Saturday 29 December 2012

In the dead of the afternoon...


In the glum of the sullen hours of day,
perched in a corner,
fixated on the bliss of the rain drops,
the rain that hovers,
through the seams of air,
but never pours...
He strums the strings of his Spanish guitar,
strangely striving for serenity,
solitude and purpose-
seeking the evasive,
on a quest to seize the elusive,
the fugitive truth,
the facts his simple mind cannot fathom.
He murmurs to ponder,
softly hums to make full sense,
of why the world be thus so vile to him,
so callous and oblivious,
indifferent to his emotions and weak heart.
He creates a symphony so melancholic,
brine waters trickling down his boyish face,
whose youthful charm has vanished,
In the dead of night,
with his mistress who fled,
while he was in a far away land,
who once vehemently vowed:
she would never leave,
till death done them part.
In the dead of afternoon,
he slouches in the void spaces of his heart,
making emotionally hardened music...
 BY ALEX NYASHA DUBE (ZIMBABWE )

photo credits; chrischakwana

Beside the fire place......

 Beside the fireplace 
With the melody of crackles of the flames as his sole companion 

A servant to his mind 
His life saved by his thoughts 

His desire quenched by a double malt 
Tamed on the rocks 

His state of mind? 
Manifest!!! 
Asking himself- 
Is this deja vu? 

No, his thoughts have come to being 
Classic paintings camouflaging the sense of success 
Simultaneously accentuated 
by the scent of achievement 
In his head- where it all emanated 

The quality of his thoughts... 
Determined his life




 By :   Ernest Mackina  (Zimbabwe)
Photo Credits:  www.facebook.com/afrofuture

Friday 21 December 2012

In love with my lumps and bumps.....

For years I have punished my body for randomly creating lumps and bumps without consulting me.
I think there should be some kind of body reflex that warns me (as I chow on a slab of chocolate)  that "Lumpville"(as I call it) is coming to town. 
The shock in my face when I realise there'll be less bikini days on the beach is priceless,as if I didn't know eating orgasmic chocolate would deliver a good old bump in my trunk.

The immediate discovery would instantly trigger thoughts of gruesome,suicidal exercise routines that will get rid of my new "acquisition".

The truth is that it never works because I realise I don't want to stop eating chocolate nor do I want to quit my addiction to carbohydrates.
Food is my culture because I am African.
We eat when we mourn,celebrate birth and we still eat when there's nothing to be happy or sad about.

I am on a quest to find happiness in my body,to accept what I cannot change and to embrace food without fear.

My goal is to create a movement for women that embraces "Lumpville" when she comes to town.

After everything I've put my body through I wholeheartedly believe that  my cellulite deserves a little bit of love.


By Wandiswa Ntengento ( South Africa )

picture credits: www.google.com

Tuesday 18 December 2012

The Gravity of my beating heart..(my story)

I always asked myself
Why he did this
And why she said that

And why they felt the way they did
Because mine was a beating heart

It was quite hard
Being compared to a thousand others
So I spoke to defend and define my own
But because this displayed disrespect
They cut off my tongue
To impair the speech that was my weapon

It really was unpleasant
To feel the skins of dead hearts
Rub against mine trying hard to be revived
By raiding my innocence
And all the while blaming me
And accusing me for befriending beauty

Oh gosh
If I knew beauty was a bud of sorrow
I would have told tomorrow not to come
That way I would not have been born
But alas I have known her before my first breathe
For even then I was called a curse
And for this I was to be slain, once again
Because mine was a beating heart

It hurt so bad
When after I let him in
And him, and him,
He tried to peel off my face
And put the one he preferred instead
And when I let him out
And him, and him
He refused to loosen his claws and let go
Of the shredded gory that was my less than beating heart

It was so painful
When the selfless deeds for a best friend
And her friends and my friends
Earned me the label of people pleaser
The highest honour for me,
As making others’ lives easier is Godly
A dire shame for them
As they perceived it as desperacy

In the end I wondered how
She could repeat history
Grab the knife everybody used on me
And stab my back so far in
It went through to my beating heart
And punctured the golden bag of trust I kept
Just for her

But despite all this I have learnt
To love, to live, to forgive and forget
Because before all he did, all she said and all they felt
They had to respond to the gravity of my beating heart
And love me first….





By Chitalu Kaibele (Zambia )





Photo credits: www.facebook.com/afrofuture

Thursday 13 December 2012

A BRIEF RASH LUST......

I smelt it,
The fragrance of that exotic vanilla
That incensed and mummified her glittering ebony.
That fragrance that held my breath,

Took my mind to rest
As I slipped her suit to unguide her breast.

I felt it,
The sleepiness of her dark braided hair,
The zigzagness that rows her hair into a maze
The tips of each braid crowned with beats
And the tickling sensations it unleashed on me
When she took my bosom to let her warmth.

I touched it,
The totems that made her mourned
And cried along; as my hands slipped through
The slippery fluid that wet beneath,
And my lips conquered hers with strings of kisses
Tickling alongside the nudity of her protruding twin.

I caressed it,
With my tongue, my hands and me
From her hairs, lips, breast and beneath
The trembling behind, I made still
My tongue on her navel bore a hole
And we tangled as if we host each other to be.

I did it,
… What mother warned me not to.
Her hips I parted to ease the flow
The mount of Venus was red at the peak of eruption
And behold, on it a red glittering apple was calling
Thus, like Adam with my eyes shot, I descended the valley

I loved it,
The feelings that went through my spin
As I swam through that ocean of curse waters
I heard the beats of my heart as she took me in
And row the boat that led me there,
Where, I exploded and shriek beneath with pleasure.

She opened my eye
And showed me heaven.
She drank with my hose the pool within
Eat from my tongue those leaven breads
Blessed my body with excess thrust
That set me back with blazing heat.

We made lust
And I loved it
I know she loved me not
Thus, I sought not her trust.
It was so brief, rash and smooth this act
That the memory, I’ll spare not ad infinitum

Flee thee now! I beg this of you
This memory, I keep to mark my fall
This feeling, which I let in, seeks my being.
I will never regret this that my body let be
But the stretch of my hands for the first touch, I detest
And long to withdraw all aside the sensation she gave.

Beautiful angel with lusty cross
I bless thee for this body you’ve momentarily made whole,
For, these eyes you’ve widely spread-
To note and state evil from good
But, curse be thee for with lust you crossed me
When Calvary with love seek my spirit and soul to save me. 

By Owokere Asuquo E. ( Nigeria)





Photo credits; www.facebook.com/afrofutures

Erstwhile, a love.......

The winds of time blew
sweeping with them,
footprints left in time
traces of what was
that no longer is
i bury my head in thoughts
longing to understand
for a split moment
to know why
all the love went away
do the winds of time erase love?
was our love like milk;
that is sweet and all white today
but when caressed by the tentacles of life
turns bad
was it not like wine?
that celebrates the embrace of time
that becomes the best
because it stands the test of time
my love, gone
blown away from me
as a cordless kite
drifts from the reach of a kid
and watch it, helpless
only wishing if circumstances
were somewhat different
the winds of time are blowing
my love, gone
erasing the memories
and impressing pains
because this, our love
has vanished in the abyss of time


Pardon Gwara ( Zimbabwe)


photo creditshttp://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=461110330579105&set=a.203566343000173.45869.151330104890464&type=3&theater

Tuesday 4 December 2012

Old house....

An old house; solidly built with each stone telling the story of a rocky valley.
Surrounded by warmth from the inhabiting smiles on the faces of the inhabitants.

This warmth is radiant and radiates round, turning the house into a home.
Laughter and echoes of love pierce through the chimney... sharply and slowly. 

The garden boasts of colourful roses and daisies that call to the lilies in the murky waters across the pond on the Lee-side.
The trees whisper to the path that has become all too familiar and welcoming :

                                              You Are Home!!

                                     I want to know were my home is,
                                    Were I fear not, and have no fears - 
                                Were I look through the vista into my life and see it bright
                      Were the rays of the sun touch my skin and remind me all is fine...
   Were the sun stands firmly overseeing the vast landscapes of a future invested in hard work,
                                          Fruits to be reaped...
                                         Hard work to be sowed...

                        I want to call this old house, this warm place my home 
                                         But I can't...I'm too far away
                                   Freedom turned into a responsibility
                                          Now I can't hardly see
                                      Beyond these wooden fences...
                                 I was taught well and counted all my blessings 
                        It's reach is just but a dream, drifting yonder and yonder.


By Ernest Mackina (Zimbabwe)
First published ; http://mackinaernest54.blogspot.com/2012/08/old-house.html?spref=fb

Saturday 1 December 2012

to youth....


