“But I can give thee more:For I will raise her statue in pure gold;That while Verona by that name is known,There shall no figure at such rate be setAs that of true and faithful Juliet.” William Shakespeare. In the streets of Verona, the mongrels still tussle over old scraps of meat with the street wretches. … Continue reading THE RED MORNING
Kumbe these skills had already been made in Uganda by 2011!
The birth of the Kalashnikov did not give birth to war.
Do not be fooled.
Neither did the uprisings of protestors marching change any verdicts for any trial.
We are not in control.
Martin Luther King did not bring freedom for the westernized slaved men
And Mandela did not do shit for his kinsmen.
Screw the Obama craze of “yes we can“
And all of those nonsensical slogans.
Be gone with all your Greek mythology,
All your maths, physics and biology.
I want to know about me,
The wars, the Majimaji
The Mythicals, the Bacwezi,
My roots, MY reality.
BUT the reality IS THAT
We have lost our identity,
Our souls, our heritage,
Our ancestors’ stories now slowly fade to the back with the black lost ghost of self.
Left behind in a map and fled to a foreign land to try and understand why he couldn’t…
View original post 179 more words
Hey. Thank you for the shoutout on my flash fiction “Boat Drowns Lovers”. My eyes are saucers right now.
Articles submitted to magazines are often renamed before publication. Publishers frequently publish novels with different titles from the ones dreamed up by their authors.
Titles are rarely counted as part of competition or submission wordcounts. With a limit of 101 words, this title was cleverly used to signal what the story was about. Without it, I might have struggled to understand the narrative.
So how can I find a killer title?
When I struggle to find the word I want in the pea soup that is my…
View original post 384 more words
"I liked my childhood, but I don't miss it much. Yes, you paid no taxes,Your trouble was with soup. Though the adults got too much, Yours was never enough..." Translated from a Luganda song by Elly Wamala "Njagala Obuto" When as a child — a female child — you smell blood for the first time, you don’t realize that … Continue reading A Few Bloody Lessons
The sweet smell of dirty sheets in a damp corner of the bathroom greets me each morning as I wiggle my left foot into the wrong shoe and hop off to work. Our bathroom — modestly made up of blue tiles stained brown and cracked like a cheap mosaic — is a sight for sleepy eyes. The burning of … Continue reading A Home Amidst Houses
You were just a boy on the twelfth page of a tabloid. A boy I had never met. The world might say that your loss was not mine to mourn.
Thanks for joining me! Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton