Poetry Bulawayo

I perform with broken ribs caught up in a sugar stampede Bruised by baton sticks stomped by booted feet A running nose remnants of teargas in my nasal passages I stand on shaky feet having walked into town A crowded bus for the return journey Buttocks of someone's wife against my groin I stand dizzy A packet of maputi for lunch The water is dirty I have diarrhoea I stink Have learnt to bath with a liter of water The smell of smoke Cooking with a thorny bush fire I stand here and talk about it I will be accused of being an imperialist stooge I need a bulletproof vest They will graduate from baton sticks to guns. After I am gone I won't rest they will set up roadblocks Harass the mourners And ask ‘where is the police clearance ?’     Previously published in the anthology FIRE IN THE SOUL: 100 poems for human rights by New Internationalist and Amnesty International.

Image - iharem.com  long before Barack Obama In 1962 my father toiled in Quincy, two weeks, no more, and saw no blacks except for two young ladies who moved like swans busing dishes in a farmer's cafeteria. Daisy badges on their uniforms announced their names, their years of service. He still remembers how throughout his meal he wanted to stand, a stranger in a seersucker suit, and shout: "How can you live here? Where, except in church, can you clap your hands in emancipation?"

Image - madamenoire.com It maybe me, but that l doubt   It is not me who sang that song; it was the song that made me sing   It was not me who said those words, but it’s the thoughts l had bottled inside me   It still is not me who was there; it is me who only stood up to myself   It still is not me who had that shadow but rather it is the shadow that had me. Trust me it wasn`t me.   It is not me but it`s the life l share with myself   It is not me who ponder with my thoughts but it’s the thoughts which take me yonder   It wasn`t me who came there but my nobility took me there   Oh that, that l did not say to you, it just came out of my mouth   The smile, it wasn`t me who flashed that smile, for it takes more muscles to smile than to frown   Then it wasn`t me who was there.   It’s not me who stood there & made you smile   For my presence does not put a smile on any face   It wa...