the devil at work

and now my people die
they die of neglect
arrogance is killing us
the arrogance of god given rulers
my people perish
poverty kills us by the million
while the devil enjoys the spectacle
hospitals lie buried beneath mismanagement
morgues are full of maggots
everyday my people suffer and die
tears in their eyes always
parents too weak to bury their children
the leaders are too busy to care
the devil is at work

still at it

listening to myself
listening to others
this mindless cacophony
thinking of ecclesiastes
that prophetic book
thinking of poly tricks
thinking of black and white
thinking of the american dream
thinking of illusions and lies
thinking of the white house
maybe the black and white house
thinking of the foul mouthed leaders
wondering what next they will say
that is the way it is

tumultuous times[stream of consciousness work!]

then you left in a huff
the living was getting rough
the vortex of violence
the raging fiery inferno
some say you ran away
the fire razing your home
that you had to extinguish
in the still of the night
you left for another country
that country called exile
there to face horrors of rejection
family ties brutally severed
the turbulence within
today the tumultous times still
the news from what was home
what is still home to you
the mind gripped by anxiety
the bags you pack and unpack
hearing of the fragile peace
hearing of self seeking politicians
your mind in turbulence still
conflicting stories reverberating
throwing your mind into a whirlpool
trying to bridge that gap
the gap between the truth and lies
the tumultous times dog you still
well you are not alone in this
the tired masses back home wait
dying in anticipation of respite
retaining that resilience still
swallowing that drug called hope
trying to look back into the future
yearning for a lustrous future
wondering whether the trust is misplaced
wondering whether the leopard changed spots
for the first cut was the deepest
for the cock will always crow
and the dove will always coo
waiting in anticipation of the good times
when the wounds will heal
when the african laughter will resonate
and the world will join in the fun

TWO POEMS FROM TURBULENT TIMES!

BARE FACTS

where do we fit
this scheme of things
these dog fights
the thugs at the helm
their concubines in tow
the fight for privileges
that is the whole story

NO DROWNING

never to drown these thoughts
drown these thoughts in euphoria
still in love with socratic scepticism
questioning the answers they give
espousing chameleonic caution still
nothing wrong with doubting thomas
the tortoise will complete its journey

A HERO

the story shall be told
the story of your villainy
how you refused to be a hero
then you stood at the cross roads
turned against the wailing masses
decided to go for the thirty pieces of silver
decided to get medals for buffoonery
the story shall be told
your children shall bear the curse
the trumpet of revolution is sounding

TOWARDS THE ABYSS ?

where are the God fearing leaders?

where are the true patriots?

where is that fountain of altruism?

where are you now nation builders?

what is the root of this avarice?

MARCHING ON

this is no time for lullabies

no, not at all

this is no time for euphoria

this is vigilance time

stay awake all you artists

be the beasts of burden still

remain the nation's conscience

though dirges may subside

do not let praise singing take control

the dangers of a personality cult

the dangers of unbridled power

the militarisation of our institutions

have you forgotten already

wake up men of time, wake up

this is no time for slumber

the future is calling, answer now

THE RAPED FUTURE

i am the raped future
look at me and you will understand
see the deep physical scars
inflicted on me by political thugs
the psychological scars of propaganda
the past and the 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 bruised and battered future
eking a living on south african farms
vainly evading violent arrests and detention
waiting and waiting for deportation at lindela*
back home to face naked brutality
hoping that one day the sun will shine

* a prison in south africa.illegal immigrants arrested in johannesburg are usually held at lindela while awaiting deportation.

RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION POEMS

THE MIGHTIER ONE

someone forgot to tell the emperor
maybe someone misled him
could it have been his obduracy
all that raving and ranting
then the basics were abandoned
that the pen is mightier is known
in the beginning was the word
the donkey jaw bone came later
the sling and the stone too
the gun can never be mightier
who led the emperor into this abyss

THE GREAT BETRAYER

that bitterness is understandable
that betrayal is quite apparent
then you ran with the hares
and hunted with the hounds
the opportunist you have always been
those accolades they showered you with
the medals they pinned on your chest
the overlord they turned you into
the leopard had not changed its spots
you had taken the thirty pieces of silver
a perpetual guest at their banquets
those high sounding titles they gave you
those trinkets that blinded you to our suffering
today you drag us along into your schemes
still you pull wool over our eyes
your self preservation becomes our business
not all fall prey to your machinations
those machinations will not hold sway

VANTAGE POINT

the podium

the pulpit

pedestal placing

warped ideas

demagogues at it

QUESTIONING NON-INTERFERENCE

how long shall you stand there
stand there with folded arms
stand there in deathly silence
there with your caged pity
seeing the father next door turn monster
taking his wife for a punch bag
feeding his children on dog shit
making them drink his alcohol laden urine

