Les Anderson photo

 

By

Mbizo Chirasha

 

This one is a literary solidarity message to those fighting and working flat out to redeem the sexually abused girl children in the corridor township of Epworth, Harare, Zimbabwe. It is a sad record that the sexually molested girls are from the pathetic age of NINE. SAD! SHAME! ROT!.

The poems herein are also a solid message to the ruthless Zimbabwean police to release renowned journalist James Jemwa from Prison #free james jemwa and other activists. The government of Zimbabwe headed by the Mugabe family has never ceased to amaze us; they have presided over a corrupt, dysfunctional and a moral decayed system. They are busy beating and threatening VOICES OF REASON, jailing journalists, artists and activists. A country haunted by the ghost of violence, phantoms of moral decadence and goblins of untold poverty, while young girls are sexually grazed by toy-toyi thugs for a paltry 20 cents, SAD indeed!

The Parliament of Zimbabwe, the media, the police and children organizations should find ways to rehabilitate these innocent flowers for the best of our country and the future of these bright but sexually dented souls.

We today feature eleven Poets, new and established. We have two guest poets, one from Ghana and another from the Republic of South Africa.

Viva CREATIVISM Viva (CREATIVISM REVOLUTION). Brave Voices, Let your pen and your voice defend you and the suffering Zimbabwean masses.

 

 

 

 

HEKANHI WARO GUSHUNGO

(For Gushungo – totem for the despotic leader of Zimbabwe Mugabe)

 

 

Hekanhi waro Gushungo chiponda vasina mhaka
Tasvikawo penyu pamusha mushungurudzi wavanhu
Chiutsi chopwititika muHarare vana voti vajamuka
Nepwere dzine mukaka pamhino dzonongedzera yenyu nhongonya
Inga mafumuka semuroyi pahuso hwatsikamutanda
Kwenyu kusada kubva pachigaro chehushe
Muchisimbisa dzinde rehwenyu hushe nemisodzi yevanhu
Chamakadya zvino chopfuka.
Hekanhi waro Gushungo
Ropa ramakadeura pa Gukurahundi mapfupa aya zvino omuka
Ropa ravasina mhaka rakayerera 2008
Bva inga chisi hachieri musi wacharimwa
Choherereka paHarare vana havachade kubatwa huranda munyika yechipikirwa
Hwenyu hutongi kwave kuripa ngozi chaiko
Hanya nani mbudzi yekwaChivi
Zvamuchabva sembwa nhai Chiponda vasina mhaka
Chamakadya zvino chopfuka.

Zuro ndizuro makapunzika pamberi peruzhinji
Kungogara padare mokwidibirwa nadzo hope
Nyama hadzichada Gushungo
Kwave kusakara kwedoo serisakambodyiwa nyama
Mave chiseko chenyika bhurugwa ra Tarubva rinosungwa negavi
Hupfumi hwenyika yeZimbabwe makaparadza
Rinamanyanga hariputirwe ne tear gas chero mukatikandira
Misodzi yevana veZimbabwe yasvika kunaZame
Zvino ovapa kundiso
Hutongi hwenyu hwave kumawere
Chisingapere chinoshura
Hufuza hwaana Chombo kubatwa nehope chikepe chichinyura saJonah
Kudziya moto wemudzvinyiriri zvino vachanyura nemi
Chamakadya zvino chopfuka!! Vana vojamuka

 

(A Shona poem lamenting the violence, the despotism, the tyranny and the rot of Mugabe and his regime)

 

(By Nkosilathi Emmanuel Moyo, Snr – a  human rights defender who is using poetry and art to challenge the status quo in Zimbabwe)

 

 

 

 

THE RAPED FUTURE

 

 

I am the raped future

Look at me and you will understand

See the deep physical wounds

Inflicted on me by political thugs

The psychological scars of propaganda

The past and present raped me

I am the raped future

Now standing at street corners

Facing shocking unemployment levels

Waylaying travellers by the roadside

Driven by need and not greed

Selling pounds of flesh in bars and brothels

Languishing in putrid prison cells

I am the battered and bruised future

Eking a living on South African farms

Vainly evading violent arrests and detentions

Waiting and waiting for deportation at Lindela

Back home to face naked brutality

Hoping that one day the sun will shine again

 

