 |
Art by Ellie |
A poetry series on how relationships on social media outlets are romanticized. People are blinded and oblivious to the fact that relationships and being in a relationship is not all candy hearts and teddy bears. Sometimes it's bruises and broken windows.
x x x
The Canvas
Red
His blood is boiling.
The red hue from the sun's
departure sits upon the scene.
Yellow
His blood is boiling.
The red hue from the sun's
departure sits upon the scene.
Yellow
A phone call hinders the scene.
The temperature is neutral
The room is still.
The temperature is neutral
The room is still.
Blue
The night is gone.
The after effect eerily emerges.
A sea of tears flood the room.
The fire is extinguished.
The pale blue tint of the morning,
Sits upon the scene.
The after effect eerily emerges.
A sea of tears flood the room.
The fire is extinguished.
The pale blue tint of the morning,
Sits upon the scene.
Green
Harmonious tunes of the birds,
Soothes the blues.
A settlement on display.
The room is uneasy.
Soothes the blues.
A settlement on display.
The room is uneasy.
Violet
Scriptures are torn and read.
Prayers are warily whispered.
The daunting dawn of the day,
Sits upon the scene.
Prayers are warily whispered.
The daunting dawn of the day,
Sits upon the scene.
Pink
The aroma of sweet pastry
Awakens the soul.
Vitality and Vigour,
The room is gleaming.
Awakens the soul.
Vitality and Vigour,
The room is gleaming.
Orange
The warm breeze from the home’s heart
embraces and comforts the souls.
Its powerful shadow sits upon the scene.
embraces and comforts the souls.
Its powerful shadow sits upon the scene.
White
A handkerchief filled with
arduous memories creep into
the center of the abstract.
Blessings and the purification's
of a genesis surface.
The room is at peace.
arduous memories creep into
the center of the abstract.
Blessings and the purification's
of a genesis surface.
The room is at peace.
Black
A mature raven lands on the porch.
A mystery yet to be unfold.
Faintly dim, yet clear and sharp.
A gray shadow sits upon the scene.
Both stare at this quaint canvas,
at their multi-coloured hands and faces.
Astonished and feverish.
Hands clasped, foreheads perspire.
A breath of relief.
It is done.
A mystery yet to be unfold.
Faintly dim, yet clear and sharp.
A gray shadow sits upon the scene.
Both stare at this quaint canvas,
at their multi-coloured hands and faces.
Astonished and feverish.
Hands clasped, foreheads perspire.
A breath of relief.
It is done.
Relationships, Relationpits Vol. 3
|
Art by Ellie |
A poetry series on how relationships on social media outlets are romanticized. People are blinded and oblivious to the fact that relationships and being in a relationship is not all candy hearts and teddy bears. Sometimes it's bruises and broken windows.
x x x
The Canvas
Red
His blood is boiling.
The red hue from the sun's
departure sits upon the scene.
Yellow
His blood is boiling.
The red hue from the sun's
departure sits upon the scene.
Yellow
A phone call hinders the scene.
The temperature is neutral
The room is still.
The temperature is neutral
The room is still.
Blue
The night is gone.
The after effect eerily emerges.
A sea of tears flood the room.
The fire is extinguished.
The pale blue tint of the morning,
Sits upon the scene.
The after effect eerily emerges.
A sea of tears flood the room.
The fire is extinguished.
The pale blue tint of the morning,
Sits upon the scene.
Green
Harmonious tunes of the birds,
Soothes the blues.
A settlement on display.
The room is uneasy.
Soothes the blues.
A settlement on display.
The room is uneasy.
Violet
Scriptures are torn and read.
Prayers are warily whispered.
The daunting dawn of the day,
Sits upon the scene.
Prayers are warily whispered.
The daunting dawn of the day,
Sits upon the scene.
Pink
The aroma of sweet pastry
Awakens the soul.
Vitality and Vigour,
The room is gleaming.
Awakens the soul.
Vitality and Vigour,
The room is gleaming.
Orange
The warm breeze from the home’s heart
embraces and comforts the souls.
Its powerful shadow sits upon the scene.
embraces and comforts the souls.
Its powerful shadow sits upon the scene.
White
A handkerchief filled with
arduous memories creep into
the center of the abstract.
Blessings and the purification's
of a genesis surface.
The room is at peace.
arduous memories creep into
the center of the abstract.
Blessings and the purification's
of a genesis surface.
The room is at peace.
Black
A mature raven lands on the porch.
A mystery yet to be unfold.
Faintly dim, yet clear and sharp.
A gray shadow sits upon the scene.
Both stare at this quaint canvas,
at their multi-coloured hands and faces.
Astonished and feverish.
Hands clasped, foreheads perspire.
A breath of relief.
It is done.
A mystery yet to be unfold.
Faintly dim, yet clear and sharp.
A gray shadow sits upon the scene.
Both stare at this quaint canvas,
at their multi-coloured hands and faces.
Astonished and feverish.
Hands clasped, foreheads perspire.
A breath of relief.
It is done.
 | |||
| Art by: Eden Taff |
A
poetry series on how relationships on social media outlets are
romanticized. People are blinded and oblivious to the fact that
relationships and being in a relationship is not all candy hearts and
teddy bears. Sometimes it's bruises and broken windows.
Blind
I see your dark brown eyes,
Cryptic and beautiful,
Stimulating the iris of my eye.
Your long and thick raven hair,
As majestic as a black lion's mane.
It embraces me, encloses on me.
Those crimson lips,
Intoxicating and pernicious.
Leaves a tint of your soul.
Still my eyes swim in this darkness,
My macula is inoperative.
find more here
Relationships, Relationpits Vol. 2
04 October 2016
| |||
| Art by: Eden Taff |
A
poetry series on how relationships on social media outlets are
romanticized. People are blinded and oblivious to the fact that
relationships and being in a relationship is not all candy hearts and
teddy bears. Sometimes it's bruises and broken windows.
Blind
I see your dark brown eyes,
Cryptic and beautiful,
Stimulating the iris of my eye.
Your long and thick raven hair,
As majestic as a black lion's mane.
It embraces me, encloses on me.
Those crimson lips,
Intoxicating and pernicious.
Leaves a tint of your soul.
Still my eyes swim in this darkness,
My macula is inoperative.
find more here
Art by Jarline
A poetry series on how
relationships are on social media outlets are romanticized. People are
blinded and oblivious to the fact that relationships or being in a
relationship is not what we see in romantic films. Sometimes, it's a
turbulence. A complex equation no human being can solve.
Take care of yourselves, love yourself love others and stay safe.
On Risenmags.com here
Honey and I
My honey I.
We keep each other together.
We tear each other apart.
Misinterpretations
Miscommunications
Abiding in art.
My honey and I.
We laugh and we cry.
A never-ending cycle of
Deceit and lies.
find more here
Relationships, Relationpits Vol. 1
Art by Jarline
A poetry series on how
relationships are on social media outlets are romanticized. People are
blinded and oblivious to the fact that relationships or being in a
relationship is not what we see in romantic films. Sometimes, it's a
turbulence. A complex equation no human being can solve.
Take care of yourselves, love yourself love others and stay safe.
On Risenmags.com here
Honey and I
My honey I.
We keep each other together.
We tear each other apart.
Misinterpretations
Miscommunications
Abiding in art.
My honey and I.
We laugh and we cry.
A never-ending cycle of
Deceit and lies.
find more here
Heritage day is a South African public holiday celebrated on the 24th of September. On this day, South Africans across the spectrum are encouraged to
celebrate their culture and the diversity of their beliefs and
traditions, in the wider context of a nation that belongs to all its
people.
. . .
I am black, bold & beautiful.
I wear my red skirt like a trophy.
with its colourful beads glinting against the African sun.
My orange head band. Iqhiya, gracefully wrapped around my head. To show my respect as a Xhosa woman.
I wear my mothers white beaded bracelet. Intsimbi. White is to evoke purity, strength and power (Amandla).
My tribe plays my song.
The beating of the drums echoes across the valleys, the clapping of the women's hands and their strong vocals overwhelming the night.
This is my culture.
This is my extraordinary heritage
I am a black, bold & beautiful Ndebele woman.
I wear my red skirt like a trophy.
with its colourful beads glinting against the African sun.
My orange head band. Iqhiya, gracefully wrapped around my head. To show my respect as a Xhosa woman.
I wear my mothers white beaded bracelet. Intsimbi. White is to evoke purity, strength and power (Amandla).
My tribe plays my song.
The beating of the drums echoes across the valleys, the clapping of the women's hands and their strong vocals overwhelming the night.
This is my culture.
This is my extraordinary heritage
I am a black, bold & beautiful Ndebele woman.
I am a black, bold & beautiful Xhosa woman.
. . .
here are the images I took this past weekend.
Etienne
 |
| Zulu Girl |
Ndebele Wear
AmaXhosa
How stunningly breathtaking
The Zulu Men
Londani
 | ||||
| Me |
don't forget to subscribe, comment and share
Heritage Day
27 September 2016
Heritage day is a South African public holiday celebrated on the 24th of September. On this day, South Africans across the spectrum are encouraged to
celebrate their culture and the diversity of their beliefs and
traditions, in the wider context of a nation that belongs to all its
people.
. . .
I am black, bold & beautiful.
I wear my red skirt like a trophy.
with its colourful beads glinting against the African sun.
My orange head band. Iqhiya, gracefully wrapped around my head. To show my respect as a Xhosa woman.
