Tuesday, 7 April 2015

Day Break

I drown in your eyes, 
Those galaxies that consume me. 
So dark, so rich. 
Encompassing the whole night,
But giving me none of it; 
Because auburn begins to fill, 
My stomach begins to warm, 
And as the sun colours the horizon, 
As if the line is where daffodils and sunflowers grow, 
Day breaks and the blue exudes, 
Washing over me, 
And me, washing into you. 
And it is fresh, and brisk, 
This day break of love, 
Bursting through, 
Birthed anew, 

Day breaks as I break into you. 

Arlana Shikongo
April 7, 2015, 10:31am

Sunday, 5 April 2015


Palms suffocating my mouth, 
Hands pushing down on my chest, 
Ribs, popping out at the seams. 
Hearing, my lungs 
On their own, 
They've outgrown me. 
I'm sorry I couldn't stop
Black ashes from crowding your floors, 
Dusted core, 
Unhinged, a slightly fringed door
To a black hole, 
In which we sink, 
Quick, quickly, 
Before I realize that you see me, 
You've seen me. 
Discretion is lost. 
It is lost on me, 
But let me hold and, 
Host your body, 
Cradle me. 
Cradle me. 
Let me go. 
We were never here together. 

We were never here. 

Arlana Shikongo
April 5, 2015, 9:43pm

Underground Hip Hop in Amsterdam

The air that greeted me was thick with smoke; both nicotine and marijuana. Everyone was vibing to the tunes and the atmosphere was filled with genuine enjoyment. Sticky checked floors licked my soles, billiard balls clattered on a nearby pool table, and illuminated graffiti bouncing off the walls on the far right beckoned me to a corner where DJs, rappers and a rather solemn audience bobbed their heads to some seemingly complex verses. 
The underground Dutch Hip Hop scene was exactly as I imagined it would be. New school mixed with old skool, a rainbow of diversity embracing the spirit of music and liquor and marijuana flowing as loosely as the drug policy that allows the phenomenon to occur. 
The staring up to the slightly elevated stage, I push my way through the crowd and make it right up to the front. I swayed with the audience, memorizing then regurgitating words I didn't know just sing along to the choruses of some of these songs.  Once in awhile one of the free verses would be in English. I was very impressed by the Dutch people's ability to code switch between the two languages so fluidly. 
By the end of the night I was soaring. The company I'd come along with and the company I'd met offered my a new experience of hip hop and Amsterdam. 

Takeaway: attend an underground hip hop event in Amsterdam, because going underground is where hip hop is found.  

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Poetry Circle Nowhere - Amsterdam

Tonight I attended my first poetry event in Amsterdam. It was hosted by Poetry Circle Nowhere, an "ever growing group of young, passionate, writing performers that has its heart in Amsterdam, chapters in Eindhoven, Groningen, Rotterdam and Tilburg, but has the whole world as a playground", as they describe themselves. 
In a desperate attempt to find some sort of creative, open and spoken-word community, I went on to google 'Poetry in Amsterdam' to find this organization’s page and a few of their public events. 
I was nervous because of the obvious language barrier that might exist. Although I knew I could understand dutch, I anticipated that the language they used would be out of my range of understanding and I’d be stuck sitting like a headless chicken, lost in a haze of confusion. Instead, it was an amazing night with a beautiful mix of English, Dutch, singing, dancing and all around positive energy. Everyone was willing to share and open their arms to those of us that were new to their event or new to the world of spoken word. It was a quality I’d come to learn existed very much in these creative souls, which is why I found myself seeking them out and growing so fond of them.
I shared a poem tonight and the praises I got from these strangers played my heart like a Spanish guitar. I was impressed by their work as well, and gave credit where credit was due. 

It was a night of entertainment and inspiration. I have found my church again, and my soul is peaking.

Friday, 3 April 2015

You and...

Your hands on my skin, 
Wet nose on my chin. 
Reflections of your grin;
In glassy lakes we drive by,
Grass beneath your head as we gaze at the sky. 
Your tongue lapping up my tears as I cry, 
And I know the reasons,
The reasons why. 
Like a newborn, I'm a fetus of your soul, 
Connected to you by our umbilical cord.
Beyond who we are,
To be read in our stars.
I trust astronomy; 
Unconventionally we'll be, 
A fairy tale story.
What is, 

To shoot, and hit a par. 

Arlana Shikongo
April 3, 2015, 3:45pm

Thursday, 2 April 2015


The Stars cascade

Tides pulling us in and out.

Licking the shore,

Then lapping it up again,

Toes buried in the sand.

The sky cascades,

Dark mass enveloping itself,

Me, myself.

Breathing it all in,

Cool and brisk.


Wednesday, 1 April 2015

What is not....Life

It is not a sequence of days,
Building up one by one to be called a living.
Nor is it feeling the sun on your skin,
When the skies are grey and crying.
It isn't capturing moments on an iPhone,
Making the ordinary surreal,
So that to some body else it might seem,
Like you've got it all together.
It is not the moments in which you realize the little things,
And transcend your knowledge,
Your ideas of the meaning of being.
It is short,
It is simple,
It is sweet.
It is not a sequence of days,
Building up one by one to be called a living.
It is life;
It's a real thing,
...and it's happening to you as we speak.

Arlana Shikongo
April 1, 2015 4:57pm