AP photo

 

By

Mbizo Chirasha

 

This 7^th article is a message to the reckless leadership of the Mugabe regime on its abuse and betrayal of vendors. The Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign stands by Vendors who have become the pillar of the Zimbabwean economy, they have suffered a great deal in the hands of the dictatorship. There are no jobs in the country, those in farms are short-changed and are being victimised in those factions, riddled and polarisation infested setups.

The only remaining form of employment in Zimbabwe is vending. It is not a secret that the regime collects money from vendors, touts and rank marshals to pay ZANU-PF party zealots and supporters whose main task is to intimidate the peace loving Zimbabweans to attend political rallies. It is not a secret that Vendors have for the past 20 years endured beatings, imprisonment, political victimisation and the biting economic meltdown. Mugabe is running this country because of the vendors who have remained resilient and strong in the face of hyperinflation, corruption, bankruptcy and defunct industrial economy.

We are in solidarity with the Vendors Rights Leadership, Sten Zvorwadza, like his name – (Vendors are really in actual pain). Thumbs up to vendors for their tenacity in saving Zimbabwe from collapse. Thumbs up to the heroes and heroines of the Zimbabwe economy from the Gulf, Joina City, CopaCabana to Fourth street – Harare, Third Street – Gweru, Egodini – Bulawayo to Rushinga to Masvingo to Bindura to Mutare to Gwanda to Zvishavane to Kadoma (Misika yese yomumaguta  emuzimbabwe).

Aluta Brave Vendors. Poets are standing by you. We are throwing our WORD SPEARS with the utmost courage and zeal. Aluta to the contributing word soldiers. Poets, shout out to the readers and all our fans. Viva to the guest poets Dedan Onyango and Prof Wanjohi Makhoka, thank you for the solidarity poems. Continue supporting us in any way. You can email the Campaign Team at [email protected]

Contribute and be part of the group the 100 Thousand Poets for Peace- Zimbabwe on facebook. Brave Voices, let your pen and voice defend you and the suffering Zimbabwean masses – MBIZO CHIRASHA.

 

 

 

 

MR SLUGGARD

 

 

Teary vendors
Battered and bruised
Inclined to divorce the streets
Their only survival hope
In a cursed national economic disaster
Market declined
Justice on the deathbed
Giving up the ghost
State police marauding the poverty-stricken civilians
Political gimmicks to render wantonness
No market for us to sell
Nothing for the povo to buy
The regime is not affected
They have never bought from us
They afford Gucci in Dubai
We voted with an X
Giving them the right to do wrong
Now they’re rewarding us with mockery and slaughter

 

 

(By Sydney Haile Saize – a Word guerrilla, a fighter of human rights, a Word slinger in the Campaign against despotism)

 

 

 

 

PEACE – (a solidarity poem)

 

 

Everywhere there is violence or war,
some are murdered even inside a car.
Nowadays, many folks are surviving with fright,
powerful countries showing their might.
Peace is more precious than a diamond ring,
songs of peace, all have to sing.
Without peace, national development is like daydream,
to maintain peace, all must collaborate in team

 

 

(By Sabin Sitaula – Terathum, Nepal)

 

 

 

 

TEARS OF TOMORROW

 

 

On her bowed back her son clutched on
Begging her to keep on moving,
What they called home was turned into ash
By neighbours who perceived them outcasts,
And not their people.
As they stride on in difficulty
Their bodies hived off in pain,
The sun above seems to have taken sides with their ‘enemies’
With its rays it drained them dry,
Taking away the only water that their weak bodies emitted.
On this path,
They are not alone but in hundreds they all move,
Headed to the safe neighbourhoods,
Where perhaps their people live.
On the radio transistor,
The war is now spreading like bush fire,
The country they all fought for is now burning like dry leaves,
In the airports,
Mr and Mrs ‘our leader’ boards the plane and takes off to unknown destination,
Yet in the clouds what they see down is a picture of fire razing down nation.
On her tired back she drops down,
On her numb knees, she hits the grieved ground,
As a dusty tear of tomorrow escapes her soiled countenance.

 

 

(By Dedan Onyango – a fast rising Kenyan Writer and Poet)

 

 

 

 

IN SOLIDARITY WITH BETRAYED

 

 

VENDORS – Our hands are tired of touching the scorching sun and the roasted earth
Our eyes are red with hot ashes of the present and embers the past
Our ears are deafened by radio propaganda, propaganda wiping sins of political demi-gods
With their memories blurred by the mist of ideologies and smoke of slogans
Our hearts are heavy with sand, we see black devils walking free on this earth,
Delivering flowers of empty promises, rhyming tunes of empty freedom.

