Welcome to my poetry

This is the post excerpt.



Hi! I am Perspicacious Sister. Most people don’t know how to say my name, but that’s not important. My name simply describes someone who thinks deeply about stuff, and in some instances, I think way too deep. I try to figure things out for the sake finding solutions. When you read my blog posts, you might understand why I am community conscious, why I can be political, why I like to challenge the status quo on my blog posts or poetry; why I like to think outside the box and why I like to raise awareness and understanding. That’s just who I am!

If you want to support the blog, this is what you can do:

  1. Spread the word. You could really help other people by bringing attention to the issues that I raise.
  2. Circulate the poetry and blog posts. The more that the blog is read, the more chances of people being aware of the issues raised. You can use any of the social media platforms to do this. Please remember that all poetry is copyright protected so do make the appropriate credits when you share.
  3. Make a comment. After each blog post or poetry, there is a space for you to make a comment on whether you agree, disagree or have related stories to tell.
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I hope that you will be inspired as well as challenged; and that your mind is provoked into thinking about positive change…..cos that’s my goal!

Thank You!


Motherhood & Mental illness

(written for Mental Health Awareness Month) 

head aching every minute

especially in the mornings

something is stuck

in her head, she feels it


that heavy thing that’s stuck inside her head

she can feel it every time she moves

so irritating!

she wishes one punch to her head

would make it go away



she sees her kids frightened

confused, terrified

she doesn’t mean to

the anger, the frustration, the shouting

for no reason, but yes

for every reason….


the longing for calm-in her head…


she argues about the pink knickers

she gets crazy when no one can find them

she rages and screams

-after the storm, she calms down

only to realise; the knickers were grey,

not pink

and maybe that’s why no one could find them


for the third time that week

she quietly acknowledges her illness

should she speak of this?

will they understand or will they make her regret it?

will they remove her kids from her care?


how many mothers, like her

quietly battle bi-polar,

depression or anxiety?

how many mothers, like her

are afraid to be misunderstood?

so instead of asking for help

they set about being busy with

motherhood and household chores

hoping nobody notices,

she wonders

as she walks her kids to school…


african woman with retso

(written for International Women’s Day)

a mother, daughter, a wife, a sister

with the superhero powers of giving life

we are the link to life

nurturers, that carry power

hope and promise.


womanhood is weighty

we live this life not for ourselves

but for those around us

cradling, feeding,

protecting, providing,

making sacrifices,

even when those sacrifices

impact on us negatively,


suffering silently, groaning quietly,

whilst bearing all our burdens

enslaved by our position

having no choice but to accept

that position and be strong


the benefits of Womanhood uncertain,

no gratitude from those we serve,

our children or husbands

one day turning on us, against us

there are other factors that influence them

that’s just the way of the world


in some circumstances,

taking risks that could claim our lives

whilst being degraded, tortured and exploited

we risk being single mothers- if we dare fightback

we risk the children going hungry or homeless

-if we don’t submit

we fear how our abusers or society will judge us

-if we cry out for help

we risk facing the stigma

of being left for another woman

-even when we are at our best

we are often with so much more to lose

if we don’t oblige, gratify, indulge, fulfil or satisfy


leading the way,

even when the path is foggy

appearing confident and fearless,

whilst uncertainty ravages us inside.


is it even possible to run off and hide?

A change of Circumstances

little girl

at an old village school

we sit on long benches at long tables to learn

we are not all the same age

some boys have moustaches

some of the girls have big breasts already

some have little ones

and others, like myself have none


I am afraid

not only am I little and younger

I am unseasoned for the environment

I wear shoes on my walk to school

in fact, I wear shoes all of the time

whilst the other kids are barefoot


I decide to fit in

when I try to walk with no shoes on

I get tortured by the thorns in my feet

and the hot stones bruise my feet


it’s crazy out here

I have a blue Disney pencil case

with all the characters on it

containing cute pencils and crayons

I am embarrassed

why am I even here

I am not fitting in


on our 7 mile walk home from school

some children stop to climb wild fruit trees

-to eat their lunch

I cannot climb a tree

I feel so disempowered by my previous life

I am embarrassed

how did I come to be here?

I am not fitting in


sitting on the gritty ground, at the homestead

I can’t stand it

plucking chickens for a meal, and some to sell

I am traumatised

sitting by the smokey fire, watching dinner cook

eyes stinging

tears streaming down my cheeks

can’t take the smoke, I feel ill

I am ashamed, why am I even here

I am not fitting in.

© Vicky Nyanga

Unpolished and Black

looking back on it now

I realise that life was awful

sleeping on night buses

with no place to call home

living conditions far from normal

but being in that situation

seemed oh, so normal…


the bad days were unbearable

almost beating your child to death

for not using yesterday’s cooking oil

cos a gallon cost more than I could afford


this new life is changing me

turning me into a temperamental mother

God help my children!


watching others in the same situation as me

hustling to keep from sinking

credit card fraud, prostitution

husbands pimping wives

wives pimping husbands


the ‘illegal immigrants couples’ definition of teamwork

moving hard drugs from city to city

evading detection

men used as sex tool then replaced by dogs

women fulfilling filthy white men’s fantasies

many without much choice

you name it, I witnessed it

with my very own eyes

I had to choose my hustle carefully

I had kids


working illegally at warehouses

counting money

sorting out money into pallets

throwing out the torn and dirty bank notes

into bin bags

money that I so desperately needed

security said the money got took for recycling

to make new money


who gives a damn about new money?

old money serves the purpose just fine, right?

if it’s as good as useless to you

allow me to take  a few notes home…


security would watch me closely

me, and everyone else

make sure we don’t rob the useless money

that they throw away


clocking off at 5am

going home to my kids

without even a loaf of bread to give them

something isn’t right…


months down the line

upgraded my hustle

waking up early to rob banks on the good days

then going off to buy little luxuries

and shark fillet for dinner


I thought I was a “polished” black woman

but I have been living within a system

that has turned me into a criminal

© Vicky Nyanga