I once traveled to a faraway land to live in a small earthen hut on the top of a hill, surrounded by banana trees and the raw sweetness...

Oh to see the speed of a gazelle crossing grasslands, the stretch of a giraffe reaching tall heights, the found wisdom in an elephant’s...

It was 1995, Ibraimo Ali Sambe was 83 years old, an elder sitting on a grass mat on the Island of Ibo, off the coast of Cabo Delgado. And...

When João Agostinho Bras was 15, he started to sing and play mbira while herding cattle in the village of Degwefora. And at the end of...

The Body—it holds all of its haul Through ancestral lands, And hard stories that stay And long migrant trails, and colonial tales of...

What do you think of this plastic world That slowly curls around the edges of our zinc shacks Our cardboard homes—our grasses of litter...

I should like to write a poem which carries the beauty of the sea, the growing warmth of a rising sun, the endless giving of a...

They danced Nakwale—at the base of a tree—the imbondeiro—on the Island of Ibo off the coast of Cabo Delgado. It's a dance of tradition...

To amble over and linger long That fills my soul and warms me whole As embers of a passing sun beckon us to start —all over again.

In the shadow, we lie awake— It's when we blossom and plan our dreams, or fall into sadness or deep madness, as the ebbs and flows open...

One night in 1966, while sleeping, Chingamuka had a dream. A dream about his grandfather—who used to play a traditional flute. He was...

An ear of corn and an old man's hunger, near banana trees and cassava leaves and a village square that one must flee. I thought it time...

For some, the land is moist grass green soil rich and life is sweet. For others, the land is dry grass brown soil sand and life is sweet.

The day was long with the beating sun, yet appear they did, wearing their culture on the tip of their tongues. They came, dressed in...

Today I saw the greenest green Tucked in the earth, beneath a tree Pushing softly towards the sky, trying hard to grasp up high. Gently,...

Oh the stories we do tell of broadened smiles and successes wild, of striving souls and worn out shoes. Though fancy cars, muscles sore,...

Grief is the story that knocks our door even before death's perhaps untimely call. It fills the space with tears we dread, or those of...

She used to fill the edges of the worn out streets— and the random lines, where zinc shacks meet. Her smile deep— oh so wise. And the...

I wonder where the waves go After they meet the shore. Do they surrender their form— lose their meandering song, and become forever gone?...

The sun falls from the sky, and the rain has risen as I lie, under the lip of a flower's petal. A deepening smile across my eyes. A sigh...

Where to start but at the gust of the wind, no beginning has it and its end unsung, constant, yet ever moving, dissolving, reappearing....

I want to go to the seashore and watch the earth perform. And when the waves rupture the shore, And the wind wraps around its dunes, I...

The red earth filled the miles, trodden by heavy loads, worn out tires, cracked feet, laughing souls, big hearts, and the rhythms of...

Today is the day, carried on my back, a watermark of a passing soul. So many settings of the sun and the moon live no more. Yet your...