#african

301 posts
  • 7signxx 1w

    You are my
    'Once upon a time'...
    ©7signxx

  • madinah_writes 6w

    What happens when peace is silenced?
    Does it die slowly like an abducted child from it's mother? Or it pours out dust of poverty even to the fullest sea?

    What happens to a state where injustice rules?
    Does it die out like the candle of love in our hearts? Or it blinds our sight like that of a bat reaching high.

    What happens if Nigeria divides?
    Would it again, be the gaint of Africa? Or Peace and unity would become the missing letters of the past.


    #simile #word #start #miraquill #peace #unity #justice #nigeria #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #writersbay



    #Anaphora #blackamerican #african #miraquill #bittertruth #reality #beauty #writersnetwork #peace #unity #childhood #past #writersbay #writeup #writerscommunity #freedom #love #relovultion #era #dream #tomorrow

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    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 8w

    Anaphora (pronounced uh-naf-er-uh) is when a certain word or a phrase is repeated at the beginning of a clause or sentence that follows each other.


    /////~~~~~///////


    I have a dream.
    A dream of a beautiful tomorrow, bright and clean.
    Where hard drugs and corruption is dead leal.
    And no man go court free for whoever he kill.

    I have a dream.
    A dream of light and patience, put in practice.
    A dream where illegality and shame are put to justice.
    Where all war and arguments are ended with earthy smiles and ocean hugs and sky kisses.
    Where every fight is forgotten with the letters of true peace.

    I have a dream.
    A dream of our pregnant tomorrow.
    She gives birth with tears of joy in her eyes.
    We congratulated her knowing fully well that it's the end of our sorrow.
    She birth us a new era of patience, progress, prosperity and peace.

    © Madinah_Writes




    #Anaphora #blackamerican #african #miraquill #bittertruth #reality #beauty #writersnetwork #peace #unity #childhood #past #writersbay #writeup #writerscommunity #freedom #love #relovultion #era #dream #tomorrow

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    I HAVE A DREAM

    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 8w

    Today,
    I read poems people wrote about their grandmother.
    Even though I didn't see mine or witness her love,
    I know what her touch felt like.
    What I heard of her was how much she loved and cared for me.
    My grandmother thought me how to sleep with my eyes open.
    Wide open to look inward and feel the weight of my heart.
    In her eyes stood magical galaxies.
    In her heart sat a revolution of beauty and talent.
    Sitting under the baobab tree that served as kitchen,
    Grandma would wake before the first cock's crow to burn dry woods.
    Everyone is still asleep.
    The day just begin to yawn in dusky Dawn.
    Grounding pepper on a flat stone to make our local dish.
    My grandma first taught me how to endure the peppery fish.
    Smoke filling the morning till it touches the sky,
    Grandma would lay me on her sweaty back which served as my first bed.
    I clocked one and she passed.
    Well, that was destiny. All left with me is imaginary memories and a wishful smile.
    For I never knew my grandmother but I felt her love.

    #grandmother #rememberance #memory #old #black #hair #blackamerican #african #miraquill #bittertruth #reality #beauty #makeup #childhood #past #writersbay #writeup #writerscommunity #shy #blackbeauty

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    Grandma's Love
    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 8w

    Her hands are twisted in voices unheard.
    Her lips are adored with words, unspoken.
    Her curves are perfectly shaped, unnoticed.
    She is shy for being noticed.


    Her hair is painted to the back.
    On her neck is a bead gifted to her by her grandmother on her first breathe.
    On her waste are crystal adornment on her first broken teeth.
    She is shy for being noticed.

    Plumpy and natural.
    She chuckles to her lifestyle so feral.
    She's music knitted in raw gold.
    She's shy to be noticed but secretly bold.

    ©Madinah_Writes

    #black #hair #blackamerican #african #miraquill #bittertruth #reality #beauty #makeup #childhood #past #writersbay #writeup #writerscommunity #shy #blackbeauty

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    She Is Shy For Being Noticed.

    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 8w

    Her hands are twisted in voices, unheard.
    Her lips are adored with words, unspoken.
    Her curves are perfectly shaped, unnoticed.
    She is shy for being noticed.


    Her hair is plaited in weaves and splashes, to the back.
    On her neck is an ancestry bead gifted to her by her grandmother, on her first breathe.
    On her waste are crystal adornment of love, on her first broken teeth.
    She is shy for being noticed.

    Plumpy and natural.
    She chuckles to her lifestyle, so feral.
    She's music knitted in raw gold.
    She's shy to be noticed but secretly bold.

    ©Madinah_Writes

    #black #hair #blackamerican #african #miraquill #bittertruth #reality #beauty #makeup #childhood #past #writersbay #writeup #writerscommunity #shy #blackbeauty

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    She Is Shy For Being Noticed.

