you were campaigning for votes
Yet I was just a child caught up in your mess

They said you were corrupt-politicians
They said you were false – prophets
They said you were murders in uniform
I was just a child caught up in your mess

I have never set foot in my native land
I have never set eye on my kindred
I feel detached and distanced from my own
I was just a child caught up in your mess

My mind is full of pictures of untold stories
My heart is brim with unattended prayers
My feet is yet to take me where I yearn to be
I was just but a child caught up in your mess
PROSPER KAVUNIKA an Afrocentric poet, social commentator and a provocative writer from Zimbabwe. Besides poetry he finds comfort in writing short stories. Some of his work has been featured in the Tuck Magazine.




We have fought many battles
Still, the life is questioning us

Our lips are tied
How then do we say this?
We keep throwing up those questions, perhaps to his majesty?

In Hades, we’re optimistic
In future, our release is certain
Struggle comes yesterday and now,
Our fate lies on the throne

On the pardon round his throne
Our hearts be not shaken
our eyes, wide open to behold the flicker of hope I see beyond the skies

The above is full of stars
Likewise the bottom
We are from the bottom of it
And making it to the mountain Top

And then we’ll smile again
and those laughters shall be heard
Even the gloomy lines on our face
shall be wiped off.
How sweet!

How sweet the melody of our songs
Playing from the quality of life
And motivation of our stories
Ring aloud the freedom asylum?
Our mind will be at rest,
When the sun shall shine brightly wide

Bright on our face
let the band play on,
Bring the harps, let’s make music
As our body swirl to the lyrics

The song must be written,
Names upon names,
Success mustn’t elude the Royal blood
Pleasure shall spills home and abroad
History must record our years.

Still, it shall be known
Even to our young ones
Amidst all, the tears, pain, fear
‘We stood, we conquered.

VINCENT SOLOMON AND IMMACULATE BONNY IDIKA was born in Lagos, Nigeria, is an ardent Poet and the Founder of an international Poetry group “Home of United inks”.
O Africa stand up
And weep for ailing Sudan
O Africa stand up
In solidarity with sad Sudan….

Trapped in a difficult debacle
A military alone cannot tackle
Unable to beckon life with a hug
Where myriad graves are dug……

And clouds of sorrow gather
Souls can hold together
In stench of cancerous strife
Confounding fragrances of life…..

When men go bad like meat
and few can survive the heat
as winds of change sweeps
and an entire nation weeps……

Because of wrong path taken
By people so sadly forsaken
When priorities are mistaken
And sweet peace is broken…….

O Africa stand up
And weep for ailing Sudan
O Africa stand up
In solidarity with sad Sudan…..

Who as masters of their own fate
Must talk before it is too late
And must do it for Africa’s sake
Not to repeat a military mistake…..

To quickly so things right
To avoid a looming plight
Negotiate for civilian rule
Kindly unburden the mule……

Let sweet justice breeze
As all dictatorship cease
For folks to live in peace
With equity in one piece…..

Sudan annoy live in pieces
Because of some lame excuses
The military must cede power
Fast for Sudan to flower………..

Where the Mighty Nile flows
And innocent blood annoint
Grant Sudan’s youth their voice
Let all Sudan make her choice!

OMAR NASSAR- Accomplished Kenyan Poet and Writer




When chicks rise,
to meet eagles midair
in a cacophony of murderous intent;
and laugh it off as a joke gone sour
Between friends who soar,
And those that scour…

When mere mortals
pluck out their hearts – root and all;
to preserve life in its pumping volume,
As blood drily rushes through
And life, in bits, awaits The Clue…

When love is dished out
in flashy wholesome ‘halfness’ – a harness;
and murky waters’ a choice drink;
Like William Yeats, to opine thus would be safe:
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world!


RICHARD MBUTHIA is a teacher, a poet, an editor and a motivational speaker. He studied English and Literature at Kenyatta University in Nairobi. To him, the rhythm and verve of poetry are ingredients of a great love story. The twenty six letters of the alphabet amaze him with their ability to foster change – their volatility and aptness cannot be gainsaid.