EXORCISING THE DEMONS! poem 1 killing season poem 2 repeat performance 3 no part in the charade

thugs at the helm
spattered brains
deaths at the door steps
the sadism everywhere
murder in the air
rising waves of brutality
deserted homes
fires gobbling up homes
those wailing souls
in the steel grip of evil
evil seemingly triumphant
killers on the loose
fatal scythes everywhere

a real possibility

the same sad somg

new singers on stage

exhibiting the scars

claiming saviour status

mercenary tendencies ahead

champions of our struggle

claiming those privileges

forsaking the greatness

forsaking lessons in humility

to desecrate that blood

to give the devil pleasure

to appease the vampires

to steal from the poor

to find pleasure in pain

these fingers shall bear no stain

the stain of the blood

the blood of my slain people

TWO POEMS COMPOSED 21 AND 22 JUNE 2008 RESPECTIVELY

politicians and priests

the dominance submerges discussion
that elevation to the podiums
the raping of the mesmerised audience
those that submit to your machinations
listening to your befuddling poly-tricks
listening to your self righteousness
politician and priest cast in the same mould
thriving best where fear spreads
but listen now to this ant voice
that ominous warning: beware the ides of march
that myth of your invincibility shattered
king owl's horns exposed for what they were
that folk tale still holds that lesson

VICTIMS

driven by dreams of egoli

that place of elusive gold

that place of the elusive rand

driven from the burning home

evading the murderous gangs

evading the man eating crocodiles

the real possibility of drowning

scavenging for an existence

still chasing after those illusions

jumping from the frying pan into the fire

the shacks razed to the ground

the gruesome deaths in the ghettoes

the victims of the victims

the real foe remains unscathed

like amoeba the poverty multiplies

THE DECAPITATION

to you i would come
just for a pinch of salt
that mirth across our fences
today it's all gone
gone like dew in the morning

to me you would come
no fire in your hearth
today my home to the ground razed
trapped in the fiery inferno
the wailing of my children

SWEEPING

wield the broom now
sweep out the garbage
these polluted minds
minds brimming with corruption
even men of the cloth
there below the cross
the horror show is on
not one seems spared
fornication even in the church yard
hiding beneath mounds of hypocrisy
now wield the broom
this nation under strangulation

GRAND VISION

not delusions of grandeur
not just an illusion
that is not a mirage
a profound vision
that looming greatness
anointed by the maker
called for a mission divine
the children in bondage
breaking those chains
spreading this message
chanting down jericho walls
babylon crumbling like a sand castle

VIBRATIONS OF VIOLENCE

dying bulawayo

sense of smell smote
stench of urine and shit
pronounced in the city centre

sense of sight smote
everywhere garbage mounds
right there in the city centre

evidence of neglect exhibited
the decadence and decay in the city
bulawayo slowly and painfully dying

the shadows moving about
stinking business deals conducting
oblivious of mounds of trash

[BULAWAYO is the second largest city/shitty in zimbabwe]

VENCEREMOS

in cheap t-shirts clad
fed on alcohol and drugs
spreading the web of fear
propping dangerous personality cult
messengers of death everywhere
kith and kin bludgeoning to death
one song must be sung
every other song is dung
waves of intolerance spreading
chaining those desiring freedom
out of this morass our lives
bursting out of the bud of poverty
between the hammer and tongs of hardships
fashioning real men and women

[ connectivity is proving to be a hassle really. it is for that reason that this blogspot is not being updated with the regularity it has always had.i vow to soldier on in spite of these difficulties.this and future generations must know what is behind these works.i am not a quitter.i will surmount these difficulties.hope is the drug that will cure us of the disease called despair.i live in the garden of inspiration.i must accomplish the mission that my maker has set for me.travel then with me on this long journey.backsliders we will not tolerate! enjoy these works.do not sing songs of praises where these are not due.sing the dirges where there is need.failure to sing the dirges is what has put us where we are now.listen!]

IN THE HANDS OF EVIL

bombarded by those images
images of gloom and doom
images of hopelessness everywhere
questioning our collective conscience
the media stands accused
fanning fiery fires of xenophobia
stand up men and women of conscience
the verdict is indeed yours

POEMS ON THE THIN LINE BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE

WALKING THROUGH HEART ACHES

tears ordinary
they do not move me

con-artists abound
parading their tears

tears of blood
maybe their uniqueness

tired of cheating games
then i move on

OUTSIDE

that door you slammed
'bang' in my face
that was it

then you shut me out
pushed me away
violently shoving me

the joy on the outside
that i began to accept
enjoying it even

now you try to reach out
trying to embrace me
maybe i belong to the outside

GONE SOUR

when it becomes oil and water
read the writing on the wall

kick heartaches in the face
with raised head move on

see the silver lining
that dark cloud drifts away

those wounds now heal
fresh love is on the way

SOMETHING NOTHING DIED

take your affection elsewhere
something that never was died
thought it was called love
but that infatuation long died
call it the dawning of reality

THANKS TO THE DAUGHTERS OF ZEUS.THANKS TO THE FATAL ARROWS OF CUPID!THE FOLLOWING POEM HOWEVER IS INSPIRED BY EROS.

