Poetry Bulawayo

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 yesterday... 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 ...

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

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. I LOVE YOU....

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… embarassed… in fear of the stigma and of prejudice that bubbles from the mouth of the co mmunity 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 co mpany 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, co unselors… 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…

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 Ogadan. 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.

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 T...

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...

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.

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.

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...

You bloomed coyly, donning a crown of glory as I left; uncertain of what was to come or how I would survive without your shrouds of royal purple unravelling slowly 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 with every breath.

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…...

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 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 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 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 Hung UNDER THE ( his ) TONGUE The child of NEHANDA is NO LONGER AT EASE in these lands of SHADOWS and BONES But we keep on WAITING FOR THE RAIN To cleans THE FLOODS of the blood spilled when ANCESTORS have long predicted THE COMING OF THE DRY SEASON THE LION AND THE JEWEL the lion and his jewel are STILL GRAZING whem the SECOND CLASS CITIZEN and no class citizen are s entenced 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 OF INDEPENDENCE to fall o ver this dark SHADOW ON THE WALL CRY THE BELOVED COUNTRY: cry my beloved country for yours is still A LONG WALK TO FREEDOM Stuck IN THE DITCH of HOPES AND IMPEDIMENTS with Defunct hopes and dreams The SLAVE GIRL and the DARK CHILD sit on the ANTHILL...

Do not think Do not talk Sh!! Do not try to be brave You will go to the grave Sh!! You are all his people when he says "My people" Nod your heads only When he kills your people Cry only Sh!!