archive - issue 20

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  • A vision of nothing

    By Ross Fleming
    I am oddly contentjust riding round insmall circles vocalisingvague unwords at myselfmy fairy wheels semireliably affixed by mysometimes present fatherand the bullies all offelsewhere
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    • WRITING
  • The work series Aesthetics of Security derives from a longer stay in Johannesburg, South Africa. The city has still one of the highest crime
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
  • Chicken

    By Karen Jennings
    That was where we saw the chicken being eaten by another. It had been hit by a car, that first one. The second, coming
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    • POETRY
  • Cosmo's Return

    By Frank Meintjies
    Cosmo was released from prison after three years. Talent, called such because he was a former soccer player of great renown, met him for
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    • WRITING
  • I have discovered I prefer to walk with it tucked safely beneath my descending aorta – to me, it is the last bit of comfort
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    • WRITING
  • Escaping the Grid

    By Martin Gantman
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
  • Happiness

    By fabio sassi
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
  • How Are You Brother? Amen.

    By Mapule Mohulatsi
    How Are You Brother? Amen. It was 4p.m when the yellow van arrived, and I was glad. The Sunday breeze was slightly tinged with
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    • WRITING
  • If one were to look

    By Sheikha A.
    If one were to look backon how the present resulted,there would be a track of wheelson the throat of kindness. Forthe lump that shrivelled
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    • WRITING
  • The future of Africa does not belong to obsessions with power and sloganeering like “Down with the West, down with the detractors, down with
    Read More
    • WRITING
  •  “dubula lenja!”splattering all over the lens, SABC news crew left bewildered, his words were so violent that they hurt delivered with such a ferocity
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    • WRITING
  • Pepi's Awakening

    By Ahmed Patel
    When Pepi awoke from what she thought was a short nap, she was surprised to see what appeared to be a thick layer of
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    • WRITING
  • Peripheral

    By Jo-Ann Bekker
    She pays attention but she doesn’t see. She has an astigmatism her contact lenses don’t correct. She can’t use her camera properly, can’t see
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    • WRITING
  • Sawubona

    By Sihle Ntuli
    literally translated to mean ‘i see you’   following with the eye  the stream filling mind with water  with this in mind as a
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    • WRITING
  • Soentjie's Song

    By Denise Y. Fielding
    1 The drought was grievous.   It clung to men’s hearts and hung from their faces.   Silence lay heavy.   No chirp of crickets.   No bird
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    • WRITING
  • 1 Charity remains the most violent And lasting Form of colonialism.   2 No gift comes without A future request.   3 When people
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    • WRITING
  • One – She wore her nakedness too well, it scared me. Two – Her breasts were a monument; a single one covered my universe whole - it
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    • WRITING
  • The Art of Aldous

    By Lumumba Mthembu
    Fool? Nutter? Brucker? Thus I have been christened. It will have to do; it might as well have been any other way. However, a
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    • WRITING
  • Winner of the Deon Hofmeyr creative writing prize1. If there’s one thing I hate most it’s being interrupted mid-beer. I’m sitting outside at MaBliksem’s
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    • WRITING
  • An elaborate classical Roman arch frames Raphael's School of Athens (1509-1510), behind which three more arches advance towards a vanishing point; focusing the viewer's
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    • WRITING
  • Watching the Sky

    By Karen Fitzgerald
    Vision is a wide-reaching concept. With this piece, I'm merging the physical/literal idea of vision, (as in seeing) with the idea of en-visioning. Watching
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
Thursday, 02 March 2017 19:51

If one were to look

By 
If one were to look back
on how the present resulted,
there would be a track of wheels
on the throat of kindness. For
the lump that shrivelled had seen
a dream with eyes wide open
of inflexibility finding elasticity,
and for the concession of rising
synonymy, there would be
harmony from tongues
that would learn to hold down
the truth in its various versions
from colliding with a barrel
of incendiary beliefs. We worry
about a future of obscurity,
becoming orphans to sensitivity,
and rage words to stone-set
demands about rights. If
governance was a pie
at a bake sale, there wouldn't be
enough slices for sampling. If
contemplation was the night's air,
there would be for some,
but diplomacy hoisted on a pole
flapping in the wind tonight.
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Sheikha A.

Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Over 300 of her poems appear in a variety of literary venues, most recent being in Anti-Heroin Chic, Silver Birch press, Kind of a Hurricane Press, The Piker Press, Juncture Review, Fickle Muses, Mad Swirl, Off the Coast and many more. Her work is upcoming in anthologies by Bibliotheca Alexandrina and Lost Tower Publications. More about her can be accessed on her blog sheikha82.wordpress.com

Website: sheikha82.wordpress.com