TO ANOTHER DANCER

it is that time again
the time for a new dancer
hear the sweet melodies
the dancers' nimble feet
the latent sweetness
there is no audience here
for it is a private dance
kept from prying eyes
that dance is sacred

ERASING MY MEMORIES

mutabaruka then you moved me
to take up arms against apartheid
the killings in soweto, in sharpeville
the bombing of exiles in zimbabwe
the bombings in mozambique
the bombings in zambia and elsewhere

peter tosh you moved me to tears
moving me to fight against apartheid
that callous jailing of nelson mandela
the hanging of little talked of poet benjamin moloise
the mysterious death of steve bantu biko
the shameful slaying of samora machel
the deaths of all heroic sons and daughters

how can i forget dennis brutus
choose to forget ruth first
choose to forget umkhonto we sizwe
separate me from that struggle
that african struggle for freedom

these attacks on so-called foreigners
the smell of burning human flesh
those all too familiar photos
the infamous necklacing of fellow victims
fellow victims of poverty, ignorance and disease

the shocking violence on fellow africans
the displacement of fellow citizens
europe dismantles her borders
we slavishly cling to colonial legacies
who alienates me from my struggle
who seeks to erase my memories

IN THE GARDEN OF INSPIRATION[POEMS]

THE EXORCISM

see the dark clouds
the dark clouds of evil

the air is humid
ubiquitous hate speech

what now nation builders
all the mudslinging

listen to the statesmen
their words pure venom

frothing at the mouths
no distinction between opponents and enemies

to the throne by any means
murder, rape,kidnapping

the nation lifeless
in the web of fear

see the dark clouds
the dark clouds of evil

the thunder of their oratory
the lightning of poverty

satisfying their evil egos
nothing for us in all this

we refuse to be cannon fodder
refuse to be pawns in their games

RED CARPET

when they roll out the red carpet
then my heart skips a beat
taught to revile the colour red
that i could be struck by lightning
that it symbolises death and destruction
they walk on the red carpet
the blood of the sufferers under their feet

NO LOOKING BACK

the echoes of your words
chenjerai hove i hear them
i wanted to be scorched first
then i would know fire burns
to the medicine men i went
asked for that unique gift
to see ghosts and goblins
today i am stuck with that gift
the medicine men cannot take it back
the ghosts and goblins i still see

GOING ASTRAY

i cannot stand by and watch

watching my people going astray

watching my people making the wrong choices

that is not the way of the liberator

that is not the way of the leader

anointed by the mighty gods

my people are perpetual minors

cannot tell right from wrong

they listen to the wrong gospel

spread day and night by little dots

my people cannot choose this way

that leads them to the chains of slavery

that leads them to the bondage

the bondage of colonialism

i know what is right for my people

they will only prosper under my rule

i cannot watch them waste their votes

wrought through a bitter armed struggle

woe unto those that lead them astray

taking the sheep from the shepherd

BEYOND THE HOPELESSNESS

will time heal these wounds

these wounds inflicted on me

inflicted by my own flesh and blood

will time heal these wounds

inflicted by my brothers and sisters

while my parents ululate

will that laughter die

the laughter of foreigners

those laughing at our foolishness

what lessons shall we learn

perfecting the instruments of torture

that we are less human

what lessons shall we learn

that dangerous claim to superiority

that we can pick up the broken pieces

pick them up and move on

THE OBDURATE ONE

smack in the face

truth delivers a back hander

jolting you to your senses

obduracy has the better of you

then your raving and ranting

a fish out of water

your life fast dissipating

you and the people

the impossibility of blending

water and oil cannot blend

procrastinating the inevitable

revolution time is here

ASSAULTED DREAM

that dream severely assaulted

severely assaulted by those bereft of thinking

those that seek to erase our memories

memories of the african struggle

the struggle against those crimes

those crimes against humanity

the crimes of slavery,colonialism,neo-colonialism

that dream severely battered by those miscreants

treating fellow citizens like vermin

pleasing those that doubt our humanity

that inherited dream severely assaulted

the dream of our greatness

the dream inherited from our patriots and our matriots

the lofty dream of a great africa

not this rich africa that feeds foreign children

this continent rich in resources yet wallowing in poverty

wallowing in this abject poverty all around us

this poverty that makes us pawns in evil schemes

those evil schemes that make us our own enemies

the dream shall live on forever

time shall heal this deep wound

the time for that healing is now

hear the trumpet of hope now blowing

POEMS ABOUT THE XENOPHOBIC ATTACKS OR WHATEVER YOU CALL THE ATTACKS

THE DEEP SEA AND THE DEVIL
the drought and hunger
shocking levels of unemployment
the ominous emptiness
mounds of dead and decaying dollars
jumping out of the frying pan

marauding gangs of robbers
the man eating crocodiles
turbulence in the limpopo river
the search for the elusive rand
dreams of Egoli now nightmares
the smell of death everywhere
jumping into the fire again

THE UNWITTING PROXIES

wielding axes, pangas,pistols
an asssortment of weapons

the blood spilling
the proxies at it

those deep divisions
that legacy to the fore

the reverence for the madness
the 1884 madness

2008 AFRICA DAY PRESENT

africa day present from south africa
the burning,looting and killing in glee
from the victims of apartheid
who yesterday sought refuge
who today forget their africanness
another truth and reconciliation commission
to expose the present day murderers
the inexplicable mayhem in the ghettoes
that black blood continually spilled
what is this now children of the rainbow nation
the blood of your kith and kin wails
the mark of the beast plain to see
your 2008 africa day present south africa
the deafening silence of progressive forces

SHATTERING THE DREAM

those lofty dreams
that spirit of pan africanism
this major set back
fiery fires of xenophobia
hear the wailing african children

south africa see the shame
the scorn is upon you
whose song is this you sing
what became of the rainbow
today the colour red only

the deep respect for colonial borders
what has become of the african renaissance
what wiry, ghoulish hand is this
the primeval beast devouring us
turning dreams into nightmares


i am nauseated by the xenophobic attacks that are perpetrated on the so-called foreigners by some south africans.

these xenophobic attacks are a major blemish on the whole of south africa.i wonder how south africa will clean its soiled image.its image has taken a serious battering through the senseless attacks on the so-called foreigners.

i say 'so- called foreigners' because i do not believe that i am a foreigner in any country in africa.my thinking is simple.the borders that we so tenaciously cling to are a foreign creation.in case some south africans do not know this let me say it clearly.our fore parents were not consulted when the looters' conference was held in berlin , germany in 1884!

zimbabwe and south africa are merely divided by a river called the limpopo.it is as simple as that!we have social,cultural,economic,political,geographical ties that are somewhat unbreakable despite the despicable and nauseating xenophobic attacks we are currently witnessing.

when south africa was under stinking, oppressive apartheid rule there were many who fled from persecution at the hands of the brutal and subhuman regime.those that fled to neighbouring countries like zimbabwe,zambia,mozambique were given refuge.this is a fact and not fiction.ask thabo mbeki himself .

i write this out of righteous indignation.the madness must simply stop.the plotters must be snuffed out and dealt with accordingly.the attacks are not at all spontaneous.they are well calculated and very well sponsored.the attackers are merely pawns in a dangerous game they remotely understand.they have lived with the so-called foreigners for many years and peacefully.the disadvantages have been with south africans for a long time. the xenophobic attacks are a new phenomenon with a hidden agenda.

divide and rule the africans.show them that they cannot tolerate their own kith and kin from elsewhere on the continent.maybe take the world cup from them for they are worse than beasts!

south africans wake up and smell the coffee!

shattered dreams

rainbow nation in shame
red is the dominant colour
the blood of other african children
the pan african dream dented
shaming the african renaissance
turning to garbage those struggles
that african emancipation going to waste
a wiry, ghoulish hand behind it all
a primeval beast devouring our dreams
in the vortex of violence steeped
the divide and rule tactics still here
african revolutionaries scorned
the rainbow swallowed by deep darkness
what rainbow nation to talk about
the refuge in other parts of africa forgotten
the devil having his human barbecue
where to african renaissance

DEVOID OF SUBSTANCE

the blips and blunders not new
the denial of that scourge
add to that the beet root suggestion
a legacy of buffoonery dogging you
a matter of life and death it is
writing your own thesaurus or dictionary
it is no crisis at all to you
maybe you wanted to term it a catastrophe
sorry we misunderstood your reasoning

the maggot infested corpses along the limpopo
having fallen prey to even your dogs of war
the meals for the man eating crocodiles
the stench of xenophobia there for you
maybe you are deeply cocooned
get a new term for the xenophobia
get your spin doctors to coin more denial
the stories wil be told of your blundering

COMPATIBLE

a square peg in a round hole

a rat and cat friendship

blending water and oil

hear my lively ululation

the hyena and the goats at peace

a round peg in a square hole

the height of perfect blending

TALK IS CHEAP

that question irrelevant

then you answered it

ever the philosophical one

told her to go to hell

enthusiastically she went



staring death in the face

harangued by the prayers

fervent prayers of apostates

talk is very cheap

thought they had you



she did not listen

that out of place turd

the roots could not succumb

that concerted uprooting

bask in the glory of victory

THE NEW DANCE

the stylus is stuck

the monotony of it

the mad man does his dance

the ululation continues

the mad man still at it

the new dance is yet to begin

new dancers in the wings

waiting for their chance

surely they will dance

[this poem is dedicated to all progressive zimbabweans]

BAD MOUTH COMRADE

spewing those caustic words

bad mouthing the future

regret will be your seat

there you will wallow

in the murky water of shame

blinded by those trinkets

steeped in our blood

enjoying those stolen fruits

watered by our misery

ever heard of the last laugh

ever heard the wisdom

what goes round comes around

the lessons plain to see

TAKEN HOSTAGE

the children wailed long and loud

the terrorists were at it

killing and maiming those that dared

those that dared to challenge the shitstem*

not one lifted a finger to help

the hostages had long been taken

voices in the wilderness warned

the perils of the personality cult

the hostages were dying in droves

putrid policies of non interference

in the steel grip of paranoia

the cowards lashed out viciously

voices cry out in the wilderness

the killing becomes addictive

the unprecedented levels of paranoia

in droves the hostages are dying

who will come to their rescue?

[shitstem means shit system]

DERANGED

for the umpteenth time

saying this same message

we are in this psychiatric ward

hear the demented voices

the hallucinations abound

cacophony of deranged voices

the unprovoked attacks everywhere

hear the demented voices

THE WRITING ON THE WALL

gripped by that euphoria

you did not take stock

that trap set for the mouse

then even the elephant met its end

alarm bells were ringing

the knife that cut the wedding cake

the bride it sent packing to the grave

warned you of the unbridled greed

warned you of the excesses of power

the warnings drowned in your accolades

see now their contempt for the people

hear the vibrations of arrogance

the ballot transformed into the bullet

gang raping of the nation

the trauma plain to see

the meek equated with the weak

robbery carried out in broad daylight

even witches and wizards have shame

that wheel has turned full circle

the writing is there on the wall

SHITSTEM CRUMBLING

the residue of the nocturnal activities

the pungent smell of urine

threatening waves of despair in the mind

human excreta in sanitary lanes

throwing the mind in turmoil

the signature of failure evident

mastering a new art on the streets

dodging the mounds of garbage

this could be the new civilisation

am dragging myself from despair

failure can never be an option

*shitstem stems from shit and system.i learnt of it from the music and interviews of the late winston hubert mackintosh[peter tosh].it is a 'word' used to express dissatisfaction with misrule or mismanagement.let the progressive dictionaries of the world carry the word!languages cannot remain conservative.change the shituation[shit situation]

CHAMPIONS OF STRUGGLE

they immerse themselves

immerse themselves in the blood

that sacred blood of the slain

those slain searching for liberty

scythed by those privileged

seeking status quo maintenance

in the lap of luxury living

they immerse themselves

immerse themselves in the blood

that blood spilled for freedom

arduous battles they claim

gruesome tales they tell

the champions of our emancipation!

the rest of us labelled spectators

watching gladiators in blood curdling duels

heroes sing songs of self praise

TO A SLUT

that racist shit
you threw into my meal
your alcohol drenched mind
that lump in my throat
you, opening the healing wound
those centuries of oppression
that was not kindergarten material
not one could restrain your foul mouth
the stench pervaded the bar
sucking all into the vortex of violence
you sang the wrong and discordant tune
making the blood of my ancestors boil
civility got the better of me
could have pounded you to pulp
you took advantage of the achilles heal
that makes the victim apologise
that makes me extend the hand
extending the hand of reconciliation
for me to be smote again and again
that pool of patience is drying up

POLITICIANS LIKE NAPPIES HAVE TO BE CHANGED OFTEN AND FOR THE SAME REASON!

PEOPLE' SERVANTS

the dog fights
juicy bone at stake
that is the bottom line
falling over each other
just to be servants
the masses are the masters
feeding on the crumbs
falling from servants' tables
the left over masses
the rest decimated
wallowing in squalor
feeding from garbage bins
just take a look

WARPED STORY

the story is warped
that reversal of roles
the servant is master
that story is warped
the leader is master
pampered by the servants
living in abject poverty
drinking dirty water
smote by hunger and thirst
the ubiquitous shack dwellers

HEY![WHEN THE WARRIOR POET IS NOT FIGHTING AGAINST EVIL IN HIGH AND LOW PLACES!]

SWEETLY CHAINED

ensnared by your sweet charms
am a willing prisoner
up the hills and down the valleys
at your sacred well
there i will quench my thirst
the taste of your cooking
i may not just be a passerby

KEEPING THE FIRE BURNING

tasting the sweetness
the sweetness of imagination
kindling the love fire
keeping wintry nights at bay
longing for a tight embrace
for you are miles away
seeking solace in poets' words
loneliness makes the heart grow fonder
longing to be with you
sharing our hopes , fears and dreams
listening to our profound thoughts
sharing the sweetness of togetherness
kindling that love fire forever

TO YOU WOMAN

that day i remember
clearly etched in my mind
you walked in through the door
the swish swash of your dress
then i instinctively looked up
the fragrance of your perfume
then my nostrils twitched
your dazzling, sparkling teeth
there and then i was hypnotised
speech then deserted me
then your sing -song voice
and i was dumb struck
your voice caressed my soul
then i gave you dominion
the eloquence of my silence
then i knew you would be mine
all i could say was 'good bye'
i still yearn to see you again
forever you will cast away my pain

POLY TRICKS [OR IS IT POLITICS] POETRY AT WORK

promises and lies

on the podiums
the con-artists at it

hear the oratory
the dew-like promises

their henchmen at it
in towns, cities and villages

gratuitously dispensing violence
pleasing the sadistic masters

con-artists with poly tricks
raping the people again

those bags of poly tricks
the demise is at hand


once bitten

out of their cocoons
sleeping in huts on reed mats
throwing trinkets like confetti
the floods of sweet promises
opportunists and their henchmen
giving rides in fast imported cars
building the false consciousness

then the deathly silence comes
the broken or forgotten promises
the richman's heaven is the poorman's hell
with their concubines wining and dining
elsewhere the whirlwinds and dust
they are gone, gone for a long time

to a nutty professor

then you had incisive thoughts
delivering telling blows
the thunder and lightning of protest
then you tasted the evil candy
joined the obscene wining and dining
the songs of praise submerged the dirges
[will you say you were the cancer?]
din of doubt in our minds
that protracted assault on independent thought
the truncheons outpaced thought
those draconian pieces of legislation
that we forever bitterly remember

jilted lover

the sweet caresses
the succulent love making
a match made in heaven
seemingly eternal bliss

then the promises and lies
the fire died then
the jilted lover on the rampage
holding onto illusions

the dawning reality
blows and kicks replace caresses
rival suitors bruised
erstwhile lover raped!


bird of prey

despondency like a bird of prey
in its claws holds our hopes
tearing to shreds our aspirations
devouring our cherished future

but look at our resilience
the vampires cannot hold sway
ours is a righteous fight
throw the heavy armour away

could these be the days of old
the days of the sling and the stone
the days of the donkey jaw bone
the fate of the jericho walls

that hope refuses to die
that bird of prey is smote
hot lead pierces its heart
the chicks grow unharmed

gods ahead[poem one] and emancipation day[poem two]

down on our knees we go
worshipping those little gods
the insatiable gods of lust
the lust for power
insatiable lust for sex
the insatiable lust for nicotine
the little gods in our safes and wallets
the songs of praise we sing
the shrines we build for the gods
there is our demise
that is how the gods reward us

poem two

garland of human skulls
striding majestically to podiums
diarrhoea speech noone has ears for
cheered on by gaunt, derelict skeletons
then a deathly silence reigns
the great wizard at the banquet
sumptuous meal of human liver
drinking human blood for wash down
muffled voices of gaunt, derelict skeletons
the voices will reach a crescendo
the invincibility of king owl now a myth

JABULANI

justice is what i yearn for
and on that there is no compromise
better take flight you wicked ones
uncompromising is this fighter
lashing out viciously at vampires
annihilating the ubiquitous evil schemes
not pandering to the whims of the wicked
in the perpetual struggle for justice


the first letter of each line[read downwards]spells out my name:jabulani[rejoice or be happy]
i wrote these lines to constantly remind mysef and others that i am a child of the struggle against evil schemes wherever they are.[talk of the struggles in palestine.afghanistan,iraq,tibet,zimbabwe,south africa,sudan,nigeria hey everywhere where there is a struggle for justice.]injustice is what i detest most.justice is what i yearn for.come help me sing this song of righteous indignation!