And what shall become of you
When Time’s hands have done their art?
Crayons of hue re-coloured you in shades of dusk,
Graffiti etched upon your brow,
Flawless grace reduced to caricature,
Once impeccable beauty redrawn abstract
And the stains of his oils mock your portraits?
His fingerprints plastered across the wall of your soul:
Your essence withered to the stench of pending death
And your confidence shaken to infirmity,
Shall these suitors, princes in Chevrolets -if not to dust returned-
Still whistle their impotence through toothless smiles?
Bite deep into the flesh of youth but wary the stone,
Cast by those who perceive themselves sinless
Should three words turn to three letters.
I do not wish disease, pestilence or plague upon you,
Only true fruits of old age, regrets grown
To appreciation of possibilities
Chastised by the rod of Time for the road not taken,
Insolence blossomed to wisdom;
Blind valour to meditation.
Subtle pencil strokes to Time’s masterpiece evolved,
While I on his easel remain a fool,
Loving you in more earnest than when I was a boy.

By Philani A. Nyoni (Zimbabwe)

picture credits.corporationshealth.wordpress.com

Thursday 22 November 2012

DARE TO SUCCEED.....

Dare to run
And refuse to withdraw.
Dare to change
But refuse to be chained.

Decide to move on
And depart from stagnation.
Dare to stop grumbling
Demand for your portion
Dare to try
And refuse to be intimidated.
Dare to train 
And refuse to surrender easily.
Dare to win
The position of a loser reject.
Dare to conquer
You dare not capitulate now.
Dare to move up
The valley is too crowded.
Dare to be temperate
Intemperance is too dear.
Dare to change
It is the compass to success.
Dare your fears
Like paper-tiger, they will crumble.
Dare your doubts
Like wax, they melt away.
Dare your limitations
All barriers you will break.
Dare all devils
Angels await your bold move.
Dare! Dare! Dare!
The promised Land you will gain!







By Passy Amaraegbu (Nigeria )

photo credits; www.umc.org 

Rhythm inside the Blues....


 Rhythm inside the blues, 
 more like when molten lava meets the ocean, 
 we were like a house on fire, 
 I were yours and you were mine, 
 all smiles when I think of you, 
 I felt weak on my knees when I heard your voice, 
 rhythm inside the blues it was, 

 But not quite as the day when we stood at the end of the aisle, 
 holding your hand, the connection that was, 
 more than physical it felt, 
 more like rhythm inside the blues it was, 
 what it was when you stood besides the bed, 
 awaiting the knot in our lives, 
 through the temporary pain we held hands as it arrived, 
 like two voices on stage, 
 our cries matched as it arrived, 
 the knot in our lives, 
 it was more like rhythm inside the blues 
 and joyful our hearts were filled, 

 But I guess like that one note that spoils the rhythm, 
 we have too many, 
 my cry have turned into a melodic rhythm to your ears, 
 like once the rhythm it was when we vowed "till death do us apart", 
 that shall be the only separation between us, 
 be a good father to my son..
 *she commits suiscide*

 By Teboho Joseph Mtabane   ( South Africa ) 

picture source:www.withintheblackcommunity.blogspot.com

Wednesday 21 November 2012

Tell me......

Tell me that life
Is not about waiting
For the storm to pass

But about learning to dance
In the rain

Tell me about love
That the most painful thing
In life is seeing the one you love
Love somebody else

Tell me that it is okay
To lose your pride
Over someone you love
That it is okay
Losing someone you love
Over pride

Somewhere between all
Our laughs
Long talks
Stupid little fights
I fell in love.





By Artwell Masuku (Zimbabwe )





Photo credits;
www.facebook.com/afrofutures

The Misnomer of 'Better'

Words of advice for my mirror image...

I see you, Lady In The Mirror
Ever concerned about Being Better
I’ll give you a hand then
This is what being better is Not.


Being better is not having the last say in a quarrel
Or delivering the blow that kills
Being better is not having the upper hand
Or conniving to stay that way
Being better is not owning
The appeal of a coarse voice
Or the sharpness of a sleek tongue.
Being better is not yelling the loudest
Or expertly throwing daggers with your eyes
Or how large your fist is
Or the charisma in your gait.

Being better isn’t the price of your perfume
Or its scent carrying with it pomp and circumstance
Being better isn’t in your last name
-Your tribal inheritance
Or which chunk of the country you hail from
Being better isn’t lording your wealth over others
Or using the sound of your accent
To label them lowly.

Being better isn’t in how well
You manage your high heels
Or how far you’ve travelled
From your hometown
It isn’t in being a certain race
Or boasting a certain complexion within a race
Being better isn’t reserved for those of the first world
Nor is it lodged in your background.

Being better isn’t being the best
Or being the worst
Or being mediocre for that matter
Being better isn’t about Comparison
But about Exchange.
Being better is understanding
How common you are
How fragile good fortune is
And that chance -like music- is universal
A gift awarded us by the grace of God.

Being better is stainless elation
When your best friend gets married first
Being better is admiration
When your nemesis wins the race
Being better is blameless pride
When your sister succeeds
In changing the world.

