Author: Kudzai P. Chidamba

From the color of my skin, to the texture of my hair to the length of my strands, to the breadth of my smile

To the stride of my gait, to the span of my arms, to the depth of my bosom, to the curve of my hips, to the glow of my skin…

My black is beautiful

It cannot be denied. It will not be contained.

And only I will define it.

For when I look in my mirror, my very soul cries out, My black is beautiful

And so today, I speak it out loud, unabashedly, I declare it anew.

My black is beautiful

Whether celebrated, imitated, exploited, or denigrated

Whether natural from inside or skillfully applied

My black is beautiful.

To my daughters, my sisters, my nieces, my cousins, my colleagues and my friends, I speak for us all when I say again,

She stares deep into the mirrors. of her soul
In difficulty do I realize
At the end of the day the pain does not compliment the outcome,
Now does it?
We use excuses to make ourselves miserable
How vain!!!
They say “no pain, no gain”
“its just what people do”
We can not have a minute to breathe
Oh no how dare we? Let’s sacrifice that too.
You fight for nothing and give up everything for ephemeral encounters that fade with the stars when morning light shows its presence.
There are problems to be solved, mouths to be fed, deadlines to be met, exams to be written and goals to be checked yet we do NOT realise life is filled and florished with such same demises come a new dawn. You run away not from your problem, you create more dark, dangerous and deadly monsters within your viewpoint.
You would be a fool to believe the more pain you inflict in disguise of sacrifice for a brighter tomorrow, the lesser your problems become because as the sun rises over the horizon, so do more problems and excuses.
Stop giving excuses to be miserable to save someone else,
You do not have to sacrifice to be happy because; You are worth every breath you take

• Kudzai Chidamba P •

I feel like I’m floating,

Spiraling beyond extrication

A depth in which even I cannot fathom.

At the end of the day

We met to part and part to meet

But at what point do you decide?

Growth calls upon to us but room is what we are not given! No room to grow out of our Pom poms, no room to grow out of our fleeting infatuations for the small boy who sits next to us in primary school.

No room to make mistakes and learn from them, no room to experience high school lucky are those who still have the privileges to go after they’ve finished their grade seven because for some:

“she can now write a letter that’s good enough”.

Dropped out of school not because we are insolent, not because we want to, not because we are failures but simply because We are the girl child.

Education is cut short, they say we do not need it

No why do we because all a girl must learn is to cook and clean only then will you find a rich husband.

Husband?

She is only but a child!!!

But look we allow her to marry a man the same age as her father if lucky for some are married off to those the same age as their grandfathers!!!

Girl children from ages as little as 8 giving birth to children?

If it’s not rape then what is?

An abomination to society!!! Those who are to protect the girl child! Those with whom trust has been bestowed they rape and manipulate the girl child!!!

Abused by those who we seek refuge!!!

Be ashamed!

He said “hold what hurts”

The winds cackled at her dismay as if to say

“What?” when there is nothing left of her but fragments of what was”.

Maybe it was a song
A song he sang so well
Or
Maybe

Maybe

it was the tone
Rather the words that drew me in
A moth to an open flame
Long story put short
The heat produced was great and warm
But the burns were 3rd degree
They left a scar
They marred
A canvas dripping in crimson

So intoxicating the finest of wines are held below a bar,

Restraint none existant

the world started and ended but alas in that moment ,

In that very moment,

There was slight hope of what could be,

What I wished to be,

Despite all hesitation from scars prior that rooted deep a fear of having someone.

Just someone.

The smile I’ve attempted. Greatly. To hide deep within you.

Laughter is a seed I’ve attempted. Again. To plant within the depth of your being

But. Alas!

Still with you I feel…

Nothing

But?

Is it conviction?