    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 8w

    I remember entering a beauty contest with the kinky coiled hair seated on my head. There, I find out that black girl like me were different from me. Their hair were silky straight, long and shiny. Despite the burn of chemicals on my scalp and the smell of sulphur that filled the room. I was impressed at the prospect of having straight hair. It was beautiful and celebrate and I with my kinky hair felt inadequate. Over the years, I spent thousands of dollars to have a long, straight hair. And a thousand more on wigs and extensions to make my hair look fuller. I didn't realize that then, I was gripped by insecurity.

    As a young of 12, it stayed with me into adulthood. To be an African born into America. It is to be born into a world that makes you inferior even before you take your first step. Or learn your first language. To be under constant mental and spiritual attach that you have to fight alone. It's not only our bodies that were taken during slavery, but our identities as well. We were told that our hair doesn't grow.That knowledge and wisdom was something we never know. And that everything they gave us, was an opportunity. That our nose were too wide. And our lips were too big. That our skin is too dark and our features and structure, were too thick.

    At 15, I use to look in the mirror for hours. Thinking, what if I was more beautiful? That if my hair could reach my back. What if my eyes were blue or green. Like the dolls and Barbie's I watched on the television screen. If my nose and lips were a little smaller. What if I was prettier? Television shows made me feel I wasn't alive. Magazines made me feel there was something wrong with me. As if I'm incomplete and I need to be changed because I don't fit into the society, far and near. By the society dominated by white. Yet, I'm privileged. Yet, I'm refused over and over again.

    ©Madinah_Writes

    #black #hair #blackamerican #african #miraquill #bittertruth #reality #beauty #makeup #childhood #past #writersbay #writeup #writerscommunity

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    Remembering My Early Years

    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 13w

    Bold on her cheeks.
    Sign of cultural heritage on her lips.
    Queen of the jungle,
    Wearing her smile,
    Like an attire of the lips.
    Her smile so brittle.
    Shy and timid, she covers up.
    A beauty queen without makeup.

    Stripes and ramifications
    From birth till death.
    Deep and slight.
    Dark and light.
    Straight and slant.
    The marks against her bare skin that made her art.

    Her Tribal marks as old as time.
    Her origin, her background.
    Scarification, whatever you call it!
    Heals the body, with it's unique meanings.
    It doesn't makes her an outcast or different from anyone else.
    Her tribal marks aren't symbol of tribalism.
    It adds to her beauty.
    Whether light or dark skinned.
    It is honour in form of lines and dots and drawings.

    Her tribal marks are lines of sacred history.  
    She might be defined but her tribal marks are her strength.
    Deep within the skin,
    She's a specific identification.
    An identification of a great tribe, family, linage, clan and patrilineal heritage.
    A symbol of beauty and creativity.
    She's mischievous yet,unique.
    Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.

    © Madinah_Writes

    #mirakee #tribalmarks #tribalism #miraquill ##writerscommunity #writersbay #racism #wrutersnetwork #poetry #black #african #blackculture #art #scarification


    I'd have used a beautiful picture for this poem but I'm always denied that :-(

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    Her Tribal Marks

    Stripes and ramifications
    From birth till death.
    Deep and slight.
    Dark and light.
    Straight and slant.
    The marks against her bare skin that made her art.
    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 14w

    For I Am A Black Woman

    In the click of my heels,
    The brush of my eyelids,
    The leather of my naturally tanned skin,
    Is me, for I am a black woman.

    In the wing of my arms,
    The glow of my eyes,
    The power of my tongue,
    The words of my mouth,
    Is me, for I am a black woman.

    In the flourish of my hair,
    The maps on my palm,
    The curves if my body.
    The magic in my name
    Is me, for I am a black woman.

    © Madinah_Writes

  • madinah_writes 16w

    Long ago, a girl named Bintu lived in a small village.
    She was from the land of nowhere, slim and savage.
    Her eyes were white pearls, her hair shiny black.
    He lips were leave-shaped, her skin— melanin didn't lack.

    Tall and slim was Bintu.
    An orphan no one could talk to.
    Some called her names.
    Others spat on her, calling her daughter of ashes and flames.
    She had no friends except rats and mice.
    Unrecognized yet, very nice.

    Soon, she was known for something.
    A talent no one knew it saw in anything.
    An interpreter of dreams,
    An Oracle of the gods of Golds and creams.

    She became known.
    Healing Kings from the lands of the Unknown.
    Binta Bintu—
    Everyone started calling upon her.
    Until one-day, she saved the prince's life.
    And became not just his helper, but his wife.

