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Cedric Cobham - The Downs Freak

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   "Rebecca the child will be a freak.  Give it up or do away with it.  It's not even human yet. I never wanted a child, I told you to take precautions so that we would never end in this kind of mess.  Honey, you know I love you.......but I can't do this".  I can't have a "Downs Baby”.  Think about it, he will be made fun of and bullied.  How will he cope? It will drive you mad"!  He seemed to have the future all worked out.   5 Years of love had ended as if it had no value........and perhaps it didn't.    "It not even human yet".  Tears rushed to her soul and spilled onto nervous hands trying to convince her to end the life she carried.  Guitar hands.  Her  baby was no freak.  Nothing was going to change her mind about him.  They would find their way back home.  He was all human.   They connected in the most incredible ways.  She felt him. He was her baby.  He felt, He spoke. He sensed and knew.  Ah yes, the world and science would d

Mother What Have You Done!

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Am I the consequence of poverty? a plaything that stirs a man's virility - a mannequin who boasts her lost virginity. Is this how victims are sold, like monkeys in a darkened cage alone? Perhaps hope will someday deliver me from this hell hole of candy-coated popsicles and dresses too tight for a little girl parading at night - her charred masked face displayed behind a glass cage. my soiled sheet exposed for all to see. What man would want a stained woman like me - Laugh you fools, you foolhardy pharisees who amuse yourselves with my plight - you who cackle as I fight for a moments respite; to breathe with ease. My pores implore you leave me to my own device, to confront this demon that has left me like a creepy crawly thing for life; MOTHERRRRR - other faces are caged not; come face my fate, sticky, seedy, slimy paws....STOP your paws! Laugh you cowardly vipers your day will come! Mother, what have you done! (an excerpt from the play, "RED" by Jambiya Kai/Beulah Kleinve

A Man Called David Mungoshi

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  My curiosity set out to find a man so praised. Will they cry for us when we are gone? Will they long for our presence and ponder our words after our souls depart Who am I that I should know such a man as you – overflowing in wisdom – a rich spring of restorative lyric you have wandered ground I am yet to tread. My youthfulness know nothing of the places you have scribed and lived. A papyrus painting – a scripted paradise that brings respite in death and bloodshed I know you now, Perhaps I always have. What does it however matter – what matters, is that I can easily find you, to talk about time passing, and not wasting a single moment Like you I too will wait patiently on that ship that carries my bounty of riches And nurse very carefully the flickers of hope in my heart I will reach for you through the glassy visions of the river that cleanses the soul from shards of war At that haven where I can “ dream what I will” The refuge where my “ dreams will

Waves of Want

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I journey as thirst competes my burning feat Oftimes I feel that I have lost more miles than I’ve gained night scorns my endeavours to appease the bleeding hearts that yearn for brief relief, My own strength fails me, My midnight pacing imprinted in the marbled floors of my endurance My brow lined with the failed commitments of those who have left me to fend by myself, for myself, while they are rewarded by my earnest pleas; my slim palms sealed in prayer for their plight My troubled heart tossing and turning  as my trust scans their duplicity, only to turn away with disdain. My best efforts as dung before their misguided wants; Restless anguish wash over my harvest of disappointment and betrayal. Yet what are we if we cannot be and give our best, even in wistful smiles, and wishes for undefiled devotion, But then these wishing waves recede, the desert blooms, sadness fades into oblivion, and the knight rides with unbridled passion and,  all is well, until that

Mourning Afrika

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   With reclining ease her chants and  sounds created a stampede of twirling lingo and endless lines. Avocado plains pulsing to the beat of djembe drums blue yodels cavorting to a 6 stringed bass. Her womb stirred this cauldron craze birthing a love affair with rhythm and rhyme A long legged giraffe, resplendent in the salutations of her offspring Her beauty incomparable, impenetrable, A Countess decked with garlands, A queen praised by saplings,      earthen groans that pushed forth greatness.                                                                                                                                                                                                                   “Oh Mama, the wonder of your divine beauty, you who scrupulously nurtured the pained even in your gloom and affliction, whose sorrows filled buckets hauled across hills to faraway water coils, an untamable fire that coursed a rich legacy; humble eloquence clothe