Sunday, December 19, 2010

Nine Lives by Busisiwe Khanyile

And so it all began...
I was an infant...
Born of a strong woman where no bodybuilder could defeat her courage
and heart in mind, body and soul
Where... She was my first love and so it happened that the only deep
cut I had was through my throat...
I loved her...
But I died...

And so it all began...
I was a baby...
Understanding the troubles of the world where it was described as a
place to have 72% of water...
That I could only describe as tears, for no one was happy including myself...
I loved myself...
But I died...

And so it all began...
I was a toddler...
Mastering the art of walking and talking so I can be heard in the
rowdy oceans of the world and not drown in the sorrows of my
I gave up and drowned...
I didn't love...
So I died...

 But it all began...
And I was a child...
Where I was blinded by equivocation...
Where I saw things as wrong and t'was considered right...
I wanted to understand and...

 I was a teenager...
Where my inner child died and I refused to see a future that was as
expectant as the child I was carrying...
As I misunderstood the art of equivocation...
Loved my non-existent nobody...
And so I died...

 But it all began...
And I was an adult...
I learnt to love only to realise love was not fond of me and I hated love!
Only to see people runaway into the depressing joys of marriage, only
to be blinded by love..
I could not see...
Had no love...
And so I died...

But it all began...
And I was a senior...
With experiences that taught me shit!
I decided to put it all behind me...
Where I was racing with the experiences that could only pierce through
my heart and I had a stroke...
Where I realised I'd lost my better half...
I died before I could love...

And so it all began...
And I was a golden oldie...
Where I was cherished like a worthless stone...
Polished with lies and deceit where I was as bright as the darkness
shining within me...
I only existed to a point where I was pierced with the truth of no life...
And so I died...

And it all began...
I fell again and this time, made it about how I get up as opposed to
how I fall into the deceitful seas of life...
I was born...
And so I lived

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Where Were Our Eyes? by Tinashe Muchuri

When we fought our brothers and sisters
To please them
Those who pay us with left overs
When we murdered our kith and kin
To excite them
Those who pay us with unfulfilled promises
When we burnt houses of the said opponents
To get praise from them
Those who dine on our blood and ashes
When we bombed our true beliefs
To get artificial blessings of hate
From them
Those who pray for our forever in poverty
When we sloganeered to their applause
Those who incite us to throw stones
On buildings and people
When we sang songs of freedom
Stamping on the tarred roads with
Our naked feet
To inspire them
Those who suppress our freedom
Where were our eyes
Today the same
Direct their ensued energy
To silence our cause

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Norma by Khethiwe Mabhikwa

Be never too young, 
never too old,
always strong enough
to live,

love and inquire,
ever loving 
always kind.
May life share its blessings with you, 

and may its burdens be ever light.
The wind at your back,
The sun in your soul

MY love in your heart now and 4ever...
You are what completes me.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Vitriolage by Airyn R. Lentija

Just as my scarred hands hold these rails
so the tiny drops
of my faith make me live, too.
I, who never asked for this blindness,
The scarring of my face and body that
erased my existence to the real world…
in fear of the stigma and of prejudice
that bubbles from the mouth
of the community I was once belonged to.
I am a mother turned into a baby,
desperately dependent…
I am a teenager who forgets how it was to be a teenager…
I am a lively lady that used to enjoy the company of my peers…
A victim of vitriolage,
I am shunned now…
and relive the vivid memories that lift me
to another level of distress, of such agony,
that my mind almost shut down,
they called…
a psychologist for in-depth intervention,
A brilliant mind may give a hand
to restore my damage skin tissue;
surgical treatment…
Yet I will never be free
from the memory of such pain,
such punishment
nor will I be Me again…

Monday, November 15, 2010

Mere Pawns by Mike Berger

Carnage littered  the battlefield.
Bodies of soldiers serving their
country lay twisted and turned
on the bloody ground. A gruesome
battle had raged; neither side would
back down.
At dispute was a strip of land and
a handful of little towns. This barren
strip has little redeaming value. Sun
drenched and parched; this is the
Somalia invaded feeling it was their
right to expand their empire. Ethiopia
fought back. The two haplessly became
pawns in a ugly game of chess. Two
super powers supplied each side
with arms resulting in a stalemate.
The Somalis finally backed down.

What started out as a regional war;
a dispute over a piece of land became
a grotesque thing  ironically, The Ogadan
is a piece of ground that nobody really
wants. This war became a clash of
two ideologies with both Ethiopia and
Somalia the losers.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

The Awakening by Frank Malaba

The winds of change have blown over my fragile soul
And left a withered kernel of hope for days to come.
Forget a rainy day.
For those have come and gone.
I am looking forward to the dry, scorching hot desert days.
Only from them can I learn that there is an oasis awaiting me.

I want to drink. I want to quench. I want to drench.
To soothe the forgotten bulb in the dry soil of my bruised past.
I want to eat. I want to fill . I want to feed
The forgotten cub of my African Pride,
Battered and left for dead in the grasslands of domination.

The clouds of hope are gathering over my crushed spirit
And are promising rains of healing and growth.
I am a mound of clay,
Longing for skilled potters’ hands.
I am moist and ready to be molded by the wisdom
Of my forefathers and those that have overcome the mystery of life.

I want to sing. I want to dance. I want to strum
The strings of chaos and confusion that plague my future.
I want to clap. I want to percuss. I want to bang
The drums of worth and significance,
That long to resound over and over to equip me for the benefit of posterity.

The dust of jealousy has settled in the cradle of my heart
And will soon be brushed off by the duster of confidence.
I need no emancipation,
For I never was a slave of anyone’s false idealism.
I am the true ocean, purified and hallowed by painful experience.
My skin is black and tough and tells the story of my victory over sublime hate.

I want to walk. I want to run. I want to stomp
Over all the voices that have raped my mind of self worth.
I want to fly. I want to soar. I want to ascend
Over the resonant clatter of well meant mundane reason
To find my own truth, untarnished by force fed religiosity that destroys me
To create a walking and obedient cadaver.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Planted In False Soil by Busisiwe Khanyile

Watered with seen words of spoken braille

Felt with tongues of touch
As the water cleansed my heart
Washed away the hurt and deceit
Purified waters transformed to growth...

Where my feelings for you grew and fed with a bright smile
As qualities such as hope, trust and love blossomed from this heart
Where the roots of friendship sailed to caring patience and were instilled

I woke up and realised there's no such!

Watered with lies and echo promises
Where the emptiness repeats itself
Of which grew as the roots of hurt and deceit held on tight
Where final touches blossomed and I knew you were gone...

As the seed to my heart was never planted
After all, love is all I ever wanted...

Thursday, November 4, 2010

It Gets Better by Frank Malaba

Cactus fists that seek out peach blossom cheeks,
Iron rods red hot that seek the quench of young blood.
Eyes once luminant now shielded from your stare down.
Grins mask your Hitler-esque passion for my pain.
I am here, in this moment, feeling, tasting, immersed
In your chasm of ego fueled ignorance.
I want you to know, that even with the barrel of your
Hate pistol pressed in my throat, I breathe thru my
Loved ones and I embrace the fact that...
It Gets Better.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

I Met You But Still A Mystery by Trevor Mtimkulu

My eyes had a glimpse of beauty in a sea of faces and it wasnt  an illussion,
She stood there with a smile so bright like the corona of the sun,
Oh! how blindin' is yo essence and blindly I spell out attraction,
She,the dawn of spring givin'colour to my life,impregnantin' my heart
with feelins I later confess but deep in my mind you still a mystery.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

I’m thinking about you… by Nompilo Ncube

I’m thinking about you right now
And about what you said

The thoughts keep turning to

A fireplace, a rug and rose flavoured cocoa

Just me and you

Conversing about our world

With our hearts, maybe allowing our bodies to intertwine

I wanted to tell you something

But words failed me

You see sometimes articulation squeezes the moment out of a dream

Is it too soon?

My heart freezes at the wisdom that comes with a broken heart

Will you feel the same in a few weeks?

Will you say the same things in a few months?

But you see I know the answer that’ll come out of your lips

But I want the answer that only time can tell

And so patiently I wait

Ignoring the protests that my heart cannot survive another negligent stranger

Only in allowing myself to feel irrationally what I feel for you

Can I know with certainty if it’s you that I write letters to

God blessed me with wisdom to live life abundantly

And so my wisdom leads me to explore and live with no regrets

In every decision is a step closer to my dream

In every reckless step is the knowledge that I’m recklessly careful

And so in the knowledge that everything I do is of my own will

I hope you value that I value you

Time is no factor in the equation

If it were our lives would be meaningless in the eyes of our creator

For in seconds our lives come and go before Him

But He holds us in the highest of esteem

So in the seconds that I’ve known you

I hold you dear

Hope for the best and will n ever prepare for the worst

For in that preparation is a nightmare

Right now I’m dreaming

I’m thinking about you right now

And about what you said

The thoughts keep turning to

A fireplace, a rug and rose flavoured cocoa

Just me and you

Conversing about our world

With our hearts, maybe allowing our bodies to intertwine

Monday, October 18, 2010

Africa Sprung - a poem of longing by Fungai Rufaro Machirori

You bloomed coyly,
donning a crown of
as I
uncertain of what was to come
or how I would survive
without your shrouds
of royal purple
to reveal your Queenhood.
You bloomed,
teasing me to stay and wait and see
You fulfill your grace,
dancing down from the tree tops
onto my yielding face,
Falling evermore in love with
the royalty of your name
spelt out in my
blood and soul:
the Africa that my chest drinks in

