State Witness by Mgcini Nyoni

Image - sacredwaste.com

As state witness

I told the court

that the ones saying

they had been beaten

Had done the beating

in the rural areas

I have never been

to the rural areas.

They said if I didn’t

say what they told me

I would get more than

broken ribs.

Don’t call me a coward

One held my hand

the other held my other hand

A third crushed a log

into my ribs

A forth crushed my testicles

 for good measure

As state witness

I told the court

that the ones saying

their buttocks had been burnt

their homes had been burnt

and their wives raped

Were the ones

who had actually done those

horrible things.

Your Father II by Mgcini Nyoni

Your father

used to sit by the bridge

at the shops

smoking marijuana

The man

you call daddy

is not your father

Damn!

How I wish he was

They used to say

your father

was one of the young man

who mugged people

by the clinic intersection.

I heard they stabbed

your father to death

two years ago

in a senseless street scuffle

Your father

used to sit by the bridge

at the shops

propositioning young girls;

I now know

the incident

that produced you

was rape.

Your father

used to sit by the bridge

at the shops

drinking undiluted brandy

They say

he was stabbed to death

in a senseless street scuffle

two years ago.

Ache by Adjei Agyei Baah

Image - leolaksi.wordpress.com

The promise

Still padlocked

In my heart

Memories

Flashing back

Unending, 

I, still holding on

To our first kiss

But you have forgotten me...

Martha’s Tavern By Lilian Dube

Martha’s tavern,

The braai is a colourful affair

Someone’s burning the beef

Sipho

Is being beat up

By his wife

Jeered on by his cronies

Listening to the 7^th remix

Of DJ so & so

Converse soles upon

The polished dance floor

Sweaty boys!

Deliwe

Naked in her skirt

Smelling out prey

Pretty nose…

Infusions of warm smokes

Tobacco

….marijuana?

The cobbler is on his 8^th

And enjoying it

Eyelids of a gecko

Heavy

Wondering why

Everybody has

Two replicas in tow

&he can even feel

His beard grow-

Even Deliwe by the bar

Doesn’t look like

His brother’s daughter anymore…

Au Revoir by Mthulisi Ncube

Image - naturallyrandom.onsugar.com

A heartache
As memories unfold
Memories of the days gone by;
The times that have passed

From the time we met
You were special to me
Tears of joy did I shed
A true friend I found in you

Minutes are grains of sand
Slipping all too quickly
Through our fingers
Leaving only memories

Hot tears streak
Down my cheeks
Gullies developed
As I think of our joys
The moments spent together

How pleasant
Our days were
How savouring
Each moment was
Had I the might
I’d turn back time

Your warm heart
Will be a treasure I guard
Your radiant smile
Will linger forever

Without You
Life will be a gray expanse of matter
Without a single ray of light
Something to be endured
And not enjoyed

That distant be , but a number
Let our thoughts unite
As we met to part
So it is in parting
That we meet again

Redemption Song by Mgcini Nyoni

Image - themeaningofgospel.blogspot.com

Let her enjoy

Happiness

Affection

Peace of mind

and

an orgasm or two

Let her enjoy

Prosperity

Emancipation

Equality…

and then, Yes Sir!

You can stand as a man

When I Lose My Head by Gracian W. Masiyiwa

Image - usmalesf.blogspot.com

-

When I lose my head

I just walk a few steps, and

 don’t choose where I fall

or who picks me up

-

When I lose my head

I also lose my ears

It’s like singing to entertain

the depressed

I won’t hear you

-

When my head falls

I also lose my eyes

And can’t separate diamonds

from sand

Closed eyes are eyes lost

Only see the darkness

that’s Inside the head

-

When I lose my head

Be very careful, stand afar

For I lose my mouth too

That corrosive verbal acid

starts to escape

And wantonly spoils

Friend or foe

-

When I lose my head

Please I am not a loser

Just need picking up

When you gather and join me

Take heed not to leave joints

Do it under closed doors

If I can now twist my neck,

Without groaning

You may then leave

A Woman Called Somalia by Mgcini Nyoni

Image - independent.co.uk

The vultures are circling

we won’t last another week.

They know it

But we might:

sell your extra handbags

food for a year

get rid of your cosmetics bag

food for another year

The contents

of your rubbish bin

will last us a month

You don’t have to

but we are begging you to.

The vultures are circling

angling for my

emaciated child

We won’t last another week

unless you sell one wheel

of your Hummer

and feed us for two years:

You don’t have to

but you can;

sell one of your yachts

and feed us for five years

We are not your responsibility

we know

But you can

stop the vultures circling

by not buying the

thousand dollar shoe

or going on that expensive holiday.

We don’t mean to impose

but you can stop

the circling vultures.

Who Am I? by Mgcini Nyoni

Who am I?

A wife?

My mother’s daughter?

An employee?

A girlfriend?

The other woman?

Another ‘hot’ girl

in mini skirts

and skin jeans

and high heels.

What do I have?

An abusive husband,

A university degree

that hasn’t helped;

a lascivious boss

sees no  further

than the ‘sexy’ thighs.

Mother :

 hold on,

men are like that my daughter

marriage is not easy

Hang on

It’s going to be alright

What about his cheating ways

His abusive language

His neglect?

Who am I?

 a woman

 important.

All blind

to my importance

my work

my dreams

my aspirations

Who am I?

National Healing by Abel Phiri

Image - britannica.com

Lest 's exhume a man from the cemetery
a well built grave 
 awarded a  proper burial,
who earned one 
an unsung hero buried in a mass grave
a feckless drunkard in an improvised grave
drainage, or a makeshift grave at the backyard garden.

lets exhume a man from the grave
ask him how it is in the land of the dead
are there springs or winters ?
are there Shona ?
do they clap their hands preliminary to receiving things?
do they remember anything?
how they were  burnt to death?
or maybe they are white
they talk to in laws hands in pockets,
what components make a man when shed there is no man?
is it the flesh, mind or the soul ?

Let's exhume self from vile conspiracy
do we have flesh , medium for sharing pain
do we think of others ?
lets exhume self from vengeance
ask being how we live if soulless
if as atrocious as death
let's exhume ourselves from the grave
and ask how   we live if we are dead   

The Mango Tree by Mgcini Nyoni

The mango tree flowers again
the seeds from last year
already germinated
into young trees
and I can still taste
last year’s fruit
in my mouth
The mango tree flowers again
and all I have
is just the memory
of you saying, I love you,
forever will
and your scent on my clothes

A Stranger's Picture by Gareth Tembo

Image - www.mobiletoones.com

A flush flood carried
This picture here, now half buried
Corrupted color, soiled but a treasure
In this moment I wonder about a stranger

Dead or alive? I don’t even know that much
Could have been thrown away in drunken rage by a failed lover
Or thrown out of a wallet, stolen by a pick pocket in a rush.
Stolen by the wind perhaps to parade wonder
Or in teary lack of courage to tear it
An image of a happier times, with one departed

Is this that one whose rumors I chanced?
That one who had an affair
Or that one now in jail
Or that one who killed a girl

Is this that one now in a wheel chair
That one bewitched
That one who had become rich
Is this the picture then
Used to bewitch them?

Am An Individualist by Loice Majora



Image - forcoloredgurls.com

 I am and individualist, a lover of nature
I like to gravitate and settle towards
what rightfully and strongly attracts me,
were the truth is better than a make believe.

I do not need to be in a desperate haste,
were some succeed in desperate enterprises.
I don’t need the hectic soup, with ingredients of imperfect,
that inflames the tinder of a mortal brain.

I am an individualist,
curved by troublesome insistence and conscience.
with pain shall I erect a heaven of blue glass over myself,
disposed to strive after perfection.

I am an individualist
mixed in the thrilling and glorious hours,
that surges my heart with surface feelings.
for no man looses on lower levels by magnanimity on a higher level.

I am an individualist
who passes invisible boundaries, were there is an incessant influx of novelty into the world.
Where the bottom is solid everywhere, were false finders find faults even in paradise.
I may not be extravagant enough and may not wonder enough,
beyond the narrow limits of my daily experiences.

I am an individualist
whose exotic doctrines in foreign minds,
are bound sporadically by their codes.
To confess their griefs moderately, through infirmity of natures

I am an individualist
were a smile can be stitched, were no fatal faults of mine found,
when I chiefly fear for my expressions, it is near the bone were life is the sweetest.
I mean my life and live it, I don’t call it names or shun it,
to clear ancient harmonies.

Thoughtful by Michael Lee Johnson

Image - danheller.com

First updraft
late September
at the door

almost asleep
remembering
what I forgot at the store

my ex-girlfriend
shows up
on my doorstep
with no place to stay-
my birthday.