My soul is married to fire. Black is a bandage to my lips and breath. I’m keeping it near my heart … A sorrow… You sowed in my rocky earth , stroking it with my fingers Like the dead breast of a young husband. No eyelash, no teardropp Will fall from the iron pupil. My braid Is tied to the wrist of Allah. I’m keeping A piece of rock near my heart, stroking it with my fingers, Like the forehead of my dead child. I’m a hostage of my hostages. A hostage
Of this hall full of the echoes of applause, Melted into the muffled roars of the bullets, The bells mourning all over the rocks. I’m keeping hatred near my heart, stroking it with my fingers, Like the memory of my dead love. Dead motherland, dead God,
The scream of the dead woman you long for, Is dead in me. My burden is buried into your plains…
Like the Continent itself, the African Diaspora is multifaceted and made up of diverse people and varying experiences. The singular element that unifies these people is an identifiable connection to Africa. They are either recent immigrants, the children of immigrants who have themselves done relatively short jaunts to the motherland, political or economic refugees, or perhaps are a hybrid result of African and non-African parentage. Diasporans come from a variety of cultural, religious and economic backgrounds, however there is one thing that virtually everyone who is a member of this group has heard from their counterparts on the Continent: You do not matter

this post is in honor of all the girls who feel the need to shun their culture and heritage because it’s not white, and yet have to endure all the “how do you get so tan” questions from white people. this post is for all those girls who grew up - either in america or india - being told that to be white is to be beautiful. this post is in honor of my culture, my background, my heritage, my spirituality, my religion, of which i am fiercely proud. #reclaimthebindi 

top: me at one of my vocal performances

middle: me at my high school graduation, where I wore a bindi and a churidar dress under my robes

bottom: my senior pictures in high school


DIVINE RIGHT: CHAPTER II  | Metra & Fillius  // The Motherland

The morning was bright and baking. The sun danced along the fields, folds of grass shifting and turning under a soft breeze. The smell of warmth and cut hay was chased along the hills, easing between the scent of manure and horses. The herd was scattered across the fields, some chasing each other with half hearted commitment, while the rest nosed into the grass, all dew already burnt away under the sun.

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The Motherland - My Summer

Delicinha esta música da banda sul-africana The Motherland.

Diretamente de Johannesburgo, os cinco integrantes Sean Hayz (guitarra e voz), Amber Valentine (guitarra), Geraint Boje (contrabaixo clássico e voz), Louis Malherbe II (bateria) e YOU (triângulo, fazia tempo que não via um em uma banda) pretendem mudar a vida das pessoas, uma a uma, através de músicas que contam histórias dos mundos que eles vivem.

Com a influência de músicos como, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, Ben Howard e Ben Harper, a banda se propõe a tocar em jardins, parques, cafés, feiras, ou seja, qualquer lugar onde o propósito deles se conclua. 

Num rock indie folk, eles criam um som autêntico e perfeito para ser executado e ouvido ao ar livre.