(By Jabulani Mzinyathi – a Zimbabwean to the marrow. A firm believer in the Peter Tosh philosophy that there will be no peace if there is no justice. Jabulani is a pan African and a world citizen)

 

 

 

 

SHE IS WHAT SHE’S NOT

 

 

She is what she’s not
a bright- sprouting rose bed
for your puffed black-
horses pipe.
To spray and secrete that
vile diseased, rusty semen.
That clouds your humanity
driving you to horny insanity.
She is what she’s not!
A lotus flower thriving
poverty infested mud
pools.
For your greedy tentacles
to play fiddle with.
Play yourself not a fool
and give respect where it’s due.
Dance away from this madness
leave infants for school.

 

(By Nyashadzashe Chikumbu– A rising Zimbabwean Poet, Citizen Rights Activist and Student)

 

 

 

 

HIS OPEN LETTER TO THE PUBLIC

 

 

Dear Zimbabwe
Age has turned my legacy into a clown
Shame, misery and regret is my crown
But in a day or night I long to be a hero
A hero who I always admires
A real man who speaks the truth
A hero who feels for the public
That hero whose struggles graces the mass
But only if I was free
Only if I let you know what is behind the scene
I’m a restless soul
Once able-boded; now helpless
I admit with much regret that i made a greatest foul of my life
When I buried my real wife
When I succumbed to the seduction of a bigot Secretary
When I failed to buoy bigamy
I’m a failure of my own house affairs
Failing to nurture even these fondlings
I’m being extremely threatened; behind unseen steel bars
Axed by a Jezebel in my arms
My life is a dis-Grace; she’s pulling the strings then whipped to dance
Only if you know how I long to rest
How my heart yearns to offer people their liberty
Only if you come to my rescue; –
Be it a coup, I will shade no tears.
Take me away I need to retire
People come fight this heartless Dis-Grace
Your freedom is twice my freedom.
Fight for my dethrone
Yours in tears

Rugare Gara Mandiri (R. G. M)

 

(BY HAILE SAIZE – a Word guerilla, a fighter of human rights, a Word slinger in the Campaign against despotism)

 

 

 

 

INI Ziii ( I REMAIN SILENT- an irony)

 

 

Sepasina zvandaona
Ziii zvangu sepasina zvandanzwa.
Asi ndangoti tiyeuchidzane
Hotoki yemukwiri kuwa
Zvomusha wedu zvonyadza
Kusekwa nembwa dzose
Zvipfuva zvadunduvira neshungu
Wakataura zvonzi vakomana bataimurove
Aiwa ndezve meso
Mwoyo yonyunguduka neshungu.
Zvaonekwa nevatorwa kuti takakakira ngoma kapofu
Kupembedza inobata mai N’anga
Kunyarara zvangu wavakuipa kuno yamura mwana
Chirungurira hutenda ndati ndikosororewo pane vamwe

 

(A Shona poem lamenting the rot bedeviling our once functional and peace loving nation of Zimbabwe)

 

(By Brian Kajengo – calls  himself Mushakabvu, the lion  of the North)

 

 

 

 

THE APATHETIC GRUNT

 

 

You have been sized and striped –
numbed to a reality that
eviscerates our humanity,
growing a crime infested hinterland,
our inescapable nemesis

Blind and impervious to peril and commination.
such foolhardiness,
like a phlegmatic on a
wild goose chase

The distant rich slip their shades
Plug their ears
arm their glass cages
hoping,
“it will never happen to us”.

They strut their stuff –
horror of horrors,
such damnation is for
the poor and the rough –
all the while our
milk and honey dissipates.

The apathetic grunt
and the politician are enslaved to materialism,
bribed or buried;
untouched by dry parched land,
the hungry and homeless.
with cocked eye, they snort as the malnourished scramble for crumbs –

Statesmen gamble for that which must sustain their crystal palaces and Persian rugs;
draped with egocentric pearls of wisdom
while the beggar croons
his toon like the “lust moon-chuld”.