We shall come with an indomitable spirit of a hungry lion
United on a single front to free a caged bird from fermented harsh reality

We shall come in solid crowds so intact and unbreakable
Holding up chandeliers of emancipation
That illuminate the dark dungeon of agony

We shall come armed with words more powerful than tsunamis and missiles and volcanos Singing songs from our sparking gongs and clashing cymbals of terrifying revolution It’s concordant echoes reverberating through distant towns and ghettos Sending blinking red signals to self-ordained messiahs and puppets
Who divide and ignite civil rebellion
Shouting shots as concubines massage them on palatial mattress
Who send pawns to steal from already impoverished and vulnerable coffers

We shall come without retreating nor surrendering despite the wounded and the dying Adorned in courageous garments of unstiffled sacrifice
To smash the serpents of shackling trauma and irresponsibility
To dance on landmines unblasted
Leaving our footprints undeleted
A loud and clear message to the kingpins across the shore
Where our suffering germinates and the bloody proceeds goes

We shall come to bulldoze the barbaric walls of injustice and division The enemy has been numbered and cornered to advance his destructive vendettas

JUSTICE MASANGANO, A Malawian writer and a vernacular recording poet. He won the 2015 Nkhoma Radio Contest. His writings are published in international anthologies and journals.


There’s rising in the sun !
Perhaps the suns rises to see the moon and the good dawn for all is coincidence
The right way gives the better
If we dwell in pure heart, body and spirit
Even allow our ego varnish and
Love to glow and spread we can’t be free
For my heart wails for Sudan because they live with conflict and without integrity

Let’s go today for the sake of the future for it is full of surprises
Because slavery is bad omen
Against humanity and our maker
For I cry for the spirit that ask for no favour of the world to unveil
And dwell among us
For us to love, because love is the greatest gesture given free
And when we don’t talk about love for all things go wrong

Sudan !
You’re beautiful but of all this beauty the hypocrite tarnished with floppy lies
Oh, what is our fate?
Sudan !
Glamouring brighter, full of milk and honey that have sweet flow
But your children are stunning
Without the taste of freedom
And we suffer and toil every day begins
My heart cries for Sudan

My heart sheds tears
Even my eyes cry out blood
Our heart irks
Who will set us free ?
How can the element of our success be written in rainbow colours
But all this gesture keep me unmemorized
And the night is reluctant to give to the day
Because our eyes are soar
Our emotions are flushed
Even our heart went ashtray

Our heart is for freedom all over the shore
And I see divine looks enthral with the flow of my words
To elevate us to another world
And that’s our blade of expectation and that’s our sentiment and feelings that flow like river and with deep emotions that are very rare
And it will be compliment that will touch our heart and soul If we’re free to access our natural endowment

PRINCE ELIJAH NNANNA is from the family of Mr/Mrs Ali chijioke
In nkalagu, ishielu, Ebonyi state, Nigeria. He’s known as a therapeutic poet




I love you, Sudan, a land of pyramids

as the spirit of ancient civilizations

flows through my veins

uniting us forever

in the lost valleys somewhere beyond

where I dropped my golden compass

into the whirlwind of your cognition.

Sudan, I also love your two Niles

networking timelessness:

White, full of innocent pearl dreams,

Blue, holding the beauty

of phantasmagoric firmament.

I love you, Sudan, and your desert

where my thorny heart lit up

when I absorbed the glow of the universe

and crowned my soul with stars,

free as Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

Sudan, I also love your motherly bosom

cut by a rusty sword

to split up the nation

and to unworship their shrines

as the rivers of blood flow

and while the death chariot

transports future generations

on the ungodly paths of destruction.

I love you, Sudan, and I plant seeds of peace

in your open wounds

for human kindness to sprout

in the vestibule of ancient civilizations

where the golden compass knows no bounds

and where the innocent pearl dreams

become reality of the oppressed people.


