Cover Art © Jay Chakravarti
Guest Editor : Scott Thomas Outlar
Dream Nation
The Red Kite – Somewhere in a battered war zone
a young boy barely ten years old spots a strange sight
of a red kite against a bright coral sky, not bothered
where it came from as long as it colours in his bleak
life after daily salvos of bullets delivering his unwanted
symphony of cream screams – Masked by deep base
explosions riding to a falsetto of repetitive high-pitched
aerial gifts of new experimental chemical bombs designed
to delete deplete and destroy everything he has ever
known – Everyone he has ever loved, left with the daily
taste of dust sprinkled with ashes of what was before –
Nearly blinded by yet another early evening menu of bright
deadly showers of heat-seeking missiles, that young
boy started running from his burning safe haven, yearning
to reach heaven just to catch that bright red kite with all
his might, despite being weakened by malnutrition –
If only he could jump high enough to catch a liberating
flight with that red kite, he would hold on and never
let go then maybe he would be transported to his
heavenly home to finally play eternally with those who
he has known and leave this earthly hell-hole…
Liberty Light – Having only ever the four walls of her
basement prison for nearly a decade, a young girl rushes
to the only sliver of light seeping in through a small corner
of the locked window above, too high to even attempt to
break open, as the iron bars encapsulating it, almost hugging it, is sure to last for another hundred years –
She has become used to that welcome sight every golden
sliver summer morning and even spotted a shadow of
a bird once, sweeping by just like an imaginary loving hand
brushing her cheek, making her forget her naming
ceremony, branding her a freak to be hidden from view
and not even to know the smell of flowers or feel the
warm glow of a friend ‘hello’ from a stranger passing by –
How she yearns to be inside that light, being away from
this empty prison, this nothingness, this emotional
distressing unwelcome vortex but oh, if only she
could touch that light beckoning her to reach out
to break out to shout out – To be loved…
Rainbow Child – Call me coloured call me mixed call
me mulatto but I am just the same as you in this nation
called humanity – My origin does not define me, it’s your
stare which pierces through me. I see you, your loneliness,
Your yearning for happiness – Just let go of your
Inhibitions, your self inflicted constrictions and take my
Hand if you need a friend …
© Don Beukes
Who is Don Beukes?
🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️
Don Afrika-Beukes Chronicles 
Reblogged this on The Wombwell Rainbow.
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