Mosa Telford

I was dreading the process of getting my passport renewed since the beginning of this year.

Common sense tells us that the warmer the climate, less clothing is practical while the colder the climate the more.

I am one of those people who believe that once two people are adults and are drawn to each other, they have every right to be together.

I overheard an interesting conversation this week. One woman was relating to another that she had intentions to “juk up” another woman if the she did not leave her significant other alone.

I was waiting for the tears to flow as I watched the flag rise on Wednesday night.

Buried Voices Blood runs in the street Silent voices of my brothers sound Wailing mothers do weepGuns sing triumphant songs For the law no regard Justice, why do you sleep?

“Cuss wheh ya guh, nah wheh yuh come from.” That is a saying I grew up hearing.

In our lifetime, we will see thousands of faces. Facial expressions can give hints about what troubles the heart and what makes it happy.

I was in my teens when I made a vow that if I were ever in a relationship with a man and he hit me one time, there would be no forgiveness.

It is no secret that groups of elders in many societies are afflicted by a number of issues, such as health problems, financial woes and loneliness.

He had tears in his eyes and a look of desperation on his face; a boy I encountered on a street in Georgetown a few weeks ago.

Some of the streets to enter Annandale from Buxton, on the East Coast of Demerara, are blocked and bridges have been removed.

A few weeks ago, after eleven at night, on a street with hardly any light and no one in sight, I was asked to vacate a taxi from a popular service in the Ruimveldt area after an argument with the driver.

There are some images that have stuck in my head from the time I was about thirteen/fourteen-years-old.

Within the last year, we had a significant event happen in this country–a change of government after 23 years.

Mature women ‘cussing out’ in the street, using expletives of the most colourful kind.

“You wutless!” One of the latest phrases directed to me as I stood on Lamaha Street a few days ago.

Most of us have had days when we felt like giving up; when misery seemed to be wrapping its arms around us and whispering that there was no hope.

When I hear the word “independence,” I think self-determination. It sparks in me a certain pride at the ability to stand on one’s own, build and show the world that you are creator and custodian of your destiny.