I wear my mothers white beaded bracelet. Intsimbi. White is to evoke purity, strength and power (Amandla).
My tribe plays my song.
The beating of the drums echoes across the valleys, the clapping of the women's hands and their strong vocals overwhelming the night.
This is my culture.
This is my extraordinary heritage
I am a black, bold & beautiful Ndebele woman.
I wear my red skirt like a trophy.
with its colourful beads glinting against the African sun.
My orange head band. Iqhiya, gracefully wrapped around my head. To show my respect as a Xhosa woman.
I wear my mothers white beaded bracelet. Intsimbi. White is to evoke purity, strength and power (Amandla).
My tribe plays my song.
The beating of the drums echoes across the valleys, the clapping of the women's hands and their strong vocals overwhelming the night.
This is my culture.
This is my extraordinary heritage
I am a black, bold & beautiful Ndebele woman.
I am a black, bold & beautiful Xhosa woman.
. . .
here are the images I took this past weekend.
Etienne
|
| Zulu Girl |
Ndebele Wear
AmaXhosa
How stunningly breathtaking
The Zulu Men
Londani
| ||||
| Me |
don't forget to subscribe, comment and share
. . .
Well. The inspiration came from my current work for risen mags on 'skin'. I then went back to the time where I was so insecure about my skin growing up. As a POC, an African, it was really difficult to dismiss the little insults.
This African born girl grows up to see that her body is wider than those white girls at school. That her breasts are bigger. Her hips have more volume. Her lips are plump, her pubic hairs curly. Her hair, rough, and frizzy and curly.
Its all very strange.
Why doesn't she look like the others?
Why is she not being complimented?
Why do they not see any beauty in her?
So her attempt to look like them was to physically try to rid her skin pigment,
because they couldn't see her in the dark.
She wants her friends to see her and to notice her.
All this is pathetic and disgusting.
The shade of your skin doesn't make you more beautiful or less.
The shade of your skin is yours. Its YOURS.
Take care of it.
Because if you won't, then who will?
If we're not going to fight for ourselves, who will fight for each other?
Love Yourself.
You're unique.
You're beautiful.
From
Dumisa (do-me-suh)// Soyduim.
The African Curse- The Inspiration
25 September 2016
. . .
Well. The inspiration came from my current work for risen mags on 'skin'. I then went back to the time where I was so insecure about my skin growing up. As a POC, an African, it was really difficult to dismiss the little insults.
This African born girl grows up to see that her body is wider than those white girls at school. That her breasts are bigger. Her hips have more volume. Her lips are plump, her pubic hairs curly. Her hair, rough, and frizzy and curly.
Its all very strange.
Why doesn't she look like the others?
Why is she not being complimented?
Why do they not see any beauty in her?
So her attempt to look like them was to physically try to rid her skin pigment,
because they couldn't see her in the dark.
She wants her friends to see her and to notice her.
All this is pathetic and disgusting.
The shade of your skin doesn't make you more beautiful or less.
The shade of your skin is yours. Its YOURS.
Take care of it.
Because if you won't, then who will?
If we're not going to fight for ourselves, who will fight for each other?
Love Yourself.
You're unique.
You're beautiful.
From
Dumisa (do-me-suh)// Soyduim.
 |
| Art by : FoxyFries |
. . .
She's scrubbing her skin viciously.
Her skin.
Dark and dry.
It's scorched by the African sun.
They call it the "African Curse".
A vile taste stays on her tongue.
The smell from her fingertips nauseates her.
A vile taste stays on her tongue.
The smell from her fingertips nauseates her.
Her room.
Scattered with magazine pages,
filled with images of beautiful women.
She wants to be that woman.
Beautiful and light.
Skinny and flat.
Her hair.
Dark brown and rough.
A petting zoo, a flaw.
Her lips.
Too big,
too plump,
too brown.
Her breasts.
Too big, too brown.
She's still rubbing her skin.
She's taking care of her flaws.
She's going to be beautiful now.
She's going to be loved now.
leave comments below & share & subscribe please
- soyduim
The African Curse
|
| Art by : FoxyFries |
. . .
She's scrubbing her skin viciously.
Her skin.
Dark and dry.
It's scorched by the African sun.
They call it the "African Curse".
A vile taste stays on her tongue.
The smell from her fingertips nauseates her.
A vile taste stays on her tongue.
The smell from her fingertips nauseates her.
Her room.
Scattered with magazine pages,
filled with images of beautiful women.
She wants to be that woman.
Beautiful and light.
Skinny and flat.
Her hair.
Dark brown and rough.
A petting zoo, a flaw.
Her lips.
Too big,
too plump,
too brown.
Her breasts.
Too big, too brown.
She's still rubbing her skin.
She's taking care of her flaws.
She's going to be beautiful now.
She's going to be loved now.
leave comments below & share & subscribe please
- soyduim
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