Ivan Gaćina (Zadar, Croatia) writes poetry, including haiku, short stories, aphorisms, and book reviews. He is the author of two poetry books, “Tebe traži moja rima” (KC Kalliopa, Našice, Croatia, 2014) and “Tvorac misli / prolaznik u noći” (SVEN, Niš, Serbia, 2015). Gaćina’s works have been published in a number of journals and awarded in many literary contests.



Tall and black, creatures of mortal flesh
Clad in dark gown of darkness,
Why have stars and moon dimmed in vouch for conspiracy of
Satan’s thirsty heart, present in existence,
Sitting caged by the ruffles of experience,
Where everyday at life and light, moments leave in us petrichor
Of trauma, with pleading tones gagged with emotions of eaten dignity Being lowered as squatters in a cesspool of sharks,
From a ground of grandiose, that once was raised above all else,
See how now, dissolved he is in melanin on man?
The owl’s voice of warning is here, hear,
See now how, he wets his pants in ecstasy,
Defiling man amid chaos, in the lands of yore,
Oh, appointees of him who’s ousted from heavenly glee,
You now hold us at ransom of our blood,
The butterflies of peace have escaped to freedom
The morning dew points have been left to dry spell,
Nature is unable to appreciate the sun
Going down with Sudan’s tomorrow,
Oh, the land of only dark and lanky,
The hybrid teeth twitching the muscles within,
When will you walk in the silence of peace?
Why are you and yours a stadium
Upon which death stretches its treks towards?
When your son wakes up tomorrow, what’s his past?

I may, as life has done previously,
Lift off my legs to leave for freedom of peace,
But what is the purpose, if change hasn’t come
To the soul I taught and wrote for?
Souls with which wisdom stayed to dwell,
Swelling to discovery of a knowledge that’s already soldered in souls; Knowledge that gives man mighty, is simple vulnerability to human
If greatest of all masters, a nutshell of whole generation is
Made to disappear in the ploughed burdens that
Often will sprout life from a cesspool of sharks

victor wesonga

VICTOR WESONGA is a mesmerizing Kenyan and a Page Poet .He is currently putting together several poetry collections . His poetry is published widely in Africa and abroad.

Volcanoes have erupted
Hurricanes have swapped away big dreams of the Sudanese
Rivers flood endless tears
Blood sheds painted their beautiful Sudan red
Young souls transformed into brutal monsters who massacre without pity
Women and girls heartlesly made to easily lose their God given treasures
All hearts bled in sorrow
African Ancestors left mother earth looking back
Looking back for freedom, peace and stability
Long live Sudan!

In a land filled with natural blessings
Berries,roots and treasures blossomed the atmosphere
All landed on hands of selfish scavengers
Like selfish heynas scrambled and never thought of tomorrow
In a land echoing gigantic voices of dictators
Diamond cartels and gold diggers
Who never cared when hundreds and thousands died and suffered from famine
Streets penetrated with gunfire panic, whips and chaos
War devils who led with spears and arrows
Dictators with dark coated hearts
Who smeared their horrific faces with tones and tones of oil and yet still remained shrunk
Long live Sudan!

Lord exalt my horn as I speak freedom
Distract my enemies as I speak nothing but truth
Today I instruct you all to stop pointing fingers at the white coats
As you must know you have brought poverty to your own people
Sudan has been transformed into racks by your own sharp dusty hands
And you go on enjoying bread and butter with your families
When magnitudes of your own blood continue to sleep with roaring empty stomachs
Your iliterate minds overcontrolled you shamefully
Where are the diamonds that once sparkled Sudanese motherland if one may ask?
The minerals that fertilised your mother land?
Long live Sudan!

It’s heart breaking to think of a black coat exchanging feasts with same blood
Our African Ancestors have taught us that the best solution of confrontation is through negotiations
How did you miss this one?
Please allow the innocent souls to taste the sweetness sugar of freedom for the first time ever
It’s time for Sudan’s North and South poles to meet without any friction
Hence allow the prettiest flag to have meaning after decades of years
The blue, yellow and green colors to take over their descriptions “The Nile, the Dessert and Agriculture”
Long live Sudan!


