Emptiness

 What do you hunger for?

Why do you walk endlessly?

What is with the run?

Is there an end to this mute pursuit?

An endless string of verses of agony

Do you find happiness in the endless pursuits

Why are you tempted? by this and that shiny apple 

Do you ever find comfort , when there is nothing but your dreams to hold to

Do you find your soul in the verses, or they  wallow in emptiness 

Do you find justice in small acts of kindness, or life is just a bitter fruit 

Wrapt in the lonesome cape of emptiness. 

What makes a poem

What makes a poem
Drown deep in a cesspool of emotions
What makes it wail in anguish
gasping for a mystic revival
from the feisty grip of despair  
It shudders, it thunders
Out with the flaring broken pieces
Of fiery flames igniting within
It is ablaze, violently alive to tears
It is not content with buzzing blooming summer days,
the sun and the springs that set our hearts alight

Its not a song, made for the dance 

Its a passion fired fire 

igniting from the depth 

of wretched emotions 

Enough

You had my heart, it was not enough
Had my soul, said Its cold
You had my thoughts, it doesn’t count
Gave you my all, pushed it away
Everything I had, was not enough
Poured out myself, looked away
Say it doesn’t matter,
Look into this heart
Emptiness left behind
Sunsets, sunrises
Lost in thoughts of you
And still its not enough

(Based on Busi Mhlongo's Yise Wabant'a Bami)

The Moon

The harbinger of mysteries

Many have seen your face

But few understand your ways

Similar to a passerby

Who seemingly wanders aimlessly

But your solemn ways are intriguing

Knowing the incompleteness

Of your majestic work

You have never waited

Until you are completed

And brushed with diamonds

To let your shine out to the world

A quarter of you roamed the sky

And enlighten spirits stuck in darkness

Half of you conquered the night

And set pale our dark faces

That we may see and be seen

And find our ways in the dark night

The full of of you woke up giants

Spirits hidden in obscurity

With rays of your splendor

Reaching deep within man and beast

Reminding queens and maidens

Of their matches greatness as creators.

Your journey has shaped hours, days

Months and years that have shaped lives

You are the light, never shy from the dark

Though your journey starts, a slender beam

You shined every step of the way

Until your journey was completed

Teach us your ways

So we can shine in the dark

Shine even when we are fragments

Shine even when everyone sleeps

And no one watches

Shine to the world

Shine to our friends and enemies

Shine when in summer

Shine in the deep of a winter

Teach us your ways

Never see me again

 If you never see me again

Know my wretched soul found a comforter

In the grim hand of the Ancient Reaper 

Overwhelmed by my beauty, you called me ugly 

I have found comfort, in a world where i look like nothing

 

I have no father, no mother to shield me 

I have no sister, no brother to protect me 

I have no friend to live for, they laughed at my aungish 

They marvelled at my agony

 

So if you never see me again, i am safe

 

#JusticeForLufuno - for Lufuno Mavhunga a victim of school peers bullying, societal neglect and isolation. Peace be upon Her

Matilda II

 She came, a bride from the cities far off
From places known only in name
But her journey was a bouquet of roses
Freshly cut out of time
Or so I thought 

Imagining a red catapiller like bus
Sprawling up and down villages
Pregnant with a budding rose
That would find roots
In the depth of my heart

 
A crawling bus came
Found me brimming with a smile
Almost an overshadow all over the bus stop
Standing as the knight in shining armor
It’s the last bus that came, the bus of promise 

First it was municipal workers in a rush
For hush with their littles ones at home
Swimming out of the bus like bees
Then came the rowdy school kids
Their shoe laces untied in these slippery streets

And last case the pensioners, old grumpy pensioners
Gasping their way out of the bus, out of life
As it roared lamenting its departure
They didn’t smile, they didn’t wrinkle

The bus stop palely stared at the roaring bus
Seemingly more solitary than my lone shadow
That was left with eyes sore in despair
For the rose that never blossomed

But remained seated gracefully in the bus
Starring at me like you would stare a thing
I waited for the morning She rushed for the dusk
And I walked back to my village
Empty handed

The poet (is dead)

Though your poems are not written 

And the gory ink dried before our own shaken eyes 

You lived in simile and melancholy

Metaphors of agony 

You seared your parting lines 

With graceful grandeur 

Like a revered poet 

Holding firm the flaming pen that wrote your life 

Murmurs still linger 

Of the unknown poem 

You left behind for us 

To decipher 

To find meaning 

Of the light that shone so bright 

For us, it blinded itself 

And walked itself to oblivion 

We still stare in awe 

Wondering if these lines continue 

For the poem was yet to be written 

Now the poet is dead 

His ink-less veins shattered 

Like a harrowing nightmare 

Blazed out of reality 

The poet is dead

Sandra (History)

Herstory

Mystory

Ourstory

She died

 

- adpted from Murena Mawela