What will you do
when the fountains run dry;
trees yield no fruit;
The cattle die –
fish stop jumping
and your gold coins
prove impotent –

The pauperized live amongst us,
“poor” is within us
like the sweat that soils a squatter camp on a hot summers day;
Like a dog-hungry infant suckling a dried up “Zamu”.

Your refrain empowers a cunning conglomerate who milks the fattened cow,
mercilessly watching their people starve;
encamped by bodyguards,
while our women and girls are torn apart-
Obliterated
Violated
Cremated

Men of Africa –
South Africa
Zimbabwe
Mozambique

Arise,
wield your staff
pen your words
gird your loins
Strap your shield;

poverty lives amongst us,
within us
growing a crime-infested hinterland,
our inescapable nemesis.

The apathetic grunt
and the politician
with the mussolinis of our time
cock an eye
and smirk.

Amadoda

You have been silent too long.

 

 

(By Beulah Kleinveldt AKA Jambiya – an emotive writer who weaves the tragedy and victory of the human experience into a tapestry of memorable imagery and metaphor? She speaks with honesty on the spiritual and social challenges of our time. Jambiya’s works are a must read for those accustomed to the jaded perfunctory cleverness of modern wordsmiths)

 

 

 

 

HELL’S FUGITIVES

 

 

Tendebantque manus ripae amore
Not for home but the far bank,
Away from home, oh far shore!

Not the familiar for it was blank,
Bleached to bone in famine.
Not of health, of hunger rank.

Not to God, no name divine,
But to neighbour cried salvation;
From home, not sulphur and brine.

Not from Justice’s condemnation;
The putrid shadow of the law,
Her pinions hollowed with corruption.

And what of those who did not go?
Some their pleasures found fulfillment,
Vultures! their lot is to devour

Other bodies, broke and spent,
Too feeble to run to new pastures,
Though the bread no sacrament.

Some beguiled by wayward pastors,
Who preached of sin to the absolved,
Some’s old faith in ancient masters,

Too ovine to see weak bonds dissolved.
Yet some with love for home and country
A thirst to see its puzzle solved.

If never solved, if never free,
To bow untamed on matriarchal ground,
Buried ‘neath the mphafa tree.

 

 

(By Philani Amadeus Nyoni– a Zimbabwean born wordsmith. He has written award-winning poetry for the page, the stage and the screen. He has also written articles and short stories for various publications, local and international)

 

 

 

 

DIS GRACE

 

 

Disgraceful was that speech of immunity
To be vowed, a loud sounding nothing,
Just alike an empty vessel, Which whistle
To the blowing breeze, Dance to the storm
So conflicting to whisper honest or truth.

Promises meant be broken instantly
Oh! What a shame. To campaign so deceitful
Pledging wiles to the masses, concealed
Her viles to post my conscience into that
Fox trap, digged deeply, left only to agonise.

Not even graced to please any , A red devil
She is, whom depletes my prospects , Yes
She is too conflicting , Her sentiments
To have brought names, curses, shame,
Dis-Grace and instigated many conflicts.

Now it is a sour bite of the prevailing truth,
Chewing or spitting won’t craft a dissimilar,
Poised between disillusionment and discomfort,
Fate worth no laughter, Only groans , moans
Lamentation to this rinsed craft, Disguised.

In response to a humiliating incident in RSA

 

(By Wilson Wilson – a rising Zimbabwean poet, a Word Slinger and a rights Activist)

 

 

 

 

Shipwreck

 

 

In a histrionic manner I stride
With Virgo, intensions meant to be perceived
For it has been now a prolonged rough ride
To reminisce, all the zeal thwarted

For it’s now a ship in distress
At a threshold to sink for good, so incompetent,
Left without any to impress
A blot on escutcheon is the captain, so complacent

All passengers not at ease, in distraught
For it takes the beast for survival
In remorse, I weep in this jaunt
Struggling with all efforts, peddling for revival

Muddled being the situation, in the seas
Battling for the last breath, held tight the rope
How I wish the feat to have cease
Maybe someday, titanic sunk but never lost hope

 

(By Tynoe Wilson – a rising Zimbabwean poet, a Word Slinger and a rights Activist)

