A sad ending (of a once beautiful beginning)

I embarked on a journey into the past
Trying to find that spot
Where our love turned into hatred

On my way there I met our smiles
I heard the sound of our laughter
Echoing through the past
I heard our whispers
And the happiness that we shared
I saw my Facebook wall
Painted with love writings from your
fingertips
I read the passion locked in time
my inbox,
An encyclopedia of love it was
Thou hath made Shakespear jealous
By what thee wrote for me
I saw the tags
The moments that we trully smiled
The dreams that we shared
And the countless castles in the air

I wanted to remain locked in that past
I did not want to be reminded of the present
Where your feelings have become status updates
Where when you want to get to me
You post pictures of you and the new guy
Where it hurts to know
We are just drifters
Much like the arctic ice
Cold, and moving further apart

But in my journey to the past,
Maybe I was blind,
I did not see that point
Where caring turned into indifference
and love turned to hatred...
It's just a sad ending
of a story that was once beautiful.

By Pardon Gwara (Zimbabwe)

picture source: capitalfm.co.ke

In the melting pot of your words- The man in the chair

Oh my! Life is such a mess.
Is this all I've got left, worn out dusty suit and this lil' filth of an animal?
I recall the days of old when she loved me dearly
Doesn't want anything to do with me now, clearly

When days were brighter...
sailing through rough seas of thoughts
leaving footnotes at every harbor of delight for I have been there, 
Days were brighter, friends were plenty, 
times were happier, 
No one thought twice of harboring me for a night
for I remitted their tickets to their amusement, 
when days were brighter and friends were plenty, 
Now, 

I sit silently contemplating events that occured

My brain full of stains meditating with the heavens above

Above all thoughts succumbed life and life became a thought

Am lost in the maze...searching
I try to catch that bird perching
but it slipped from me
like the sigh in the wind
that reminded me of days long gone

Now it's all I can do to keep the tears from flowing...
I've tried to push and pull
I've tried to shove
I've tried to nudge
All to on avail

What's left for me to do?
Should I steal?
Aww no!
Am not made for that
but I know

I will pray
and God will play
then it will pay
to trust in His say
for it's His way

That will save me. 

By Edwina Mazunda, Teboho Mtabane, Napo Robert Mokoena, Kingdal Machiaveli Mufc (Africa)

picture source: Facebook - Scribbled Poetry Page

The persevering and the restless

Hi! My name is Joe.
And it is my honor to be dead.
They are weeping now
Hearts broken by my departure.
My efforts paid off
My life duly rewarded.
I loved fiercely
I lived for God steadfastly
I worked fervently.
And now –as one renowned man sang:
‘My heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest.’
I lived my ‘impossible dream’
-For you know,
That’s what they presumed.
Perhaps they never could envision
The honor that could be
For a man who went to the grave
Void of all his dreams.
As for me,
I bid farewell to you
And I am honored to be dead.

By Tebogo Ndlovu (Zimbabwe)

picture source: forbes.com

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