ON FOREHEADS, THE MOON IS A SHARD MUSING MEMORIES OF DAYS GONE
In this poem, bruises are measured with the pinch of a finger. the night floated with a crave for voices; you unearthed your heart searched your ears for a last
Arts and culture is life if you are not making it. They are making you through a fusion of traditional craftsmanship and contemporary interpretations, unveiling the intricate tapestry of global cultures. From visual arts that paint vivid stories on canvases to timeless writings weaponized like scissors to trim your mind to fit the writer’s perceptions in literature, our Arts & Culture section is a sanctuary for people of black heritage seeking inspiration and cultural enrichment.
In this poem, bruises are measured with the pinch of a finger. the night floated with a crave for voices; you unearthed your heart searched your ears for a last
CORNFIELDS Life a calligraphic corn field, Trapping the swirls of our chase, Past scarecrows and muddy platforms, We are familiar characters, Navigating the vast field, Developing, and gearing further In
I speak English and French, But the language of my destiny, Is spoken by the celestials. Pondering the ideologies, of my past times, Like peeling old wounds. Just
Woolwich Blade. The Kid had a scissors in his hand Instead of a knife He was proud But I say he was wise He chose styling over knifing Man