Inshuti is a teenage art space. You can feel its walls aching to flex and run. It’s vibrant, fresh, new. With such young management, it has the energy to spread its wings.
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Inshuti is a teenage art space. You can feel its walls aching to flex and run. It’s vibrant, fresh, new. With such young management, it has the energy to spread its wings.
As I go through the artwork hanging on the walls, warm, dark and light tunes of jazz fill up the air around me. The volume is just right, not too loud to distract you from the mix of colours on canvas in front of you and not too soft to be drowned out by the drizzle outside.
I wake up, draw the curtains, and there, falling diagonally, is sane rain.
“Would you say your soul resides in your hair?”
In her eyes and in that cool water, he was cool.
Handing her the rose, he says: “It’s black though.”
Stifling a sob and a tear from running down her cheek, Lila asked, “Your people. My people. What or who are these?”
Why was he now, in this reverie, choosing to remember of past times, past places and of aspirations now only a shout into the void.