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Depleted Mine by Lilian Dube

Living these lives, we let this wind
Do what it knows best
This dry African breeze
Blowing through our souls
Fanning the dying flames within
We mourn what we desire
But never will have-

We sit within this earthen cavity
Of an ageing mine
The prospectors have
Wept their farewell & gone
We know nothing-
But how to conjure flecks
Of gold in the thick air
Building upon swampy odor
Illusions of a future
Forgeries of the past…

Murmuring to our selves
We form on this mine’s dust,
With our chapped fingers,
Stars as those adorning
Our Eternally Sunless sky
 Dazzling as the yonder
Glorious kingdoms, whose songs
We hear enviously, at night
From a gaping distance, haunting…

The sun rises on the pure
& bloodstained alike
How pure is funeral song?
How red is Ceaser’s throne?
Be it crimson
in the reign of the deranged?
These rotting pillars of the continent!

Baobabs, trunks
That glimmer silver at night
 Yet pulps fermenting
trees hollow inside…

Our backs have been forever
Bent, weighed down
&so we sit here, our hearts
Hung on naked branches
To be numbed by a winter’s
Cold , wet wind-
Yet dreams shall last forever
&evermore: Of all the
Tarnished silver
& of all the gone gold.

Marital Please by Herbert Moyo

At first i chose to regard the rumours
As nothing more than benign tumors
Of the kind that is bound to fizzle
Like an early morning summer drizzle
But then people talked
Everywhere I walked-
Those women with huge breasts
And the men with hairy chests
Even the usually quiet relatives
Began to speak in banal superlatives,
Comparatives and all kinds of pejoratives
And so the the stories flowed and flowered
Why not when they were all powered
By the sweet waters from the well of  gossip
It was like everyone in the whole township
Had taken one giant sip
And filled to the deep
It was one hell of a show
Put up by that relentless flow
This long flashback
Puts me on the track
To relieve the past
Nobody ever forgets a cast
With such an all-star feature...

Maybe by Mthabisi Phili

Maybe i want to love you
maybe you don’t know the length of my imagination
maybe you should let the love and smile of our faces unwrap like a sweet
maybe you ought to let go a little!
maybe its about your terms maybe mine maybe
acquaintances and terms don’t matter! Maybe it’s also about how i feel
maybe its also about how i feel…

Some Of Us by Patrick Hwande

Some of us are plastic plates
Soiled by hungry sojourners
And thrown through the window

Some of us are condoms
Treasured before the job
Discarded after gratification

Some of us are endangered species
For freedom we beseech
Not guaranteed is freedom after speech

some of us are boulders
used, abused by Witty Hares 
To sink into oblivion soon after crossing

Things Fall Apart by Mercy Dhliwayo

As THE DAVIL ON THE CROSS with his own @ heart
Masquerades as A MAN OF THE PEOPLE
Though simple
Blind eyes can see the PETALS OF BLOOD
The child of NEHANDA is NO LONGER AT
EASE in these lands of SHADOWS and BONES
To cleans THE FLOODS of the blood spilled
when ANCESTORS have long predicted

the lion and his jewel are STILL GRAZING
whem the SECOND CLASS CITIZEN and no class citizen
are sentenced to eternal days in the HOUSE OF HUNGER,
with their empty bellies grumbling sounds of thunder
as they hold TALKS WITH THE SUN, pleading for new SUNS

CRY THE BELOVED COUNTRY: cry my beloved country
for yours is still A LONG WALK TO FREEDOM

Defunct hopes and dreams
sit on the ANTHILL OF SAVANA in winter’s cold
go through its many phases wondering when the ARROW OF GOD
will strike and bring about the much needed changes

WEEP NOT CHILD for the ides of Match are at hand
No longer will THE VOICE of the black child be silenced
And his home and only means of survival be destroyed
BETWEEN and reach our collective dream
be stuck in this CIMETRY OF MIND

The REDHILLS OF HOME boiling inside
And will soon erupt with an effect so wide
On his feet Chanting and singing, not the SONG OF LAWINO nor the
SONG OF OCOL but the UNSUNG SONG of freedom for all
For GODS BITS OF HOOD will no longer be

This Village by Bhekumusa Moyo

Do not think
Do not talk

Do not try to be brave
You will go to the grave

You are all his people
when he says "My people"
Nod your heads only
When he kills your people
Cry only