Two poems from last week’s event Black Words Matter at Rich Mix from Wangu Mureithi.

More photos from the night are up on our Facebook here.


Pregnant with Pain

by Wangu Mureithi


My heart weighs several tonnes right now.
My body is achey as a result of it.
Tear ducts have run dry
And the birds no longer sing,
Instead the sounds of weeping mothers and 
Privileged white folk
Rock me to a state of numbness.
There is no escape
There is no safety,
My taxes pay for those uniformed pests
Who are employed to serve and protect but instead tear apart communities, squander public funds and kill.
Where do I run to?
Who will protect me?
Who will fight for me when I can no longer fight?
Who will bring me the justice and peace?
Why did this begin and when will it end?
I look up to the hills from where my help comes from.
I see grey skies and pylons.
A daily reminder that my duty is to survive each moment.
But sometimes, even to survive is too great of a task.




Fight on the Flight

by Wangu Mureithi


Cold, hard, iron soldered and welded together
The perforated plastic and the
Artificial plasticy cotton like chairs that are
Supposed to hug you safely and be your resting place.

Instead, the place of torture
And injecting of
Artificial slumber.

The screens that were supposed to project scenes of happiness
To keep you entertained were instead
Just shock absorbers for the fight that took place.

The clinical scent of the air combined with aroma of
Objects that we sometimes call food.

The forceful and violent reminder of
The identity that I tried to
Conceal, cover up and plaster with
More perforated plastic.
With the ringing of his screams and pleas for help
That shattered the concrete wall
I triumphantly built over myself

The cries for help combined with the witches
Wise words of “he deserves to go, people who break the law don’t deserve to be here. So stop your screaming and sit down so we can fly”.
The irony that saturated her speech seeped from my mother’s eyes that conveyed an unfamiliar rage.
Her venomous breath changed the taste of the air and caused a dizziness to take over.
What was once 20/20 was now just distorted pixels of more perforated plastic.

Muti taithiye!
Muti taithiye!
Ni ma ra joraga!
Ni ma ra joraga!

Each syllable that escaped,
Each thud and vibration,
Hammered away at my beautiful masterpiece

Whilst his spirit, dreams and sins escaped from his loins
Whilst his spirit, dreams and sins escaped from his loins
And added to the witches breath
Which corrupted baby lemon.