    The girl with the mouse on her head.
    Now became a princess with crown on her head.

    © Madinah_Writes
    13.08.2021
    2:59 p.m















    #History #Blackculture #Storypoem #Mirakee #Orphan #miraquill #writersbay #pod #writerscommunity #writersnetwirk #Black #African

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    The Mouse On Her Head

    Long ago, a girl named Bintu lived in a small village.
    She was from the land of nowhere, slim and savage.
    Her eyes were white pearls, her hair shiny black.
    He lips were leave-shaped, her skin— melanin didn't lack.

    Tall and slim was Bintu.
    An orphan no one could talk to.
    Some called her names.
    Others spat on her, calling her daughter of ashes and flames.
    She had no friends except rats and mice.
    Unrecognized yet, very nice.

    Soon, she was known for something.
    A talent no one knew it saw in anything.
    An interpreter of dreams,
    An Oracle of the gods of Golds and creams.

    She became known.
    Healing Kings from the lands of the Unknown.
    Binta Bintu—
    Everyone started calling upon her.
    Until one-day, she saved the prince's life.
    And became not just his helper, but his wife.

    The girl with the mouse on her head.
    Now became a princess with crown on her head.


    13.08.2021
    2:59 p.m
    ©madinah_writes

  • ndeenda_elao 17w

    By the waterhole

    I saw him again
    By the waterhole

    Oh so dashing
    Ever so dazzling

    He whistled
    And I ignored
    He whispered
    And I listened

    My heart fluttered
    At his flattering words

    "Wake up child"
    Granny's words echoes
    "Go to the waterhole"

    Oh, not again!
    Reality sinks in
    It's just a dream
    Of me and him

    By the waterhole

    ©ndeenda_elao

  • madinah_writes 21w

    Words infiltrated
    Songs impregnated
    Diets percolated
    Dressings permeated
    Centuries after centuries,
    I watch my culture penetrated
    Redefined by currency notes that were once pearly cowries.
    Year after year
    Defined is our nation as it accepts civilization.
    Or is it we that leads ourselves to such destruction?

    Worshipping negated
    Tradition deserted
    Folklore vitiated
    Costume abated
    Superstition rejected
    Yet, I watch nature reprobated
    Reneged for artificial and science and technology.
    Generation after generation
    We bleach the beauty of our rich past and history.
    Forgetting what it feels and owns and looks like.
    Day after Day
    Our mother African, like dirt is being washed away
    Or is our blind eyes that don't see her this way?
    Or it's our dried mouths have nothing worthy to say?

    ©Madinah_Writes



    #rejected #blackpoetry #african #mirakee #writes #writerscommunity #pod #wod #blackculture #fashion #poetry #thoughts

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    Nothing Worthy To Say

    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 21w

    Words infiltrated
    Songs impregnated
    Diets percolated
    Dressings permeated
    Centuries after centuries,
    I watch my culture penetrated
    Redefined by currency notes that were once pearly cowries.
    Year after year
    Defined is our nation as it accepts civilization.
    Or is it we that leads ourselves to such destruction?

    Worshipping negated
    Tradition deserted
    Folklore vitiated
    Costume abated
    Superstition rejected
    Yet, I watch nature reprobated
    Reneged for artificial and science and technology.
    Generation after generation
    We bleach the beauty of our rich past and history.
    Forgetting what it feels and owns and looks like.
    Day after Day
    Our mother African, like dirt is being washed away
    Or is our blind eyes that don't see her this way?
    Or it's our dried mouths have nothing worthy to say?

    © Madinah_Writes



    #rejected #blackpoetry #african #mirakee #writes #writerscommunity #pod #wod #blackculture #fashion #poetry #thoughts

    Read More

    Nothing Worthy To Say

    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 21w

    Words infiltrated
    Songs impregnated
    Diets percolated
    Dressings permeated
    Centuries after centuries,
    I watch my culture penetrated
    Redefined by currency notes that were once pearly cowries.
    Year after year
    Defined is our nation as it accepts civilization.
    Or is it we that leads ourselves to such destruction?

    Worshipping negated
    Tradition deserted
    Folklore vitiated
    Costume abated
    Superstition rejected
    Yet, I watch nature reprobated
    Reneged for artificial and science and technology.
    Generation after generation
    We bleach the beauty of our rich past and history.
    Forgetting what it feels and owns and looks like.
    Day after Day
    Our mother African, like dirt is being washed away
    Or is our blind eyes that don't see her this way?
    Or it's our dried mouths have nothing worthy to say?

