Tourniquet

Look at me:

I’m half man,

half a heart,

the other part

is reeling

on the floor with laughter

while I try to give reason

to what’s left of me to fight.

This pain;

it’s one of the many stings that returns…

Legion that pries me open and rapes my senses

and burns me in agonizing bits

I’m praying,

I’m bleeding

I’m pouring ruby-red regret

on this dying self

I’m screaming, hoarse and untamed,

till they reach the heights above–or if they will

Can You hear me?

Or do You now count me

among the lost and forgotten…

Exiles,

banished to walk

this metal hell of a road?

My God

My tourniquet

let me drink from your salvation’s pool,

to cast upon your white doors

the reflection of a battered soul

In need of the grave,

I dare to close

these misted eyes.

By Uzoma Okoroafor (Nigeria)

picture source: borsheimarts.com

We too deserve happiness

At times I question the existence of a Deity
When some of us languish in poverty
Rejected by life kicked out to the periphery of society
Deprived of basic rights entitled to all humanity
And treated no worse than dogs stripped of our human dignity

What criteria does the man above use to favour the fortunate
Those that live in mansions, the aristocrats , the important
What kind of qualification does he use to shower those that have it all?
While some of us suffer with stomachs empty at night in our dirty blankets we crawl

I want to summon him who is important
He who is powerful, all seeing Omnipotent
To ask him how long we shall continue to pay the price
For we have suffered under his whip too many a times
To ask what it will it take for us to be freed from this generational curse
To ask if we need an attorney to argue out our case
For we too need rest just like everyone else
For him to touch our lives,for him to bless

We are tired of this sadness
We too yearn to live a life devoid of worry like everyone else

To be showered with your grace
To live a life filled so much happiness
I rest my case!

By Christopher Chakwana (Zimbabwe)

picture source: brotherpeacemaker.wordpress.com

What is left of us (slowly drifting away)

Is it not sad?
That our once shared passion
Lies dead like ashes from a fire
Traces of an ecstasy lived
A moment in time

Is it not sad,
That our smiles have turned to frowns
Permanent wrinkles
From a bitter emotion
As if we never smiled
As if we never laughed

Is it not sad,
That we no longer look in the eye
And fail to notice
The object of our passion
The source of our blaze
In a dying hope to rekindle the flame
A last kick, if worthy of anything,
Of a dying love

Is it not sad,
That I can not be yours
And you, mine
That when I mention your name
It makes friction in my trachea
And so I confine myself
To not calling you at all
Even when my heart yearns for that

Is it not sad,
That poetry has become my therapy
I can no longer reach you
You are beyond where my words can reach
Where my will takes me
You are just there
I am just here
And always apart

Is it not strange, 
That we are now like strangers
And perhaps, stranger than all
Is that I still love you.

By Pardon Gwara (Zimbabwe)

picture source: wxxinews.org

My absent father...

What audacity have you to call me your son?
What nerve have you to list me as your “another” one?
What? ….Okay ….. Excuse the pun!
But what guts have you to ask about my well being?
After 25 years, yes 25, you really want to bring me under your wing.
But I am still the son of that once pregnant woman that always knelt begging you as if you were some king.

That same woman that you despised and told “it was just a fling”
That moronic teenage boy that once visited your home and to whom you referred to as “a dirty thing”
Hell yes, now that you always see me on T.V ,that I am a star ,that I can sing
You came forth to claim to be my father with great certainty!!
But are you not the one that initially denied paternity?
Back in the day, in your hey days, whilst working in the civil engineering fraternity?
Are you not?? Are you not??

You ditched my then pregnant mom and headed south
Her life got so pathetic. She had to feed from hand to mouth
I was born to dire poverty. Yet you least cared.
Baby foods, baby milk. I never was fed.
At least sugarless porridge was at my disposal, instead
Grant money never was enough to sustain life
Extreme poverty, extreme hunger! Sleeping on empty bellies was so rife
Though living on handouts, mum always kept my hopes alive
With no school uniform, I was very brilliant. I was counted among the elite batch
Comforming to orthodox, I was an active choir member of our church
Though you were never there, I grew up the boldest!
You should have at least embraced me when I won in a talent search singing contest
When I had record labels vying for my signature
When I first wore quality clothing of fine texture
When I dumped my rags for designer labels like Daniel Hetcher.

My mother raised a hustler. I so got used to your absence
Bygones are bygones. I have accepted you back, but see no essence!
Once beaten twice shy. From you I suspect fortune hunting. I suspect pretence.
Rumour has it that my half brothers and sisters are more than useless.
They do not fend for you but should I care any less?
I am grateful for having such a mother. For she is God given
I even bought her a car. She is chauffeur driven!
Plus, we are no more squatters. We moved out to the suburbs
Grew up eating garbage, nowadays we are choosy, sometimes we eat kebabs.
They say friends are few when days are dark.
But are dads also that few when days are that dark?
My biological father, I guess you were a tad too late.
For real, I still agonize over my fate!!

By Dabaluthethwa Tfwala (South Africa)

picture source: blackartdepot.com

A servant's plea

I’m a cup. Earthly desires
stain me like the liquored lips of a drunk,
like a man in the hold of his mistress.
I’ve the breath of a lost one–
no place amongst the clean cups
meant for a king.

