Dark alleys and back steet ways....

I choose to go through the dark alleys
And back street ways
Fearing public prying eyes.
Much ado about my ways
Letting the sleeping dogs lie about their own lives.


By  Sitidziwa Ndoya (Zimbabwe)

I thought....

I thought I found an angel
without knowing she was a devil in an angel's dress.
I thought this one will be perfect
without knowing that it will be the worst of then all.
I thought she is the one
while she is the one to finish up breaking down my heart.
I thought she was like mom
without knowing that those were insults to mother,never should I ve compared them.
am on the hands of this beast called karma,I thought it never existed until now.
karma is at work, making me feel the twice the pain I caused.
life is funny ah
I thought she had a heart of gold
without knowing that she had a heart of pretence.
she deceived me.. i wanted so much to love ,I ended up loving the wrong one
I thought I found love
without knowing that she is the one to kill my heart, soul and love

By   Edison M Chumfwa (Zambia)

Picture credits: absolutelyshane - WordPress.com

HELP ME!

Here i am
lost and ashamed
revolted and disturbed at what i have converted into
you either too smart or too dumb to find God
which am I?
This time i think i have gone a little too far beyond ungodliness
i think i have crossed some sort of indiscernible line
i think i have entered into a precinct where to me your name is as petite as a grain
where your absence means liberation
i've sunken too deep into the conducts of the world
i've put ample emphasis on triumphing in this life and i care so little about the one after it
it hurts
each day i carry this tormenting pain
i swear i can feel it crushing and devouring my insides
i want to praise you but i can't shake off the nauseating feeling that you are not worth it
i want to love you more than anything but i also want to appear first on the list of those i love
i want to learn about you but i'm too busy finding myself
i want to speak of you but i wouldn't know what to say
i want to fight for you but i'm already battling with my seemingly immutable and unending demons
i often call unto you and i wonder if the reply i hear is from you or it's my own voice echoing back to me
i hope you don't look away as i attempt to drag my filthy worthless self before you
i hope you are not humiliated
i hope you don't see me as an exhibition of a failure
even though you possess every right to think that
but here i am
flawed and wrecked
i bow before you with all my errors, with all these blemishes
here are my burdens
numerous and awful
what are you going do?

By Opelo Michiie Makoba (Botswana)

Picture credits: www.dailymaverick.co.uk

Insomnia...

With a stuffy nose, 
And so many thoughts
That no one knows 
How is one meant to sleep?

Awake with me are God, 
Truck drivers and whores
While everybody snores
Lost in their dreams so deep

I wish I could hit pause
On life and it's blows
On time, as it goes
Time I still fail to keep

For as the thickness of night grows
We all know what follows 
A promised daylight that's supposed
To end the nights that weep

That day draws near, dawn feels so close
Insomnia, this is the worst time you chose
To visit me, trap me behind the doors
So leave, do not call or speak after the beep

By Naomi Lialabi (Zambia)

photocredits: www.topix.com

Child With A Broken Soul.......

I am afraid of voices in suicide
notes that were never seen
And whispers of spirits 
left in stainless steel police coffins
Enchanting me into a black hole

Words that drag me to the darkness
in which they were written
Make me find refuge in their grimness
as if it were my mother
Am I a child intrigued by the writer
because I have her broken soul?

My thoughts are tinkets hanging 
in the shrink's office
To please patients whose epiphany 
is knowing that they are better than others

My thoughts are naked and helpless
tugged by death and its accomplices
And mysteries of the unknown purpose
of enduring everything here
These thoughts seek any type of clothing

They find dumped garments of proselytes
Who soon want their clothes
back when sin repullulates
No tailor can make the right measurements
The nakedness can only be covered
by those who poured out their souls

-As broken as their souls were

By Dzikamayi Chando (Zimbabwe)

Picture credits: www.google.com

‪#‎Note to him...

I know I’m not your type
Not that girl...with wide hips and hugging jeans
I’m just the girl with wide eyes hugging my journal
Reciting my thoughts to blue black inkblots on a white canvas
I know I’m not your type
You know the kind with catwalk confidence and charisma
I’m just the girl walking silently as the cat
Hoping to escape the crowd's gaze
So I can confidently tuck my thoughts in between these pages before my mind walls rise
So I can smile to their charismatic indulgences in the serenity of the self -thoughts of when I met you in my thoughts
Introduced you to the crimson coloured sky
As when we ran barefooted to our happily ever after
If only for that moment fairy tales existed
But I’m not your type
So I snap back to reality
Back to the truth
Because I’m not that girl willing to get entangled by white sheets
Held prisoner in invisible stains of sin and deceit
I’m just the girl washed clean by the blood
Whiter than any sheets
Having rubbed off the scarlet letter around my neck
I’m the girl at the cross
Waiting diligently
Waiting for daybreak like the night watchman waits for morning
Waiting for my Adam to finally rise up
Know that I am his your type
And will both recite these poems found in locked hands
Rocking back and forth the past and future
Yet still locked in the present innocence accompanied by locked gazes
With beaming faces and giggles as a lace
I am the girl who doesn’t have to be your type
Just the woman you never wanted to admit you needed
One sent by God to you.

By Dangie Pheto (Botswana).

picture credits: www. cindy-saul.blogspot.com

A NEW SONG...

My heart, my soul longs for a new song
A song of peace and serenity
A song of hope and joy
A song of freedom
Liberating the inner man
A new song my heart awaits

Counting every minute
I wait for my song
Only my song would come from one man-God Himself
In whom music to my ears would be rest
Anguish no longer holding
Frustrations, fears all held illegal
A new song my heart believes for

With the hope of His glory
I am enchanted...
I am captivated to hope
That my new song will come to stay
That i may tell my story
Of His peace and rest
That overwhelms my inner being

Ironical it seems
Of my new song
Because its not only my song
But humanity's lament
A cry for peace
The salvation of man!!!!

By  Tshepiso S Bagwasi
photocredits: www.google.com