 

 

(By Mbizo Chirasha – Founder, Editor, Promotions Executive at Large of the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign (Brave Voices Poetry Journal), Poets Free Zimbabwe (Miombo Publishing Journal) and PENS SHAPETHE STRUGGLE (Word guerrillas Poetry Journal)

 

 

 

 

RAIN OF TERROR

 

 

The sky was broken, the clouds perforated.
Screams, shrieks, cries leaking
through the roof.
The noise, piercing, pressing
stabbing, hard on the soft
eardrums.
The dust raining, pricking, eroding
the soft parts of the tender eyes.
Crush visit comes the bulldozer’s
hoof right through the roof.
Rats scrambling the knocked out
boxer, our shredded flesh.
Spraying red, ionised champaign
the life line of life.
that murambatsvina pandemic on
on the rampage.

 

 

(By Nyashadzashe Chikumbu)

 

 

 

 

ASK YOURSELF WHY AGAIN AND AGAIN!

 

 

Ask yourself why elections are rigged
And the least is known of mankind rights
Liberty in fetters and always in tears
The dollar died and economy in great fears
Politician so and so, cling to remain and be still
Though unwanted; overwhelmingly opposed
By the very people he still cry to dominate over
Ask yourself again why?

Ask yourself why
The socalled rulers and leaders
As David snatched Bathsheba from Uriah’s warm arms
And likewise change fondling’s particulars
Misnaming them theirs?
In Zimbabwe, do you recall Gorereza
And Peter Pamire both victims?
Then ask yourself again why?

Do you know why Makamba was detained?
Mocked
And damned untried?
Why Gideon Gono fled into exile in South Africa
And why countless sons and daughters flee day and night
To near and far nations?
Ask yourself again why?

Ask yourself why Border Gezi
Eliot Manyika
And General Mujuru are some of the skull and bone assassin scandals in Zimbabwe
Yet honoured with a hero status to rest in peace
On the national shrine?
Ask yourself again why?

Ask yourself why Suzan Nyaradzo Tsvangirai died
While Morgan narrowly escaped?
Was this a plotted road-carnage?
Then, who is who on the battle front?
I bet you STUDIO 7 have much to brief, then
Ask yourself again why?

Now ask yourself why I penned this poem
Asking you why?
Then ask yourself why you must ask yourself again and again?

 

 

(By Haile Saize I)

 

 

 

 

HOMECOMING

 

 

When we return home like birds
We will find democracy on radio

Sure. News we shall eat with us
Bullets splitting silences…loudly

We shall spill water and prayers
We shall be sad in a hungry way

We shall spill salt of this county
On veges of bitter kind, wallahi!

As we break maize breads, yes
As the radio rails against, crime

We shall eat, as we think aloud
In silence of sardines with eyes

Staring at jagged teeth, silently
As tongues talk, without words

We shall fart as radio continues
To inform all how lives, lose life

The latrine shall await our visits
As cemeteries do, a democracy.

 

 

(By Wanjohi Makhoka – a teacher, poet, translator and literary critic from East Africa)

 

 

 

 

COLOURED CLERICS

 

 

It is imperative that the
poor understand that they
have a warring advocate
who carefully watches
the manoeuvres of the
cunning strategist.

It is not that He loves
the rich less,
but more that they are
less conscious of their
need for him,
the groans of the poor
permeate the throne of God
with every rising of the sun –

But even now the poor are
no longer faithful –
their groans are not ones
of supplication but anger,
frustration at the elected leaders
who have failed to deliver them.
“God strike them”, they weep.
weak icons have placed us
in this wilderness of laborious strain”.
And the people wander far from God.
Their tiresome appeals
more a curse than praise.

*Will you save the nation even for ten faithful men?

Help Lord, for no one is faithful anymore;
those who are loyal have vanished from the human race.
Everyone lies to their neighbor;
they flatter with their lips
but harbor deception in their hearts.
May the Lord silence all flattering lips
and every boastful tongue—

Those who say,
“By our tongues we will prevail;
our own lips will defend us—
who is lord over us?”
“Because the poor are plundered
and the needy groan,

“I will now arise,” says the Lord.
“I will protect them from those who malign them.”
And the words of the Lord are flawless,
like silver purified in a crucible,
like gold refined seven times.