Is there someone you don’t like?
And for no particular reason?
Being better is neutrality with all
-If not outright fondness
For that stranger who could be
A beautiful person
Believing
That everybody is magnificent
Acknowledging
That your worst enemy is only so
Because of the weight of his worst days
Extract the color of discrimination from your vision
View the world in black-and-white
For you are the same as your worst enemy
And his too
-You are human.

By Tebogo G. H. Ndlovu (Zimbabwe)

photo credits; www.raymcdonald.wordpress.com 



Copyright © 2012 Tebogo Ndlovu

Sunday 18 November 2012

Gentle Breeze... Take Me Away, Please...


Gentle breeze 
Whispering winds 
Tamed gales 

Take me 
Ferry me 
I have spread my wings 
To your nature, 
My discordant voice sings 
To an Island 


Take me away 
And place me to a piece of land, 
Isolated by water 
Take me away 
And place me in a piece of solitude 
Surrounded by memories of Edward and Clarrise 
That cast a smile on my face 
And masks my tears 

Take me away 
Oh, gentle breeze 
To my fort 
Where i draw strength from the beauty of words 
Where my might lies in scribbling scrolls of thoughts at my experiences costs speaking of all those losses that transform me to a formidable force and impart beliefs I shant divorce in metaphoric courts 

Take me away 
You tamed gales 
To an island: 
Scaled gray 
Shaded in black and white 
With waves of water kissing the shores 
Gently carressing the soles 
Of my feet 
My legs immersed in the mud 
An emblem of my troubles 
Erased by bodies of water that nibble the earth and pull back 

Take me to an island 
Where a former love 
Makes merry with a little child 

Take me to an island 
So that when i get there 
I will spread my hands out 
And arm the caption with a smile 
Basking in Gods Grace 
And leave a trail of happiness 
Take flight in shades 
And keep time on my wrist 
Ask a companion to freeze this moment, 
Capture it on a picture and own it

By Ernest Mackina (Zimbabwe )

photo credits.  www.google.com

[Queen Jezebel]....


Crowned with the heads of many a fallen king,

Temptress, Jezebel, ‘tis her of whom they sing.

Many know her name, though not its origin,

Villain of the Qur’an, who dares tempt the fiend?

Wrapped in swathing night, mother of carnal sin,

Birthed of smokeless fire, she’s kin among the jiin.

Grown in the wind, and watered up with gin,

Soot painted conscience cut off like her jeans.

Infectious lips, path to her bleeding green,

They consume men whole, let the dirge begin

For there she now wades, shark without a fin,

Her target has been marked for the sting:

Armpits open wide and embrace this new lover,

Soon she’ll wash his bones in her pit of lava.

By  Philani Amadeus Nyoni  (Zimbabwe)

photo credits: www.trendhunter.com

Wipe your tears dry,my child...


From a distance so close,I see that look in your eye, I read in it,many sorrows unpublished. The many brine waters in it, profusely gushing out like violent ripples of the sea, recite the tales of misery,of your gradual emotional demise... This demise,so vile and callous as the Nile, as it swiftly sweeps everything in its' way. This abrupt end,brought about by your envious adversaries, with a burning passion to bring you down to ashes,your precious self... These,your foes,trembling and uneasy about your success, fear that which they cannot touch and have. I see you my child,wipe your tears dry...

I hear your call,your wailing I hear you search for me at night... Cry your heart out,cry because recompense,I shall give you Cry aloud,cry hysterically,because,to me,Child your cry is the cry of conquering the impossible your cry is the cry of emancipation,the liberty which you thirst for in anticipation like your next breath,breathe,breathe in the success which is at your disposal. Child of the Earth,Bossom of my existence, Jewel of my crown,Apple of my Eye Weep war no more,be jubilant forevermore! Wipe your eyes dry my child,heal your soul and let it be mild!
 
By Alex Nyasha Dube..(Zimbabwe)

photo credits: www.google.com

Lord of all creation...

Lord of faith,Lord of hope and love,
Lord who's glory gleams from above.
God who restores sight to see the light,
that shines on marvelous Earth so bright.

King of Kings who rules till tomorrow,
Rabbi of a heavenly realm of no sorrow.
True God who reigns from East to West,
genuine healer fervent than the rest.

His heavenly helm hails holy yonder,
hoisted higher to heights the eyes ponder.
Hark the herald the King dwells forever,
mark his emerald crown glows moreover.

Sing the hymn,hum to him,
sang to him the angels seem.
A chant to the blue skies aloud the seams,
allowed to worship he who rules the seas!





