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Newspaper from the African Perspective

By Yolanda Lindsay Mabuto*


Oil River Peace (Niger-Delta)


Miasma whispers in the ears of its Delta children

As they sway to the songs that caress their lips.

The violent noise has become a barren burden

Faces of confusion and guilt - eclipse.

The melancholy echoes are fuelled by a trade of disharmony

the air is polluted with intense uncertainty-

Enmity quenches the veins of their thoughts

webbed in the chains in which they've been caught.

Conflict and strife persuades poverty to strike

embracing the fear that injustice requires to ignite.

Demanding shares where peace should be shared.

"Freedom" hides, captured- tearfully ensnared

dark haired men battle in an oil war

What are they fighting for?

Stolen or not, wisdom is brave-

Conflict does nothing but empower rage.

Rage that runs not only to your enemy, but yourself

Are you fighting love and peace for wealth?

Blood stained oils seep deep into the conscience of those who remain-

That war they fought- nothing has changed.

Land of Oil-rivers- their home- their industry,

benefits leak into the palms of their enemy-

polluted by lands afar they've now made amends

One problem solved- God still has more blessings to send,

If only hearts turn-away from these ills

Toxicity, seemingly goes beyond oil spills.

First environment now its people-

Hope itself is ashamed and fearful.

A staircase of poison stretches from a fallen state

They slowly help peace close its gate.

Reason has taught them to vandalize pipelines

Although this impinges on their own economic lifelines.

Why do your own children donate to hate?

Playing with the fires of a vindictive fate.

The poisoned air touches the frames of their rivers,

dark smoke ascends from their ancestor's cinders

flowing into the contours of their hearts-

the devil has toyed with their craft.

Shelled in shells alone-

Hear the graves moan-

they mourn- the end of cruelty

are we not human enough to fight with dignity.

The land is your own, the wealth too-

but war has no choice but to let you lose.

Until the children hold hands in unity-

to eradicate the stench of animosity-

and with "voice" to reason with reality

not with "tears" or "blood" brutality.

Peace is waiting at the doors of this delta-

Peace waits for its people to give it shelter.

Run and run-but no-one can hide-

Peace is chasing them-Peace will find

a place in their soul's to hide.

Peace is chasing them - they cannot hide.

Miasma whispers in the ears of its Delta children

as they sway to the songs that caress their lips

The violent noise should now turn into tranquil burden

Where faces of love and peace - eclipse.






The Great Stone has fallen and

the crest in which our future lay has darkened.

Savanna-shades mourn their home

Yet still in the eastern cataract –rainbows emerge.

Rifle to Hoe

Transition from war to peace.

Our soils will forever abide by

the laws of the sacred falcon.

We will rise with the ancestral heir of a new history

as declared by the strength of its people.

A Great Empire in history

and  a Great Empire it shall be.

We now wait for the return of  “Great Zimbabwe”

A new Zimbabwe.




Mother Africa


I watch her tears stain her cheeks and I listen to her cries.

I am her child - and cannot extinguish her flames

I watch her suffer from afar

I hear her weep- I feel her pain.

I see her gnarled fingers- but I’m numbed.

Fear resides in my weakness and I’m ashamed to cry.

Soaked in aching guilt - I weep

Drenched in endless shame –I hide.

I am her child - and cannot relieve her pain

Fate separated us- and I bleed. My love seems so heartless.

She toils to survive - without me and my arms continue to distant themselves.

Shores flood both our sands- and I’m drenched in her tears-

Listen to her heartbeat-It’s losing strength.

Listen to her whispers - there’s no sound.

I am her child- and like a stranger- I rekindle the flames that burn her.

Strong, so strong - yet it breaks her. So beautiful and graceful-

Blessed with diversity - Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Cameroon , Rwanda

Mozambique, Malawi, Tanzania and South-Africa,

It breaks me- and shatters every part in me.

Every sunset tears away at her heart- but she still toils.

I’ll embrace the moments we had – as though they were my present

And till death joins us - her pain shall forever rest in me-

She will always be my mother-

She will always me my home-

Mama Africa.





Ifriqiya the home to my spirit -
its land writes sonnets of a fallen poet.
Every phrase, every verse spoken with pain -
every wetness from their eyes - drips like rain.
Swollen with fear their fingers write-
thoughts and emotions drained from their blood day and night.
Ifriqiya the home to my spirit- its land writes sonnets of a fallen poet.
Every stanza is filled with words so true -
drifting in the reality of a dream that's through.
Pages tinted from the tears of their strength
tinted with stains that neglect both life and death
The secrecy of their cries- in between the lines
hidden in the diction of politics- their truth hides
The octave of bitterness-
Stringed in the Sestet of blindness
“Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika”
Home to my Spirit- Ifriqiya.
an ending couplet of hope- for our home.
Ifriqiya the home to my spirit-
its land writes sonnets of a fallen poet.

*Yolanda Lindsay Mabuto is currently studying for her Master in Biomedical Science (Msc) at the University of Amsterdam. For more info: /

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