GORATA MIGHTY NTSHWABI authored an English poetry book “Exploring the Roots Poetry my Heritage, Living Arts, self-published in 2016. Gorata holds a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Social Sciences with majors in Sociology and Psychology from Central University of Technology Free State in South Africa and a Post Graduate Diploma in Education in African Languages and Literature from the University of Botswana.



Humanity is deeply concerned and distressed

About the escalating violence in Sudan,

Afflictions by the militia and unforeseen tyrany,

Causing the World wail in brokenness

Praying to find a common good through dialogue.

Sudan’s ruling Transitional Military Council

Violently disperses the Pro-democracy protests

Each time, resulting to death and injuries.

The nation’s thirst for a civilian- led government

Is continuously left unquenched. Oh Sudan!

In all these, we trust that Sudan belongs to God.

While praying for a cessation of ethnic animosities,

An increased understanding between social groups,

That the government shall respect the people’s will

And their best interests plus human rights for all.


AWADIFO OLGA KILI is a Ugandan Lawyer to be, human rights activist and an Award winning Author.
She’s a Poet, whose poetry has featured in various journals and anthologies internationally. She is the Ugandan Diplomatic Corps Head and Ambassador to Poets of the World global literary community. Kili also serves as the President of the International Black Writers and Artists Association Uganda zone.



Events chronicled together
Adventurous and mysterious
Joyful and horrific alike
Thus define a special gift called life
Fragmented into precious segments called time
Time undefined, time unlimited
There are times in our lives
Times we jollied and enjoyed
Times we will never want to forget
Times that will always linger in our minds in time forever
Times we shall always want to remember
Times we wish to rewind, reverse and relive
Times we cherished and enjoyed the most
Times of celebration and jubilation
Times of happiness, times of togetherness
There are also times
Times we forever wish never existed
Times we denounce and shun by any means necessary
Times of pain, grief and sorrow
Times that scribbled sad memories into our lives
Times that brought war, suffering and separation
Times of hunger, poverty and famine
Times of struggle and disillusions
Times that sculptured permanent wounds in our lives
Times of confusion and destruction
Times of political quarrels, squabbles and uprisings
Times uncelebrated, time unwanted
Now this is a time
A time for testimonies not false prophets
A time of deliverance not miracles
A time of togetherness not divisiveness
A time of priorities not promises
A time of profits not conflicts
A time of upliftings not upheavals
A time for principals not propaganda
A time for instilling favor not fear
A time for political maturity not political gimmicks
A time for varieties not violence
A time for reforms not deforms
A time of democracy not oligarchy
A time for freedom of expression not oppression and suppression
A time for equal opportunities not minimum opportunities
A time of revolution not intimidation
A time for direction not dictation
A time for reconciliation not vilification
A time for repatriation not migration
A time of recreation not corruption
A time we shall forever remember
A time we have awaited for eternity
This is a time
Fortunately our time
TENDAI KAYERUZA, a Seasoned Slam and performances Poet from Zimbabwe. Acclaimed poetry workshops facilitator in high schools. Poems and Opinions are published in various journals across Africa.


What has become of Sudan?
I hear babies screaming , women
massive bloodshed witnessed,
The young has become the focus of hunters.
Boys and girls are deprived of the light
By fear of extermination.

Rape has become the order of the day like
Humanity means nothing to people anymore,
You can’t cry enough to be heard,
The protectors have become
Where do we run to?
What’s leadership then,
if it is killing its people

I used to hold respect the army.
Ironically it is now exterminating its
What shall I treasure now?
The world is left to watch
Citizen tearing each other apart.

how pathetic do you have to be?
To eliminate those you ought to be
Working with for a better country
Those alive are traumatized.
Dear world,
Don’t just watch

AKIMANA DEVINE as a poetess, poetry has been her therapy for over eight years. She is a passionate writer who speaks her mind. Inspired by Maya Angelou, she is fond of writing since her young age, and she is still following her dream.



