Miville Tremblay photo
By
Nyashadzashe Chikumbu
Medical Mayhem
A live hive buzzing with
laughter, a pot of
merriment on the stove
that soon boiled cold.
Silent a dead grave our
infirmary was, as
The King bee came to plant
flowers of rue upon his
un-expecting bride.
A man of standard he was
pure gold -his heart a
shunning 24-karat h vg.
Who liked to rule with
a wooden fist.
Always up to his malice
smile; chanting all play and
no work makes jack a
desperate boy.
The Black Plague
I’m now that unnecessary
spake of light,
on a cold winter morning.
The village drunk who
never parts with his mug,
always piping down
floods of black ink.
Never choking on the
white-creamy composition
that accompanies it.
The lonely bachelor married
to a library.
Whose wedding presents were
loud jeers – wrapped up
by a large pointing finger-
shining lunacy.
Or is it?
That ulcer sitting on the
neck of a cancer
who’s too stiff to notice.
Nyashadzashe Chikumbu
Nyashadzashe Chikumbu is a young rising poet and satirist who sees the stench of human folly with a microscopic eye. A citizens rights activist and a student looking all the way up to neurosurgery.
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