WritingThreeSixty

Echoes of War, Whispers of Peace

Micheal Kwasi Ackumey — 2025-07-17

The cannons roar, the skies turn gray,
As tears of sorrow flood the land,
Yet hope still flickers in the fray,
A gentle touch, a guiding hand...

A World of Love, Not Hate

Micheal Kwasi Ackumey — 2025-07-17

Oh rulers, let your hearts be wise,
And see the tears in children’s eyes.
The bombs you drop, the wars you wage,
Have filled the world with fear and rage...

Lead with Light, Not Fire

Micheal Kwasi Ackumey — 2025-07-17

Oh leaders, high upon your thrones,
Do not cast hearts to dust and stones.
The world now pleads for hands so kind,
To heal the wounds of humankind...

The Silent Cry of the Earth

Micheal Kwasi Ackumey — 2025-07-17

The rivers dark, the forests weep,
The air is thick with death’s embrace.
As war and greed their poison seep,
Yet hope still shines with quiet grace...

Raise the Flags of Peace

Micheal Kwasi Ackumey — 2025-07-17

Oh mighty ones, with wealth untold,
Do not let hearts grow harsh and cold.
A throne means naught if pain prevails,
And voices rise in tearful tales...

The Blues Were Inviting

Katlego Nkoana — 2025-07-17

Taunted by the fate of misery in company
A kind of slow poison that festers by the hue
meandering every vein till lips run blue
Perhaps the fleeting vigour in saddened individuals is the last pump of red before the blue
Perhaps the sadness is a fallacy I misconstrue
The blues were inviting,
And my wavering flicker beams at the thought that my desolate blue could be in your consulate that outweighs the hue
The blues were inviting and so were
You.

Tick-Tock-Boom!

Katlego Nkoana — 2025-07-17

tick—tock—tick—tock,
A gentle reminder
That time is but a meander,
Flowing by the second
Eddies by the minute
Tides by the hour
Our bodies are ventriloquists to our passions
Giving form to the abstract.
Time is but a companion,

I am my Shadow

Katlego Nkoana — 2025-07-17

The incandescent glow
Descends on me with a flick,
It covers me with its vastness
The darkness takes form
I lift my hand,
It traces the wall
I sit, grounded with despair,
It ascends the celling
The darkness mocks me
For all my body can do is sit on this chair.
Perhaps the darkness is an extension of what my soul longs to do?
The darkness illuminates me.

Accountability

Katlego Nkoana — 2025-07-17

Everyone wants to be bejewelled
With the shine stones of victimhood
The glimmer so blinding
absolving anyone to see
the dim of the truth
Leaning into the luminous sun
Forgetting it’s simmer
Till tipping point

Cracks and Crevices

Katlego Nkoana — 2025-07-17

You wear nonchalance like a smile
Glance at my afflictions from a mile
Feeling, more or less inclined
Distance abstains you from the guilt
So I sit afar as I wilt...

Scars of Silence

Festus Moses Onipede — 2025-07-17

In the corners where shadows dwell,
Whispers of pain are lost,
Broken voices, fractured shells,
Injustice's bitter cost...

Ashes of the Olive Tree

Festus Moses Onipede — 2025-07-17

Where once the olive branches swayed,
In winds of peace and song,
Now echoes of the past have frayed,
In a land where rights go wrong...

Stomp the Yard

Violet Makomborero — 2025-07-17

No longer shall you make hollow spaces
like snow angels within your mattress of your bed.
Get up! Get out!
Stomp the yard! – the whole nine yards
Leave no inch unclaimed.
The world needs you.

How to Start a Revolution

Violet Makomborero — 2025-07-17

Seven days a week, endless nine to five, 3sixtyfive.
Time and time again, the cycle repeats,
in the system of oppression, where the few feast
Your back becomes the bridge for the elites.
The machine called Oppression churns, ...

1984

Violet Makomborero — 2025-07-17

there is a fasting of truth, a starving of words
a parched parchment in the throat of the pages
there is a grumbling of hunger in
boney writers
refusing to fatten on fable, gossip or false promises
they no longer lick their fingers with the thoughts of delusions ...

List of contributors

Peter Oyewole Makinde — 2025-07-17

Letter from the Editor

Peter Oyewole Makinde — 2025-07-17

I present to you the first issue of Volume 8 of WritingThreeSixty on the theme: Africa in Perspective: Contemporary Issues in Arts and Humanities. This marks a significant milestone in our collective efforts to continue this graduate journal and invite authors from far and wide to captivate us with their academic and creative voices.

About the journal

Peter Oyewole Makinde — 2025-07-17

WritingThreeSixty is a bi-annual, interdisciplinary journal for research essays and creative works. First launched in 2014 as an initiative of the English department at the University of the Western Cape (UWC), WritingThreeSixty now forms part of the broader community within the Arts Faculty and Humanities at UWC. This journal maintains the standard of peer review and wishes to provide a platform to develop a culture of publishing among postgraduate and emerging student researchers, as well as established creative artists within UWC and South Africa at large.
WritingThreeSixty also forms part of co-curricular graduate culture at UWC that affords students the opportunity to develop professional skills through the voluntary leadership and service positions created through the journal. These positions include the management of the journal and its team, editorial outputs, as well as our digital marketing efforts that are presented through social media and our online website.

Editorial Board

Peter Oyewole Makinde — 2025-07-17

Mother Earth

Tiffany Dumas — 2025-07-17

The residents of Bloom-Ville Town called it “Gaia’s Garden”, though no one in the town had any recollection of who Gaia was. The garden was located right behind the white picket fence, in the middle of town, fenced with the rusted gate made of something that looked like it might have been perfect steel and diamonds a very long time ago. The fence somehow seemed godly, as if it depicted something that was ancient in origin. The blush roses and the white tulips were always in bloom, scattered across the waterlogged soil. They were always perfect; no season could touch them. They stretched across the veranda, giving life to what could be dead. The flowers were beautiful, perfect – but something about them seemed ancient. Strange. Asleep. Yet awake – alive. Ready, waiting.

Vol.8 No.1 (2025): WritingThreeSixty

Peter Oyewole Makinde — 2025-07-17

Download the full issue here.