 

 

 

 

THE OLD EFFIGY

 

 

There used to be a man
Standing still in front of my school
He was motionless but he reached out to
Every student when they are fast asleep
In the darkest hours of the night
He wore an old rickety cap and harboured power beneath him
For he had knowledge under his feet
He stood with his one leg
Positioned on a pile of books
And the other hanging in the mid air
Like a cock afraid of losing a leg
As he darkened the whole school
With a torch in one hand
And a collation of chaotic heavens in the other
With the demons trapped in the moon
Dancing like heathen inviting Hades to dine
By tormenting children.
What a father he became!
Because he was believed to be a protector
A model to look up to
No wonder we woke one morning
Only to witness him fall
And break into pieces
He fell with such great might
That the earth trembled and heavens roared
In so much pain that the earth was flooded with tears
Because his fall was something never thought of

P K Addisu

Before the Assembly grounds,
Stood this figure
A man of history with a broken arm and legs
His frozen arm held high the torch which never shone for decades
And history could not recall
How long he stood strongly on a leg
Yet he never gave up
He had the spirit of a soldier But failed his one purpose on earth
He never made his light shone
He looked very weary and scary
But He was the only Image that beautified the school
On his dooms day,
The gods descended into one mighty man,
Gave him the weapon of Thor
Which landed him in one strong stroke
Oh what a pity! to witness his fall
It took the messenger of Zeus
Dozens of blows to befall mighty Hercules
He was treated unfairly
Like he was a cast out of heaven like Lucifer
And his mortal remains remained
Swimming in the deep gutters constructed by erosion
That was the only memory left of him
On the path that led to our mystic well
Right in front of the teacher bungalow

 

(By S Kojo Frimpong – a writer from West Africa Tema, Ghana to be precise. A lover of poetry and a reading addict)

 

 

 

 

WAKE UP AND ALIVE!

 

 

Wake up and live!
My brothers in the big house,
Have you no compassion for the little, hungry, naked children outside
Standing in the rain
Enduring the cold nights
Burnt by the scorching sun

Have you no shame
filling your bellies with cheap fattening foods
Throwing bones to your poor mothers
Who beg outside
Knocking on the door
Calling your names
Begging for a morsel of sanity

Wake up and live!
My sisters in foreign lands
Working in greener pastures
Sending provisions to your children
Yet old men hog all that belongs to the young

Who’s that man standing in the street
Yelling for the end of autocracy
Yelling for the end of “shortages” that are not in short
Yelling for the end of exploitation
Standing proud and tall
Dark in the African sun
An African son
Who’s unafraid of war
For war liberates bodies and minds
Unafraid of the looming wasps
That threaten to silence him

Who’s that majestic woman?
Standing by the kitchen door
Cooking stick in hand
Weeping for her children
Slaughtered by men who lost their way
Crying for the end of oppression
Weeping for the end of unnecessary death
Standing proud and bold
Dark in the African sun
A daughter of the soil
Throwing the cooking stick away
For a gun
Unafraid of the looming death
That welcomes her

 

(NEHANDA –  a fast rising poet , a  gender  issues  interventionist , bold and rustic, an observer of social injustices with a watch out eye for the development of mass consciousness)

 

 

 

 

PAFUNGE (Give it a thought or Think about it!)

 

 

