Poetry Bulawayo

Image - jwproductions.photoshelter.com The fire ball Blazing in the sky Her rays piercing Through my sun dyed skin Calling the salty streams To race down my body Evaporating into dry air. My feet fully clad In bronze dust Like madam's stockings. My toes biting Into the familiar path That led to the water well. A bucket strategically placed On my head I remember very well, It's all vivid in my memory Playing back like the motion picture At Master's house On the canvas wall. You were seated On that rock. Starring at me Like a dish ready to be devoured. My belly was in knots, My eyes scattered all over, I lost my footing, The bucket fell Spilling all its contents. Now that I remember You left me empty Like that bucket. All my love for you Spilling out To be swallowed by sand And evaporate into dry air. Do you remember? The first time You set your eyes on me, I thought They would never leave my face But they left. Ever si...

Image - elev8.com I let the tears flow   Certainly I don’t bother to wipe them off Cause it’s not them that bother me Rather the memories that brought about the tears I cherish every tear as it reminds me of those days Takes me back to those moments,          As I count the times I have shared I count not the emotions but Each tear I won’t wipe away on my cheek Maybe I will forget you or how we meet But the tears I will forever cherish more That mirror I stand in front of Not to see myself in it Rather to see each tear as it flows swiftly Hoping I can share those moments once again Or maybe see a reflection of what we shared I won’t raise my head high Rather I bow it down with no regret As I let every tear drop gently Hoping they would gather If not on the surface maybe beneath it I would rather let them flow slowly Than to hold them back and let the emotions hold me ransom I would...

Image - freewebs.com No, I don’t smoke cannabis, don’t get it twisted Read it again, just in case you missed it Every man and his dog is obsessed with my twisted follicle That’s why I wrote this twisted chronicle I wear these locks in solidarity with my brothers who, in locks and in chains, Were packed into slave ships, exported for white man’s gain Exploited on plantations, sun up to sun down Beaten, chained, raped, gunned down Centuries later, they were dumped on an island Island of Jamaica , left to poverty and violence I twist my follicles in sympathy with my brothers, out on the streets Vagabond dread heads, rummaging in trash cans for scraps to eat I do this because the look suits me I’m making a statement, so go ahead - shoot me I do this ’cause it’s the natural state of my hair I do this because I can and, unlike you, I dare Never, once, did Shaka Zulu’s hair feel a fine tooth comb And never ever did Nehanda perm out her dome A Hin...