You, Lord, will keep the
(faithful)needy safe and
will protect us forever
from the wicked,
who freely strut about
when what is vile is honored
by the human race.**

Even the collard clergy have
led the people astray;
they compromise truth and
carve their own designs instead.
How can the blind lead the blind.
they bow their humanistic knee
before the golden calf
and worship babylonian gods.
They are the people’s leaders,
their clerical robes awash
with colour but not stained
with the blood of the Lamb.
Their souls flee at the sound
Of His voice.

*Visit the faithful Lord,
the meek and poor in spirit,
those who seek righteousness,
the mourners and pure in heart;
The merciful and peacemakers,
those persecuted for righteousness sake,
the leader whose God is the Lord
for theirs is the Kingdom of God.

 

 

(By 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)

 

 

 

 

BORN FREE

 

 

Tonight as the sun goes down

We bow our heads down

To the heroic families in the streets,

To the orphan child working hard to survive

To the poverty stricken families,

Who still know how to share

To that young soul selling,

To that young girl standing by a corner for a short time

She has to feed her family

To all the youths that never got the opportunities the deserve

 

Oh what a life!

To the old man who has never seen the magnificent buildings and streets of Harare And to those who still believe

Believe in a better tomorrow

A brighter tomorrow

Where you get a job after graduating

Where you don’t have to starve with your money in the bank

Where you can actually look forward to tomorrow

Where you can look into your child’s eyes and say

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow will be better

And mean it..

 

That is what we wish for

What we have always wished for

So let us have peace

Peace in our hearts

Born free

Free from the white man’s rule

But still living with crushed dreams

Living in silence and in fear

Fear of tomorrow

Cowering in the darkness

Like starving animals

We see ourselves become wild

I say don’t

Don’t turn away when you hear the children cry

Don’t turn away when you hear them call for you

Don’t turn away as your people die

If you still remember what you fought for

Then please don’t!

Don’t let that die…

 

 

 

(By Alfred Masunda – Poet, Founder at Avante-garde Association of Young Artists Studied at National Gallery of Zimbabwe School of Visual Arts and Design)

 

 

 

 

MAVHOTI (VOTES)

 

 

Tiza mavhoti ayo,chamboko charukwa.
Ziva zvekureva,mhondi dzave pabasa.
Raramo yacho yasunama kwave kutamba chitsvambe
Anacho ndiye anoenda
Tiza mavhoti ayo,kudhamu
ngwena dzaziya nenzara
Ramba rally,denga ripwititike
Mazuva ano kurarama kwave kutamba chisveru
Achipihwa ndiye anorova
{Singing}

 

 

(By Blessing T 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)

 

 

 

 

HONOURABLE

 

 

Do I detect some irony here

When they call you honourable

When you are bereft of honour

When dishonour is your hallmark

That word mangled beyond recognition

The foul stench of dishonour everywhere

There in your fast imported cars

When the roads are pock marked

Like the victims of small pox

When you own multiple farms

While the landless are still the homeless

When they till the now tired, arid land

Where is the honour honourable sir, madam

When all you clamour for are diplomatic passports

To hide behind diplomatic immunity grabbing and stealing

To hide in diplomatic bags the stolen diamonds

While the people of Chiadzwa wallow in poverty

When billions of dollars vanish like dew in the morning

Tell me honourable where is your honour

When this dissenting voice you brutally crush

With plastic bullets, water cannons, chocking tear smoke

When the baton does its dance of death on my soul

And when all you do is wantonly destroy flora and fauna

Do I detect some irony here honourable sir, madam

 

 

(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)

 

 

 

 

FREEDOM DISCORD

 

 

children will not go down with the sinking sun
sacrificed on altars of ambition
crucified buy forces of expediency
tear graffiti scrawling
on debris of their slums of poverty and hovels of crime
we are children born out of the hot sun of Sahara and burning sands of Kalahari
we belong to the semen and condom drunk streets of home
womb of our past explode with souls of martyrs and bones of freedomites choked by ropes of stigmatization
we are morphine -fuelled and marijuana
doped youngsters whose praise
and freedom is robbed by slogan fraudsters
we are dogs breakfasting
from cucumbers and feasting condoms for supper
children of pandemic genocided villages
slaves of sugar and blood
never fondled the breasts of freedom
licked the tears of our mothers
have no dignity to celebrate
we are souls blighted in sufferings
bring us nanobitas of democracy
not shigellas of autocracy.

 

 

(By Mbizo Chirasha – Founder, Editor, Promotions Executive at Large of the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign (Brave Voices Poetry Journal), Poets Free Zimbabwe (Miombo Publishing Journal) and PENS SHAPETHE STRUGGLE (Word guerrillas Poetry Journal)

 

 

 

 

The Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign