ROUND SIX TOPIC /THEME
“SECURITY AND SERENITY”
TO every fired bullet, two ends hold
Tears and Political smiles
While we live to mourn the victimis .We do not know what they did to call a bullet upon them.To the same end, the same gunshots comes to solve a thing to somebody else….I guess thats where the cliche GUNZ AND ROSES CAME FROM
The same gun that makes us shed a tear comes to beautifies another’s world
Did i say GUESS
My world is made of rhymes and verses
Deadline is 23/03/2019
On the same day the Grill returns
ALUTA CONTINUA
- Poem: My Security And Serenity
The Cries Of Hussain On An Electronic Slot
My Mind Is Lit As A Xenophobic Thought
A Zimbabwean Making Fire At Home To Stop The Fire Abroad
Its Fire A Broad Like A Brothel Shot
Use The Power Of The Tongue To Taste The Load
Test The Lord’s Heat With A New Pass Pot
Try To Design Sodom And Get Missed A Lot
Fuck Your Vote You Can Now Avoid Being Null And Void
You Expect Me To Worship The Eye On The Pyramid At The Back Of A Dollar Bill And
Ignore The Fact That The First Human To Touch A Pen Was Egyptian
To Clap Hands For The Best History Student While Denis Richards
Throws Shit On The Great Zimbabwe Wall Built By A Zimbabwean
Mind Dumber Than Blacks In Church Preaching That Kushites Are Cursed
Can Anyone Trace The Genealogical History After Noah’s Dead
They Play None Of My Songs Cause Ape Evidence Is Tanzanian If You Listen To Darwin
I’m Underground And Of Course Its Simon Of Cyrene Less Famous Than Judas Again
Sex With A Torn Worthless Worth Full Paper A Euro Centric View
I’ve Got My Eye On All But These Investors Are Ignoring Zisco Steel
Jerking Off To Metal Thoughts I Don’t Make Sense Because I Said Fuck What You Feel
I Will Never Visit A Saloon Fuck Braids And Wigs I’m Afro With My Kinky Hair
Fuck A White Wedding, This Lobola Will Make Sure That My Chick Is Here
Fuck David Livingstone
The Tonga People Discovered Those Wonders Of Course
And Its Mosiyatunya Not Victoria Falls
Are Gaddafi’s Gold Coins The Basics Of Trading Profit And Loss
Spread Shit Or Do A Spread Sheet Its Free Education Of course
Death Accounts Must Differentiate All The Fatality Costs
Between A Hiroshima And A Holocaust
Tell Botswana That Karma Is A Bitch A Coward
Paint A Picture Of A Fake Black And Obama Is Coloured
Sacrifice Gay Rights For Aids Pills That’s What Kenya Was Offered
He Killed Mama Gaddafi And Now Libya Is Orphaned
Bomb Cities To Protect Civilians But No One Fights For Religions
Choose Kim Or Alshabaab Or Sudanese And Korean Secessions
Watch A Movie To See Russians, Zimbabweans, Rwandans Vietnamese, Germans And North Koreans As Villains
Scooping Idai’s Flows Is Harder Than A Call To Remove Sanctions
Is Canaan Banana A Fruit Of The Promised Land
Cut Your Adam’s Apple And Share The Eve In Bed
Stick A Hard Dick In A Rolled Slip Till It’s Fuck The Change
@CyrilToruvanda
@Dangwe
*@PRIVATEDIARY*
#2019
2.Sorry Story
By Tafadzwa Chiwanza
The cabbage is quickly turning to garbage
Even the soil has started to boil
As the blood gush in a flood
Tears of fears washing away the years
The rust merges with the dust
We are losing ground too fast!
Of our gain; only pain remain
The fort we fought for,
Is crumbling into a rubble of darkness
With the rumbling noise of nothingness
We are losing ground too fast!
Hoist our flag, and take it down again
Our glory and fame;
Now a sorry story of shame
@Tafadzwa Chiwanza
3. This is Not the Time for Fiction
Poet: Afreekan Griot
Gentle giant, life mother
Soft and kind molester
Hewer of rocks
Undenied where she knocks
The sensual and the vortex
Promising sustainer,
Generous giver, ruthless receiver
A monk unashamed to rob
For whom life and death
Is only fashion for the day
From your sinister wardrobe,
What have you with us,
That we may pay back our debt?
Gloriously soiled reputation
Yet it was you, who housed us in the womb
The breast from which thirst is quenched
Why are you grieved so
That you would take us to doom
In your mood?
Why this vengeance,
Who raised this curtain
And unleashed these ghosts
That visit with false blessings
But sure costs and losses
See the flow out of their eery spouts
The home, the fields
Overnight erased
Where there were beasts
Bloated carcasses
How can we celebrate rain
When all we get to harvest is pain?
Noone has answered :
Mai Joe, strap the boy
I’ve got Fred
There’s nothing left but to go
Nothing but gropping footsteps
Panted breath and gasps
Mud, more mud, water, more water
This sucks
Was that the sound of a helicopter?
Another rest is over
Fatigue irritated, hovers
Darkness a thick black cream
Dip your hand and it’s unseen
Even inches from your eye
Forehead forward, lids peeled
Through nothing you peer
All things look the same queer
The baby cries, the boy screams
Hunger petitions
But there’s only these rising streams
The thick impersonal forest shrugs
Captive light sprinkles the night
Promise of some distant light
Any life, movements or sounds?
None, but with every whip,
The wind, with its thick black arms
Strangles every glimmer
Hope, swallowed whole
By the grim reaper
Slithers back into the black hole
Still we plod to nowhere
Trusting in memory
Who was here before we were
Fear, exhorting action
Mind devoid of direction
This is not the time for fiction
4.FREEDOM
(To Freedom Nyamubaya)
Freedom’s shadow disappearing around a corner
leaving behind an apparition for sad eyes to gaze at
through the slits of a suffocating existence
time frozen in a facility built by political sadists
to murder the spirits of those who hope
who want a flame of love to burn in their hearts
where freedom used to throne herself like a goddess
a yawning hole stares skywards like an accusation
the blind moon stares back and shrugs hunched shoulders.
© Tanaka Chidora, 2019
#TheDyingCity
#BecauseSadnessIsBeautiful?
6.FUCK THE CAPTION
By Edward Dzonze
When barbarity calls
The black brothers serve brutality in place of bread
Our tears for barbeque, yell all you like there is no harm in little music
Red blood , red wine whats the difference really in the face of this barbarity calling
They take what their guns can deliver
Barbarity calls them to war
They call a brother foe to justify a fired bullet
Black brothers exchanging bitter words and viscious bullets to give the world an episode of war…
I wonder what the black in them will say when confronted with a poetry verse to rise to just one question;
Whats the war about?
Blood oozing from the vein of political madness
Bullets and bombs sent to deliver the misplaced wrath
Killing the brother you verily know because war knows no brother but enermy
Brothers are not the same when clad in the vile of politicized madness
Its a civil war,a war among one black
Black brothers exchanging bitter words and viscious bombs to give the world an episode of war
From the wars, heroes walk out with military honors and decorations
Their children becoming masters at their fathers game
Because they were told only our skin calls us brothers
Guns are not brothers, they were told to kill before you get killed
Africa is a shaping grave in their hands
At the end of their political reign we count graves for their achievement
Where lies Africa in the civility of called wars
Where lies our common serenity in the context of civil wars
There is no civility in wars…
Shame this madness brewing Africa before you become the shame
Too much blood undermines our human worth
These “Civil Wars” are evil
Cant you see how they fail to honor our being
Guns got no eyes, but we should see the madness
What more can you expect the gun to show you other than bloodshed
I am to you what you are to me because the two of us spells a being; Africa
Cant you see how we collectively spell stupidity when we bow to the call of gun
Fuck the caption coming to justify the madness
Civil wars is a measure of human barbarity
©Edward Dzonze
25/03/19
7.THE IRONY OF FREEDOM
poem by Edward Dzonze
The wounds on my black skin
are taking forever long to heal,
Pardon me if i have the wrong prescription ;
Is humanity not the pill to these ailments,
For how long shall we pay the medical bill in blood installments?
The missionaries came with a burning light
That failed to illuminate the dark world only their eyes saw in Africa
Rather but sparked wars that sparked the mineral loot from dear motherland
We housed the missionaries
and their hidden mission in our hospitable villages
They built bigger church buildings
that rendered the African traditional religion a quixotic nuisance in the eyes of many who fell in love with their hymns
And they built a system that took us for hostages in our own turf
The “dark continent ” became even darker
Only what made it dark was the disguised spark
And said of the African skin
the black you spell cannot bring any spark to the darkness we see
The darkness as seen, I mean the darkness that never was
We fought for our black freedom ,
They broke the chain but remained with the key
They make us pay
for every piece of freedom that comes our way
We owe them nothing but they own the ways
Even this hard won independence did not come to stay…
They have got specified sanctions to punctuate us as subjects in their political brackets
Yesterday they took my father for a slave ,
Owned and sold him in a locked cage
Selling my tormented father in chains
To buy themselves material gains in plenty
With their political might
They take away the light to insurmountable heights
and if you are looking for fragments of truth on the polished surface,
It remains forever dark in the mind
They sing both the verse and the chorus
and task us to the dancing
That is why the wounds on my African face are taking forever long to heal
We continue to say it in poetry verses
but they are quick to turn over to the next page
Silence the lines as quixotic, the poet’s tongue as toxic
Its not like i am condoning that which they condemn
Rather i am condemning that which they have became-
The human gods of our humane world
Their haven is an earthsize calico painted with human blood
When they kill they justify the killing and mock the deceased
Their judiciary whip is justified in their judicial dictates,
Its essence and imminance resonates with us
The wind that blows their flag blows the flags of the world
We cheer it when they preach the gospel
Its AMEN and AMEN to every Hallelujah they shout
We cheer it when they say it
Alas! They dont even mean the word
Everyone regrets it when they live the gospel they almost preached
✍©Edward Dzonze 2017
NB:THIS POEM IS AN EXTRACT FROM EDWARD DZONZE’S POETRY COLLECTION;
BREAKFAST WITH MARECHERA
8.Third World
Homeless Cities And
The Homeless Citizens
Praying For Colon Needs
While Preyed For Colonies
By A Prince And A Princess
The Crownless Queen’s land
Ruling The Per Capita – Lists
While We Die For Ideologies
Pain In Instance
Plain In Distance
Penniless Incidents
If Your Plan Is Different
Oil Is Lifeless
Gas Is Breathless
Diamonds Are Worthless
Without The Kimberly Process
Trade Gold For Clothing
Hand A Taboo For Medicine
Give A Soul For A Body Being
Exchange A Home For Housing
Bronze Makes Idols
Silver Makes All Coins
Gold In The Third Place
Medals For Human Race
Puppets Are Legends
Traitors Are Noble Men
Terrorists Are Freedom Fighters
The Resistors Are The Dictators
Seem Bad And Be Good
Keep Soul To Breathe Dead
Leave Them And Be You
Live First The Third World
@CyrilToruvanda
@Dangwe
#PrivateDiary
@2019
9.Songs and Dreams
My people love to sing
To scribble graffiti
on the forehead of song
to pick each bone from the throng
of dreams lying on the vast floor
of the twenty-first
My people love to dance
On the dusty ground to prance
And leave behind footprints
Of dreams that sprint
Towards the horizon that hovers
Beyond the mist of the twenty-first
My people love to gaze at their dreams
Rising like apparitions in the steam
Of that euphoric November dance
That sets cold hearts ablaze
With anticipation of a more hopeful
Journey along the paths of the twenty-first
My people love to clothe dreams
in the stanzas and lyrics of song
To let the dreams fly with sound
Until they come back as beautiful
Echoes bouncing off the Chamavara
Echoes of dreams and songs
Echoes of dreams, songs and people
Dreams, songs, people, the twenty-first.
(C) Tanaka Chidora, 2019
#TheDyingCity
#BecauseSadnessIsBeautiful?
10.Do not forget
After the hanging old tyre necklace
Damb from petrol splashes
Kissing a glowing log
Booming into tongues of fire
Farting the black ,thick choking smoke
Punctuated by the crushing, grinding of our children’s milky skulls
With sharp pointed steel granite stones
Which gushed with sprinkles of blood
Feeding the Red Nile which floods the streets
Making you laugh like blood sucking devils
Watching the muddy wriggles and piercing squeals
Of the pigs you are butchering
Stummering in broken brittle voices
“Stop! Please don’t kill me!”
Their cry for pity became trebles revitalising your energy to slain
After all this
Do not forget
We are still Africans
We are still one blood
We will always be Africans
And the heavens are tearflooded watching
Cain slaying Abel!
Dancing to the rythms of this hell madness
And don’t forget that it is the axe that forgets not the bleeding and heartbroken tree
*By Osman Shato Mbindi* *( Shato the poet
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