ART AND CRISES

there is something very strange about the connection between art and crises.some of the greatest works of art have emerged during times of crises in human lives.

maybe this is what led shimmer chinodya[zimbabwean author] to say,'writing is drawn more towards pain than happiness.'i strongly believe he was correct when he made a statement to that effect.

the repression in czarist russia seems to have made the creative juices of writers like nikolai gogol flow.i have read his short story entitled ' the great coat'.it is a great story which essentially is a serious indictment of czarist bureaucracy.

the witty play' the government inspector' by the same author is satiric of the corrupt tendencies of russian public officials in that era.

in respect of visual arts[painting in particular] i am aware of the painting 'guernica' by pablo picasso.it evokes images of what happened during the nazi bombing of guernica, spain.the tragedy inspired picasso to paint 'guernica'.

closer to home[zimbabwe] i have read some of the works of malawian poets jack mapanje and frank chipasula.the crisis that banda was in malawi inspired these poets to compose poems that leave one mesmerised.just leaf through the pages of 'of chameleons and gods' by jack mapanje and whet your appetite.the hard hitting works of frank chipasula in 'whispers in the wings' will leave you nodding in agreement that art thrives where crises abound!

back home[zimbabwe]i still can recall the hard hitting lyrics of the songs of dr thomas tafirenyika mapfumo.the crisis that rhodesia was,greatly inspired this musician.even post independence the numerous crises bedevilling zimbabwe made him compose songs with prophetic lyrics.

i do not know what the great debacle on election results in zimbabwe has yielded in terms of works of art.when the crisis is over i will seek to coordinate the publication of works of art created during this other sad chapter in our history[herstory too].i am almost certain that our artists[myself included] are busy.the creative juices are flowing in the midst of this ominous chaos!

WARPED MINDS

[poem dedicated to the child soldiers used as pawns in mindless wars in africa.]
the village playground robbed
the resonating laughter is gone
young minds are now warped
the sacrosanct is profaned
unbridled lust for power
that is reigning supreme
with the aid of mind bending drugs
children turned into primeval beasts
children robbed of their innocence
turned into merchants of death
shooting, killing, burning and looting
evil men and women at the helm
sipping coffee and tea in plush offices
the unbridled lust for power
the village playground is robbed
the vibrant african laughter is gone
now is the redemption time

a collection of poems written on the same subject

hear no evil, see no evil

cold and desolate at home
no fire in the hearth
just the chocking ashes
the demented parents
children fleeing from home
the very best of our minds
boosting and boosting your fortunes
blinding you to the crisis
the neighbour's house on fire
yours too may be to the ground razed
advocate of african renaissance
listen to the teachings of african philosophers

to an african renaissance advocate

no wonder they kicked you in the butt
then i had not understood your bungling
did not know of such shocking buffoonery
the vampire sucking our precious blood
building your economy on our suffering
draining our home of the future
the vibrancy of our youths sucked dry
the farms prosper on our cheap labour
nothing to show for the gold, diamonds,platinum
just broken backs, chapped hands and tb
our youths turned into food for the crocodiles
the insatiable limpopo swallows our future
in your dictionary or thesaurus this is no crisis
the poor man's hell is the rich man's heaven
the pages of history will reveal your villainy
your narrow mindedness will be plain to see
deep down into the trash can of history
that is where you firmly belong

absence of conscience

our people shall never forget
the baffling buffonery you exhibited
the hour demanded men and women of conscience
yet you wined and dined with the devil
blinded by your warped pan africanism
that condones black on black violence
condoning that to spite the west
that shocking shallowness of thought

our people shall never forget
your pipe smoking befuddled mind
the whisky fumes in your mind
the crazy word games you played
condemning the future of our nation
your name shall be synonymous with hypocrisy
you shall be a subject of ridicule
for you we shall forge a breast plate
'dim wit' shall read the inscription

dishonest broker

even among your people
forever your name will be soiled
stoutly refusing to stand by them
stubbornly refusing to help their kith and kin
those daily playing hide and seek
running away from daily deportations
a subject of debate you shall be
in the university lecture theatres
in the faculty corridors
in the bars, streets, everywhere
did you get a platinum mine
perhaps vast tracts of arable land
the manna like diamonds perhaps
like a sore thumb it shall stick out
the truth we shall soon know

DWARFS

Propagandists at it
Weaving their evil webs
Trying to capture our minds
Our skeletons on the outside
Repelling the protracted assaults
The people march on
See the short memories
That stolen revolution
Now back to haunt them
The dwarf lives of lies
Bayonetted by the truth
Cunning opportunists kicked
Kicked into the trash can of shame
The wretched miscreants
Self seeking disciples of Narcissus
Lessons abound in history
That will cannot be held back

TO THE WORLD

this blazing fire gobbles our home
the children wail with no end in sight
the parents die of despondency
our lives have been reduced to rubble
you sit in your ivory towers
all you do is dabble in cheap talk
you drink coffee and tea while we die
sadc where is the good neighbourliness
the un where is the lightning behind the thunder
the au where are you in this scheme
how long shall we be in the wilderness
how long should evil triumph
how long shall you be indifferent
how long shall this primeval beast hold sway
maybe the answer lies in divine inspiration

ANSWERING A QUESTION

Dambudzo Marechera through one of his characters once asked,'Why is it that every revolution results in the alienation of its artists?'

Today I try to answer that question by stating that it is not really correct that the revolution results in the alienation of its artists.

What I have observed is that most revolutions are hijacked by very well schooled cunning opportunists.These are the wolves in sheep skins.Look around and you will see them.Listen carefully and you will hear them.The opportunists masquerade as the true revolutionaries.They have all the revolutionary talk but their actions show otherwise.Bob Marley would sing,'Talk is cheap.'

When the opportunists take over they trash the revolutionary artists.The revolutionary artists become anathema to the new scheme of wickedness .That is on the one hand.On the other hand there is the deliberate and concerted promotion of a wave of mediocrity in the form of artists[opportunists] who sing praises to the opportunist class of rulers!

Dambudzo Marechera I rest my case and I hope that I have answered your question.

WITCHES AND WIZARDS AT IT

waves of anxiety
relentlessly pummelling our minds
quicksand of despondency
threatening our hope
giant waves of anxiety
tightly gripping this nation
the looming abyss avert
the ominous personality cult
there is a price to be paid
reason knocked loudly
there was no welcome at all
together diffuse this bomb
these spirits yearn for freedom

books that i have been reading over the past few months

over the past few months i have been reading the following books:'angela's ashes 'and the sequel' 'tis ' both by frank mccourt.also i have been reading ' we never make mistakes' by alexander solzhenitsyn.i have also read for the umpteenth time 'of mice and men' by john steinbeck.

the work by frank mccourt rings a bell.the work reminds me of my own upbringing in the colonial style township of ascot , gweru,zimbabwe.with others like me in this poverty stricken ghetto we had to struggle against all odds just like mccourt did.it was not easy.it still is not easy.i do not need your sympathy!i am telling it like it is.



i have always had a fascination when it comes to the works by the russians.it is against that background that i have read some of the works by nikolai gogol and fyodor dostoyevsky.



the two stories that make up 'we never make mistakes' paint the picture of what was happening in the russia of old when there was war.maybe at some stage i should do a review of the stories referred to.



'of mice and men' by john steinbeck is a story which leaves one with mixed feelings when george shoots lennie to [per my view] take him out of his misery.



in the story lennie is all brawn and george is the brain that controls this automaton.need i say more.i think i have whet your appetite!i hope someone will get to make a movie out of john steinbeck' story[if noone has done so already!']

CERTAINTY

The sun will set
Dawn will sprout
Birds will twitter
The cocks will crow
Each one to his or her chores
That is how it is
That is how it should be
The children will play
On the road to the future

READY TO SACRIFICE

the rats scurry for cover
the menace is around

that cat growing fat
none prepared to sacrifice

the hyena devouring the goats
the vilagers quivering

not one ready for confrontation
cowards behind closed doors hiding

IN THE FORGE

That day of righteous indignation

That day is dawning

That day of freedom is nigh

The new lessons are now to be learnt

Call it violence if you will

The slaves have nothing to lose

For too long the chains have been here

Listen to the songs of redemption

DREAMS

Bereft of dreams
Dreams bashed by truncheons
Dreams under the jack boots
Jack boots of the Philistines
Dreams in solitary confinement
Dreams pummelled by water cannons
Dreams whimpering for freedom
That is the healing of this nation

CAPITALIST NIGGER

written by one Chika Onyeani, Capitalist Nigger, A spider web doctrine,published by Jonathan Ball Publishers[Johannesburg and Cape Town] 2000 is a book I will describe as infectious.Having read the book you do not come away unscathed whether you are a melanin man [black man] or caucasian man[white man].the pages are really full of venom.There are lessons to be learnt in the book.The black man is challenged to stand up and carve a niche for himself where the caucasian hegemony is quite insidious

I must confess that the book smote me in much the same way that 'Decolonising the mind' by Ngugi Wa Thiong'o did.

For how long shall we black people be bound in shackles and chains?In his provocative way Chika Onyeani proffers his 'Capitalist Nigger doctrine.Hey!

freedom come

these caged thoughts
thoughts in the dungeons
those under the censor's boots
proceeding with this caution
the thoughts behind the veil
yearning for free flight
restrained by the Philistines

poet at work

knowing neither day nor night
that is my station in life
the beast of burden that i am
i know i am not alone in this
carrying the rider and his baggage
the reward is their ingratitude

the twenty-four hour worker
usually even working more
heavily indebted to the future
the beast of burden at work
the tools of my trade by my bedside
those flashes of brilliance to be captured

with mud and spittle

this prophet has spoken
those that have ears
then let them hear
those that have eyes
let them now see
for what has been hidden
from the wise and prudent
to the babe and the suckling
now been revealed