I visited my tears of yesteryears
Hidden in the lines of an old poem
There I traced stains of pain once shed
For the charred remains of humanity
in Sierra Leone and Liberia
For flames flaring from elections rigging in Guinea and Ivory Coast For ethnic cleansing in Rwanda and Burundi
For the displaced ghosts roaming the borders of Eritrea and Ethiopia For warlike miasma in The Congo
For the bigoted war in Sudan
The Sudan of my teenage tears still flowing with my years
Sudan recycling plastics of war into more explosives to burn itself Sudan, looming and ranking high in the “power and conflict” genre of poetry Leaving a charred legacy for generations to come
Images of kids dangling on thin ropes of hope
Rotten human carcasses, overfed dogs and vultures
Confusion and debris from Barbel
Poisoning power
Rise up, Sudan from the ashes of yesterday
Rise up, Sudan from your nightmarish slumber
Join the long march for peaceful coexistence taking over Africa
Rise up, Sudan! Peace is possible if you try


SAMUELLA JULIA CONTEH hails from Sierra Leone., she is a Human Rights Activist, writer, poet and dramatist. She is currently working with the Human Rights Commission of Sierra Leone Writers Forum and PEN-SL. She has received many awards/certificates from poetry participation in many international platforms. Many of her works have featured in several national and international anthologies. Samuella Julia Conteh is one of the founding members and matron of African Union of Writers.


(to Sudan, from a Zimbabwean)
7 August 2019

there are paths that we walk
that carry the familiarity of past paths
and you have these thoughts that stalk
the terrains of your mind so that you start
to suspect the mischief of hallucination
or the recklessness of inebriation
when your mind starts to ask you:
have we not been here before?

my nostalgia makes me miss the past
even though it was an interminable fast
of empty bellies and empty shelves
crying widows and unfathered orphans
desperate acts and berserk nerves
corrupt politicians and missing funds.


TANAKA CHIDORA is a literary critic, blogger and writer who teaches literary studies at the University of Zimbabwe. He is currently writing his first novel titled MAGAMBA HOSTELS. It is some kind of auto-fiction which, as he claims, is meant to bridge the gap between a lie and truth.



MBIZO3MBIZO CHIRASHA is ( 2019 International Fellow of the International Human Rights Arts Festival New York. Author of A Letter to the President, ( a collection of experimental poetry)in Zimbabwe . Essays contributor for the MONK art and soul Magazine in United Kingdom. Co-Editor of the STREET VOICE a German Africa Poetry collection, in Germany, Co-Editor of Silent Voices, ( a tribute to Chinua Achebe) Contributor Atunis Galatika, African Contributor to Atunis Poetry Anthologies in Belgium published and edited by Agron Shele , Contributor to Demer Press International Poetry Collection Series (Table of Words , The Bridge , Flowers of the Present and Flowers from Seven Seas) Edited by Hannie Rouweler Netherlands, Author at ACE WORLD , an online Magazine in Nigeria, . Chief Editor of WOMAWORDS LITERARY PRESS, Curator of the BRAVE VOICES POETRY JOURNAL, .Contributor to Diogen Plus Magazine in Turkey, Resident Curator of 100 Thousand Poets for Peace-Zimbabwe , and the Originator of Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Movement. Founder of GirlChildCreativity Project (Amplifying girl child voices through literary activism). Featured in the POIESISI Slovenia International literature Press,, Slovenia. International poetry site, Better than Starbucks in Untied States - The GAPA Blog in United States, Nation Press in Kenya , Black StarNews in United States of America ,
The global artist portal , The Herald in Zimbabwe, Badilisha Poetry exchange ,
The Standard News Paper in Zimbabwe, \ . The Zimbabwean Pressin Zimbabwe, Contributor of the International Gallerie 2019 in India,, Contributor of the World Poetry Almanac series, . 2018Recipient of Global Literary Influencer Certificate of Merit by Directorio Mundial de Escritores through Academia Mundial de Literatura, Historia, Arte y Cultura Vice President of POETS OF THE WORLD in Africa 2017 Recipient of PEN Deutschland Exiled Writer Grant.2017 Recipient of the EU-Horn of Africa Defend Human Rights Defenders Protection Fund.
Social Media Literary Activism Curator-

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