    © Madinah_Writes



    #rejected #blackpoetry #african #mirakee #writes #writerscommunity #pod #wod #blackculture #fashion #poetry #thoughts

    Read More

    Nothing Worthy To Say

    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 22w

    Words infiltrated
    Songs impregnated
    Diets percolated
    Dressings permeated
    Centuries after centuries,
    I watch my culture penetrated
    Redefined by currency notes that were once pearly cowries.
    Year after year
    Defined is our nation as it accepts civilization.
    Or is it we that leads ourselves to such destruction?

    Worshipping negated
    Tradition deserted
    Folklore vitiated
    Costume abated
    Superstition rejected
    Yet, I watch nature reprobated
    Reneged for artificial and science and technology.
    Generation after generation
    We bleach the beauty of our rich past and history.
    Forgetting what it feels and owns and looks like.
    Day after Day
    Our mother African, like dirt is being washed away
    Or is our blind eyes that don't see her this way?
    Or it's our dried mouths have nothing worthy to say?

    © Madinah_Writes



    #rejected #blackpoetry #african #mirakee #writes #writerscommunity #pod #wod #blackculture #fashion #poetry #thoughts

    Read More

    Nothing Worthy To Say

    ©madinah_writes

  • hoodie 30w

    Just a patch

    The beautiful mystery of the world
    Sweet energy full of bruises
    Same race with different tracks
    Grinding to stack the cash in racks
    Masked out and leveling the flanks
    Let's get real
    Forget about the fake deals
    How do you feel?
    Don't smile like you gat it all under control
    When what you really need is for God to take control
    Don't mask it let it out
    Feel free to feel feels
    March up in colours of your own
    Create the rainbow of colours unknown
    Don't play by the rules if you really want to rule
    We're all bent towards a common goal
    That's why thoughts seem alike
    And tears taste alike
    That smile on your face is just a patch
    The tears will come, you will live in it.
    ©hoodie

  • madinah_writes 30w

    I wrote this in highschool. Then, I used to imagine what it feels like between a mother and a lover's love and affection. What are the differences and similarities. Maybe someday, I'll be able to share this with her.

    #Sadpoems #mother #mirakee #writersnetwork #writer #pod #qod #inspirational #love #Madinah_Writes #African #lifestyle #motherslove #Society #thoughts #Marriage #family #culture #africanculture

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    Away From My Mother

    My horizon is lightened,
    My life is Brightened with you, mother.
    When I was too shy to ask, and stole your money.
    You still offer me advises, and asked me not to worry.
    You pet me as I fold my tiny self like a guilty pussy,
    You pat my soft body.

    With my colorful adored attire,
    You place on my waistline a dozen of colorful beads.
    The beads you made for me with so much love.
    A chain of your love and adoration towards me,
    A crown, I'll always wear.
    I walk proudly among my mates, showing off my slim waistline and sets of crystal beads.

    You train my body and soul,
    To that of our religion.
    Yet, my heart concurs,
    With the demands of religion.
    Mother!
    You know that I am excessively sentimental.
    Just yesterday,
    I told you about my new love.
    I probably left you astonished,
    By my disclosures.

    What is this madness, heartlessness, weakness or should I say… Irresistible love?
    What inner confusion made me tell you about my biggest sin,
    I wanted to hide from you.
    Better still,
    You kissed my forehead and advised me to overcome my silent bitterness.
    You accepted my new relationship while I can still hear the rumors in town against me and him.

    They say school turned me into a prostitute,
    A devil who lure men of wisdom and wealth from the righteous path.
    But to me,
    Marriage is a personal thing of joy,
    Just like family.
    I reported to anyone who cared to listen.
    I don't know why,
    I feel bad, I feel guilty.
    I feel I'm cheating on your love, mother.

    I feel I'm cheating on your love,
    I dared committed such an act of disapproval adultery.
    Forgive me mother,
    For only you can instinctively feel where my happiness lies.
    Even though others labelled me she-devil,
    Many wanted to possession me.
    Yet, you were there for me.
    You'll always be my first love and mother,
    And he'll be my lover and partner.
    You're love will always win over he's,
    I promise.
    Even though I'm away from you,
    My mother.
    ©madinah_writes

  • bene_dicta 31w

    Scribble 103

    Trapped inside my world of lionizing and abhorring unjustified moments


    ©dicta

  • bene_dicta 31w

    Silence

    Eventually..
    We all get to that point.
    Eventually..
    Nothing more to say to each other.



    ©dicta

  • merit_debo 40w

    Sworn

    That little girl
    Left behind the bars
    Of her juvénile reasoning
    Drawn to the herds
    Never to be noticed
    Unless as a bloated bag of failure
    Once shaken by an encounter
    Sworn

    Now celebrated for hidden knowledge
    Distinguished from mockery
    Cause she earned it
    ©merit_debo