By Alex Nyasha Dube ( Zimbabwe )





artwork source: www.
dfly.com

For my pillar

Hourglass smashed, mantel piece dusted, curtains closed as she stood vertically amidst blatant horizontally dragged, rumours circulated, pupil dilated...
Afraid of death, yet living precariously,
retaliate

relate allegories, sing songs lip-synched on differing categories...
Verbal anhilation and word assasination of mental retardation...
She too is the daughter of the soil, the soil has laid its claim,
she too must return to the soil...




By lebohang Kuenane ( Lesotho) 

photo  credits : www.google.com

Thursday 1 November 2012

THE FIVE SENSES RENEWED

Shhh, listen my love to the wind
Hearken to her melody, the symphony of the night wind
A refrain that tells our story

One of our love, a beautiful history
Shhh, listen not with your ears
For it's a sound that only the heart hears

Look, beyond what the eyes can see
There, next to the southern star, do you see?
A story is written of two lovers
Born of thorns upon desert soil, cacti flowers
Written in the stars, of galaxies and comets
Brighter than the morning star, born of stardust and planets

Close your eyes, take a whiff
Go on, just a tiny sniff
Inhale that hint of vanilla, a delightful fragrance
A trace of potpourri, an air of jasmine, my what a heavenly fragrance
No cologne can compare
All the flowers of Eden combined in one, a scent so rare

Wait, don't open them just yet
Here, taste. I promise you won't regret
Drop of honey, dribble of caramel, nectar of the gods. It must be forbidden
Mmmm, tastes so good, makes you wonder why I kept it hidden
A kiss, a sigh an erratic heartbeat
These are its true ingredients, plus a touch of body heat

Now the final task
Let me teach you of our love, our feelings unmask
My silk scarlet scarf, your blindfold
Your hands to the bedpost, I bind. Your control I hold
Your mind my canvas, let me paint on it
Orange, red it's almost sunset. Look, do you see it?
Smell the ocean, hear the waves, feel the wind in your hair
Feel the grains of sand between your toes, conjure the picture if you dare

Hear the seagulls, taste that exotic drink
I am right beside you sharing that very drink
Anthill coloured skin, to touch it would be like playing a harp
Slowly drifting over it as you would the cords, covered in a lilac satin wrap
A matching bikini top making me seem like I am of the sea
Let's watch the sun unite with the sea

And now my love, I want you to feel
Light feather touches raising goose bumps on your skin
Soft butterfly kisses trailing every inch of your skin
Slowly, what started as a spark grows into a flame
A flame to a wild fire you cannot tame
Listen, look, smell, taste and feel
The five senses renewed. A world illusory yet so real.

#HAPPY BELATED ANNIVERSARY BWALYA. MWAH.





By Subila Esperanza Chilupula  
 ( Zambia )

picture source ;news1.ghananation.com

Unfaithful

Rage builds up inside and my blood boils
A whirlwind of emotions overwhelm me like a flash flood
How could you?

Don't you know I will always remain true?
Flashbacks of the vows we made
Are blown apart by this vile indiscretion
Our blissful matrimony sacrificed
Why would you?
Don't you know I will give my all for you?
End it: I should smite you both with a single blow
Yet my love for you causes forgiveness to flow
The fury within me burns like a wild fire
Yet the love I have for you causes my hands to hang limp
The pain I feel would have me rip you limb from limb
Yet I can't forget our joy you've brought
When did you?
Don't you know I've loved you from the start?
I've been blinded by your love
When you worked late I thought it was for us
When you kept me waiting on our dates I didn't ask
When you stepped out to answer your phone I didn't suspect
When my embrace couldn't warm you I questioned myself
Now I know the answer had nothing to do with me
Where did we go wrong?
I can't hate you I built my world on loving you
I can't love you I'd be hating myself
We can't go on I've got nothing for you
We can't go back you burnt all the bridges
I don't get you
You sit here and say you owe it to me
He's gone from the land of the living
And now you feel like giving?
The bug he had now has you
And you owe it to me to tell me to get tested?

By Mandlenkosi Nkomo (Zimbabwe)
picture source: madamenoire.com

Monday 29 October 2012

Who knows.?

Who decides which road to take,
What choice make,
What type of love is fake
And who's heart to break?

Who knows what day is fine,
Why ten after nine,
Why stars should shine
And what love is mine?

Who said birds should fly,
Tears should come out of an eye and why,
Rain should fall from the sky
And mortals should die?

Tell me if you know someone now,
Because I need to know WHAT to do, WHY, WHEN and HOW?


By Makeleni Vuyani Meshack. ( South Africa)

picture sourcepickthebrain.com