See me as your goblet
adorned with fine gold.
Pour in the sweat of your heart.
Let it overflow and reflect
your will.This is how I want to be:
principled and with wisdom.

I’m a cup. Of no strength can I boast.
Don’t let the enemy drink from me.
Enough of his venom that eats my inner ending.
Don’t let him shape me for his own,
so I will forget you, my Maker.

By Uzoma Okoroafor (Nigeria)

picture source: http://85degrees.wordpress.com/2012/12/13/a-handmaids-plea/

Letter to my love

Dear the one who inherited my soul

I am writing this letter standing before a crowd
expressing from a heart that has no bottom what my love is about
hoping you would place that smile that you've always shared when I’m around
a smile better than that of Monalisa
that makes me fly off to everywhere without a visa

Though I wonder how long it will take them to get the long and short
of how long it’s been my heart longing to be next to you
how with every single beat my heart beats for you



But long as it’s before long before they get along
I will bear with this distance though it’s long
continue to go down on my knees every dawn 
pleading with time not to take too long
in order to stop plunging far deep in the mist of loneliness

I have seen millions of all kinds
never did I come across one of your kind
indeed you were extremely hard to find
though I had always seen you in my mind

It was like you were playing hide and seek
it was you every time I fell sick, lovesick
how I wished one day I could hold you tide and squeeze
I know it sounds cliche but it’s true “Birds of the same feathers flock together”
now that we are together
I want to give you the truth of how much I can love you better
Jesus will show you the way, for I to walk you through thick and thin
I’ll be there to give you everything

I will treasure your spirit and your heart most 
for they serve as fundamental definition of our growth
no-matter the distance
our souls will never forget to wake-up every sunrise 
from the heart-warming bed-sheets of the heavens to intimately connect

I’ll not keep you close to my heart but closed in my heart
you will not run in my mind yet you will run my mind
if you ever find yourself homeless then leave me with a curse
because in the coldest hours of the night I vow to be your mansion
to be there to rescue you in every situation
I am bound to make pillows long for your tears
to give you joy every time and comprehend your fears
in my life you are always wanted, like you have committed crime
when I find you, I’ll laugh with you like I will never see you in a life time
then love you so well when God still honored me with time 

'Cause I am bound to keep your heart fortified
to be certain that you always satisfied
I am only here to kiss away your pains
to keep blood running in your veins

I’d rather kill out of will, than to see you drop tears
If you do, then I want to be locked up in jail for life
I’d rather be broke than see you with a broken heart
If it breaks, then I want to be buried alive
I do not only wanna make you my bride but my loyal wife
I do not only wanna make everything right but also you future bright
If I don’t, then I pray to god to forfeit my life

Because every day
I wanna wake with a smile 
right beside you on your right 
just to encourage you to live alright 
but discourage not leave my sight.

By Sello Alpheus Chokoe (South Africa)

picture source: tumblr.com

For the love of engineering, poetry and you..

If I could differentiate my feelings
I would come up with an equation to the
Highest order
The function of my happiness is your love
You are my polynomial function
In this mathematical love

When I hold you close
Feeling your warmth coming to me
I experience the thermodynamic rush
As heat transfer between us
Pulls our hearts close
Like the strength of a magnetic field
Only this time the units are not teslas
The unit is love

I will integrate joy with respect to love
Limits from now 'til I die
I want to be the equation
With real roots

My love for you endures strain
It has a modulus of elasticity I cannot tell
But for all I know
Subject it to torsion
Forces that try and pull me away from you
I will stand the test of time


You are the centre of my love,
Much like the centre of mass,
You make me have stability

I'm attracted to you
As a magnet to a metal
Its just something I have no control over
I just love you
With all there is of me.


By Pardon Gwara (Zimbabwe)

picture source: http://www.jamesloveless.com

Letter to the object of my affection...

Dear Lover,
You might not know this,
But we are in love.
You are mine,and mine only.
In my own little world.
In my bedroom that I have adorned,
with pictures of you and memorabilia.
All in your name.
A shrine,
dedicated to you,the love of my life.

Dear Lover,
You might not know this,
But you are married to me.
Out of love I did you this favour:
Bought this sixty carat gold ring,
Centered with a sapphire diamond,
And on your behalf:
Proposed to myself.And I said yes!
I placed it on my finger,
And boy did it look stunning on me.
You extravagant boy!
How dare you spoil me so!

Dear Lover,
You might not know this,
But you made passionate love to me.
Yes.Yes You did.
On our wedding night and on the floor.
It was on a monsoon night.
Sheer pleasure and delight.
Love making guided by candlelight
Till the cock's hen was cackling at dawn.
Your menthol-fragrant lips,
Tasted like waters from God's own valley.
And all of you plunged deep in me,
I felt numb and more in love.

Dear Lover,
You might not know this,
But I'll be pregnant and with child.
It will be your breed I'll brood
And the most beautiful of all.
These child-bearing hips,
await the conception and arrival,
Of bouncing babies I'll make you,
Of the progeny that will bring us joy,
And blessings and happiness.
They'll have their father's good looks,
Great health,brains and brawn too!

Dear Lover,
You might not know this,
But you're mine for the keeping forever.
In my grasp and in my heart.
Where we can never grow apart.
You are mine dear lover yes you are!

By Alex Nyasha Dube (Zimbabwe)

picture source: http://www.facebook.com/AfroFutures/photos_stream