Hero izwi kunemi vatongi.
Itai zvenyu madiro aGeorgina,
itongei iyi nyika sekuda kwenyu.
Ko munowanika neyi zvenyu?
Makaropadzwa ndimizve,
vadyi venhaka isu takaringa,
‘bva pamberi nebasa iyi nyika ndeyenyu.
Kubva Zambezi kusvika Limpopo
chamada torai,wamada pondai,
pamada garai,zvamada ITAI.
Nguva ino yose ndeyenyu DZAMARA kare.
Mukada kuti inanaire pamanakidzwa,ndimi.
Mukada kuti ibhururuke pamasuviswa,ndimizve!
Mukada kuti idududze neshure,
chikoneso handioni iwo mahanisi makapakatira.
Asika munyori Hamutyinei
ane kureva kwake muzvinyorwa zvake,hamutye nei?
Akati KUSASANA KUNOPARIRA,
chimwewo chizvarwa ndokutsinhira.
Inzwa mutinhimira manyezu nyakata:UPFIMI HUROYI!
Taiti akareva mano asi nhasi tazobvuma kuti raive idi.
Ko taiziveiko paye pakanzi KURA UONE!
Takamboti chedu hapachina apa tarangarira WAKANDIGONA WENA,
asi tariro yakadzoswazve matiri naMUCHADURA!
Vakadzi muchiita vekutibvutira kuti mukudze enyu madzinza,
nekuvachinjanisa sehanzu.
Chimwewo chipanga mazano ndokuti ndezvemeso musawane chamunoreva ndiro BARIKA REMASHEFU.
Asi nhafu dzakadai dzimwe dzenguva dzinoparira,
hatichadome nemazita umwe AKAZODZIPWA NEGANDA REMHURU.
Kuti tive nerugare tichasvawo tasosa neminzwa kwatinogara,
kuve MUTUNHU UNEMAGO
madzimai edu asati apera.
Asi chokwadi hachidiwe
ndapihwa yambiro kasingagumwe nekureva iri rangu shoko,
ndikati kumuyambiri AKANGA NYIMO AVANGARARA.
Apamazve kuti ndichenjerere chitemo chitsvetu-tsvetu,
ini nekuzvitutumadza ndikati ndingawanikwe nei,sarini?
Nezwi nyoro nyoro ndokuti CHINAMANENJI HACHIFAMBISI.
Regai tireve sekuzviona kwatiri kuita.
Tichanyarara kusvika rini ivo vachitisvotesa,
hunzi ATSVINZVINYA REGAI AKATSIKWE.
Paramende yaita ROVAMBIRA.
Tikasachenjera tichaitwa mutamarege wembada.
Kunze kuya kwaipa wamai.
KUTSIGOTSIRA rugare.
INONGOVA NJAKENJAKE muhurumende nemumapato ematongerwo enyika.
Makurukota okudza MABHINDAUKO kupfuura ruzhinji rwenyika.
Pachavo hapachina kuwiriranazve.
Vave munhange mutange yekurwira hukuru.
MUSODZI,DIKITA NEROPA zvoverera.
NDAKAGARA NDAZVIONA kuti ndiyo tambiro yavo muHOUSE OF HUNGER.
Isu ngativayevei hedu whilst WAITING FOR THE RAIN,
GUKURAHUNDI ichatisiira nyika yachena.

 

(A Shona poem depicting all the moral rot and economic decay in Zimbabwe)

 

(By Blessing Tonderai Masenga – a bold word guerilla, a fiery poet through his writings tirelessly and boldly seek to strip nude the oppression and the violations of basic human rights)

 

 

 

 

MEMORY OF MOTHERHOOD

 

 

Pain scribbled signatures in mothers buttocks
announcing the beginning of sunset
sun rays remained un vomited from the beauty of rainbows
war tied ropes of struggle round their necks
many rhymes of suffering sung and unheard
in congregations marching townships and mountains
in search of freedom seeds
seeds of their wombs yearned for freedom far to be harvested
motherhood a definition of honesty hearts
with breasts carrying scars, laughter, smiles, and hope

those dimples signatures of resilience
thighs with graffiti of bullet bruises
valleys of their backs smell blood of sons,
sons long buried in the barrel of violence
life stolen in its greenness
motherhood her hands trust red clay soil , even
during cloudless seasons
the womb that breathe rays of this dawn ,today
scribbling this memory on the walls of the rainbow
Shoulders of motherhood carried journeys and hope
how many times hope die ,rise and ripe
erase propaganda from her shoulders
delete the baggage of slogan from breasts
abort the luggage of war from her womb
bring pastures that she reap fruits of freedom
motherhood how many times you cough sorrow
how many seasons you sneeze hunger
you have eaten enough poverty
and licked the rough hand of war long unforgotten
motherhood freedom is now

 

(By Mbizo Chirasha – Founder, Editor and the Promotions Executive at Large of the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign)

 

 

 

 

The Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign