i am in trouble so bad

1

Introduction

This poetry collection is a culmination of the many poetry recitals that were doneduring the period 1996 to 1998 at the University of Zimbabwe by the members ofthe UZ Creative Writers Association. The platform for these recitals was grantedthrough the goodwill of the members of the Theatre Arts Department, notably FKOmoregie, Owen Seda and Ethel Dhlamini.

Compiling and editing this anthology was no easy task because the participantswere drawn from diverse worlds: singers, journalists, psychologists, biologists,pharmacists and so on. Poetry, it appears, cuts across disciplines. The messagethat is being communicated in these poems is quite profound, refreshing andtherapeutic in a sense.

For the twenty-five years that Zimbabwe has been independent quite a lot ofdramatic events have happened. Once upon a time the country was regarded as ajewel and a bread basket of the entire Southern African Development Communitybut today it is sad to realise that Zimbabwe has become a mere basket case.

On the educational front Zimbabwe was well known for its highly skilledprofessionals across disciplines. Today all the able-bodied professionals have fledinto the diaspora where they swallow their pride and do menial tasks in foreigncapitals.

I discovered this script “I am in Trouble So Bad” in my moments of soul-searchingas I was perusing some of the luggage which I had mistaken for baggage. Althoughpatching together this script has not been an easy task, at least the experienceand exercise has been therapeutic. It is a direct commentary of what is happeningin Zimbabwe. Somebody has to say something about what is happening in a countrythat the world had so much hope in which is now heading towards the cataracts.These poets are merely responding in their diverse ways. Whether they are rightor wrong it’s not for me to judge.

History will judge them. The problem with Zimbabwean commentators andpoliticians is that they have tried enormously to reduce the Zimbabwean crisisinto a Zimbabwe Versus Britain game yet common-sensically we defeated theBritish in 1980, twenty-five choking years ago. Others have reduced the wholedebate into a two-tier problem: the Ruling Zanu-PF and the Opposition MDC Partypolarity. The anthology has in a big way avoided this approach. It discusses thegeneral problems Zimbabweans are facing from HIV and AIDS, university life andits challenges in contemporary Zimbabwe, the political and social forces that are

2 I AM IN TROUBLE SO BAD AND OTHER POEMS

blowing in the country. The poets in a way offer various discussions and solutionsto these problems.

Of particular interest is Albert Nyathi. He is one of the singers in the post 1990era. He remarks that “time’s giant tooth/ has eaten deep into our flesh…” So toheal this wound the sacrifice has to be big also. He feels that perennially beggingor in other words turning our politicians into professional beggars in foreign capitalscannot solve the solution to our many domestic problems. He finds it dramaticand awkward at the same time that the political establishment finds it easy toswiftly suppress student protests using teargas and anti-riot police yet back in“the parliamentary buildings…sleep and hangover outplay thought and plan”.

Elliot Magunje in “Fat Cats” observes that the generality of the population isscrounging for a living yet a class of ‘fat cats’ is fast emerging: “like tricks oncows’ backs they multiply”. And in “All I want” Patrick Mudavhanu militantly bursts:“All I want is to blow the trumpet and make thunder…. To create a bolt of lightningin this indigo blackness”. Frustration, anger, despair, betrayal and disillusionmentcharacterise the poetry.

Jethro Mpofu in “My Private Anthem” warns those who are unleashing terror onthe masses: “I am the uncensored version of a violent movie…the active volcanogods had bribed but soon I will erupt and burn them alive…”

Overall, this anthology answers the questions: what is really the ZimbabweanCrisis? What ought to be done to correct the crisis?

ML GunduzaHead: Enhanced Skills International Research and Training Institute, Pretoria,South Africa

I AM IN TROUBLE SO BAD AND OTHER POEMS 3

O My Land!

It’s not AIDS but cancerThat will kill us slowlyThe way AIDS has slowlythrown its punches right in our faces,Each punch sure enoughTo land someone beneath our soles

Tell the dog to learnThe skills of hunting for itselfBy itself, on its own, and build its ownconfidence, hope and home!

Time’s giant toothHas eaten deep into our fleshpolitics has no roomfor serious thinkers here

Here all you need is:Speak some languageCome from somewhereBe of some colourSmile to every insane jokeNod to a gain lie!It’s all there is to it here

MaAfrica, we knowThe source of our perennial beggingBut we’d rather not hear about itWe see but we’d rather look elsewhereWhere our eyes will not be ashamed,Where our nose will not beblocked by the stench of realityThat like absent cloudsCovers this domain called‘Our land!’My land kuze kube nini bo!

Albert Nyathi


Varsity Grounds

A place to know who you are,To silently admire girlsas they pass‘Silence pleaselectures in Progress’To silently digest Franz fanonAnd Walter RodneyTo silently digest Amilcar Cabraland Ngugi wa Thiong’ oTo silently, slowly fart outthe liberal poisonyou long harbouredin the stomach of your brainsUniversity grounds!A place to take it or leave it

You either grow or simply suffocateConfusion!The love passions outgrowingthe Bible men at the Students’ Union BarThe miniskirts simply bending over,The car seats turning into bedrooms,The beer bottle sight encouragingthe son’s daughter to postponethe writing of the assignment!

The Administration block under the stormUnder the siege of academic guerrillasUnder heavy stress of drunkenstamping, stamp, stampeding feet,The grounds!The varsity grounds!Here the hearts find each other,Here the hearts get instantly lostin Orientation Weeks,Here you search for a clean heartLike you search for theclean needle in a haystack,


Here you see passionsgo unanswered,That finally find their heartsin city barsAnd the innocent unknowing bloods

Soon are baptised in pools of holyPenicillin!

Here the virgin’s thigh throws apartlike the breaking of a great dawnand feels like Independence Day,The Rhodesian flag hesitantly sinkingIn these, our solemn groundWe also learn the holy art:— stone-throwing- —Is it not truemany a gumboots has broken ribs?The baton stick been handyin matters of state discipline?

Albert Nyathi


The Miniskirt Flies Under Pressure

A mind stopped,The bar hauntedwith countenances painted,My eyes unblinking in searchThe bar smelling of sweat andcigarettesSmelling of vomit and milk-spatteredBoobsand mouths unwashed for daysimmemorialShe scooped me in her mini-skirts,I followed,like a dying sheep, soundlessShe stuck out ten fingersNo ways!Tomorrow I would stand before Godand confess before his highness, thePriest and would be fine — God forgives!

We crossed over to some Hararean alleyAnd the guard brushed us awayWith a rough voiceand we drove on,In search of some greener pastureLong grass!But first this!

Listen you Xian poetWhose eyes would not searchbut speaks in abstract tongues

She lay on this natural carpetdid all the job;So long the ten fingers commandDollar coins clicked in her purseThe hissing of the grass!The compression of the undergrowthThe tuneful whistling of the air!The calling of names recordable by memory.


In tonguesthe kind that blasts the church roofswhen Xians are caughtin the power of holy ghost

At some spying missionthe stroke!The moveThe scientific method!some electric current!the spine!some eel crawls in there!Uncomfortable yet enjoyableSome distant drumbeat,the crack!DawnNew world!Oh! It’s all over,I face dawnwith a shy eye

Albert Nyathi


Where? Ngaphi? Kupi Ko?

At the Students Union BarWhere Beer and Bookoutplay the revolutionary hooliganBeer, the appetizer, andBook, the very dinner uponwhich we should feedbut teargas in wait for a solemn dessert!

At the Christian Union BuildingWhere Bible and Book outscore Jesus’wants!and there hangs about our vanityin the ceilings of our holy bibles,Where the anti-Christ are holliesand the Koran bears sinful verses,and our ancestorsare pronounced witches!

During “open days” in the complexesWhere unsuspecting girls are rapedIn our great graders CressidasWhere AIDS slumbers, in wait!In our hungry AfricaWhere stoutness of purse measuresto love and to marrya sure forerunner to divorce!

At the braaiswhere double-crossingis the pattern of the eveningin lecture roomsWhere professor loves to tellabout the many degreesthat he fought forWhile others fought a war of guns!Fought for a freedom that never came???Fought only to be demobilised!Fought only to get food for work!


In the factories where sweatFuels the very heart of man’s greed!In the farms where bothHand and heart have been hardenedand the sun always risesTo tell the same old stories,but our eyes continue to seeNew things in the rays when the sunrises each day

In the parliamentary buildingswhere sleep and hangover outplaythought and planand talk on unemployment is adjournedAlways! Always! Always!The vision doubles upGlides and grins from the EastBut our wants are outdoneBy the wild herbThat we do sniff in hopeTo fuel thought!

When Sun at her noondoes play hide-and-seek with Moonin Moon’s noon

Then we shall ask the many eyesthat do view these scandalsin our main playgrounds!

Albert Nyathi


Bulawayo

Tell me if this is youLand of the spiritsIf this is youWho lost faith in yourself?

Tell me,For these doubtsAre sure enough to splitWhat holdsyour ashes togetherMystery of my landtell me!

Where once was Lobengula’s feetnow lies stoneThe great Indaba tree has not spokensinceand the innocent unknowing bloodsHis lips were sewn together for over acentury nowBy the demands of the times,Yet again sit still and look aheadFrom the King’s old BulawayoThe ashes rose tall to create newModern Bulawayo

Albert Nyathi


Letter to the President

I wanted to writeYou a letterI wanted to tellYou,To tell you thatYour people areSuffering

But I thought you would answer

“They are not my people. They are only mypeople during election time!”

I wanted to write to you a letter,to tell you that enough is enoughThat the atmosphere is pregnant withRevolutionThat very soon you shall hear warcriesThat sooner or later much sooner than laterThere shall be gnashing of teethbut I thought you would answer“We have put a mechanism to deal with any uprising!”

This letter I will writeThis letter shall remain on my mindBut just like a sin in mind is a sin committed,A letter in mind is a letter writtenSign it?

Percy F. Makombe


I Could Have Written you on Wednesday

But I was Afraid

I intended to tell you that I amexperiencingthe horrors of prisonSuffering because of innocencePerhaps Thrasymachus was rightAfter all, isn’t justice the interest of theStrangers?

Three security guards,two in green uniforms,holding broom sticks,and one plain clotheda ‘tiny toy’ in his handthat is how it began,with those loyal warders thrashing usand confiscating our IDsno room for negotiationsfor they wanted to justify theirexistence on campus

On Tuesday we got locked upat Avondale Police Stationpictures, fingerprints and otherdetails were takenI am afraid my picture might be inthe newspaper

Then on Wednesday we were takento Rotten Row Criminal Courtthe PP proclaimed our entrancethat we were better off inremand prison than out on baillest we would abscond and go intohidingso now the trial is on 23 April


Fortunethe cell is but a torture chamber,a small roomthe size of a Blair toileta small hole at a far cornerStinkingchokingIt stinks of shit and urineof sickening deathWe are fifty in this cellBut there is one man who hasarrested my attention

The man is deadthough he is still livingalways scratching and plucking offthe flesh that still clings to his boneseating his sacred flesh

I am seeing a lot of funny anddisgusting things hereand I happen to be out, I shall tellyou more

Well FortuneI have no day or nightAfraid of those who threaten other men at nightAnd whenever I sleep I wrap myselfIn my biting lice-infested rag

As for the food hereLet me not bother youLet me not go into detailsBear with me, FortuneOf the meals I shall maintain nothingMoreLest I vomit again!

When you come to see mePlease bring me slippers, lotion, comb andTowel


I haven’t taken a bath since I left college,And by the way, we are already in khakhi uniformsMberikunashe clothesBy the way, to visit a prisonerIs only once per week and forStrictly five minutes

Say hie to BettyAnd please, Fortune,Tell her I am fine

Phineas Chinyanga


The Pain of Promises

During our heydays my loveWe could carefully chooseWhich roods to tread onWhich rivers to crossWhich fruits to pluckAnd which dances to rehearse

Promises spreadAs a whole infinite galaxyI would accept unquestioninglyFor with you nothing was impossibleAs long as the skyRemained blue with hope

Each night you would carry meto unfathomable golden heightsto unknown heavens of blisswhere even angles never dreamtto set foot

Now, like a plane taking off in sandAll those promisesHave pain fully fallen on the rocksleaving me in the deserta mere castaway,after-wash frothand in pain…

Mufaro Gunduza


I Won’t Die Yesterday

I may fail to go on todaybut I wont die yesterdayIf I fail to live to see tomorrowYesterday I won’t be deadMy sun may refuse to risemy night may forget to dawnno ways! I won’t die yesterday

You want me to die yesterday?Why, isn’t that too late?you could kill me todaybut if I have lived todayAnd may live to see tomorrowthen I can’t die yesterday.

Felex Mafume-Mutasa


Down With It

I lay down these linesWith all the Gs in my earI let out the flow,As best as I can,I keep it sweet and soft, to show you IKnow

Their lyrics don’t come easyBut my heart’s pounding fast,Throwing them up my mind, -I’m a neat little rhythm,I’m waiting right here, won’t leave youBehind

Your words keep on singing,and my pulse keeps on racing,oh, my heart starts to sing,I just want to show youI’m down with the love thing

Fungai James Tichawangana


Gangraped

History is not foundin those books;it’s written on the discardedpeople’s facesWonder? Wait?

The people are the living historyBooksWhere it is written in bold:we are tired of this voyagethrough razor-sharp life;to us,Harare is a barren wilderness:We can’t find release from the fettersOf unemployment;When we sell our warmth to menit’s not a sign of immoralityit’s a symptom of this decaying rule

Damn!you pack of human jackals in powerwhy gang rape this country?

Tirivacho Makwarimbe


On Her Death Bed

Look!Zimbabwe is groaning,sinking under wagon- loads of miseryHarare is pregnant with uncountabledemonstrations-the workers’ cheeks are spent, erodedBy tearsbut the government is a pharaohthat says to the wailing citizenswe donate baton sticks and teargas

these Hararean streets reek ofManufactured povertyDestitute upon destitutewhose composition ranges from,bastardsto the discarded ex- combatants.Damn!

Heavenwhere are your ears?you in the underworldwhere are your ears?our tears are restless like the sun:The nation is on corruption’s notoriousIdle countrymen,where will your barren silence lead us to?the nation is already on her death bed!

Tirivacho Makwarimba


Entrance

Walls tumbling downErection of firmer wallsVexation of the spiritA decompositionA decomposition heh!Just itLicking and lurking flamesJust arrows and raysWhy?Deny itGerminateLive and rotFine

In the struggle for ascendancewhere does descendance dwellto lose face and the beingthis is madnessmadness with passionpassion, what passionto explode the throatThe knife kissing adam’s appleis it a defeat or victory to livewhen there is a yearningto be the other though notto die is it a victoryto engage and marry deathto embrace and cuddle himGliding into oblivion though eternalis it ecstatic?

Willias Masocha


I Don’t Need No Other Hell

I don’t need no other hellWhen from the wombI wheeze and pantGroan and writheNot from sores of mishapsFrom mine forefathers passed down

I don’t need no other hellWhen with pain and groaningI kneel and prayTo undo the deedNot my doingSilence is the answer

I don’t need no other hellWhen not in illusionsI beholdBrother slit brother’s throatNot for misunderstandingUnderstanding that to reignBrother’s guts need be out

I don’t need no other hellWhen on this cosmosGuilty or innocentWrithe in its firesBrother burning me not to ashesIf it were he would

I don’t need no other hellFrom my lips to let go the cryJustice comes from nowhereAbove or belowBesides from the peopleIn hell who do writhe

Willias Masocha


Let’s Change our Dressing

It is militating against our existenceWe are teetering on the brink ofDestruction and extinctionthere is a pressing desire to alter ourdressingit is rotten as it is repugnantbut gravely deadlyor dressing is vulnerableit is susceptibleTo AIDS which has no panaceaMen! Women! Take heed to head aheadin lifethe only panacea is a culturalRevolution from thisDeceptive, immoral dressingMore detrimental to existenceIt is time for a cultural revolutionwhich is a positive evolutionTake heed!

Abramiah M. Mponda


The True Prison

It is not the leaking roofNor the singing mosquitoesIn the dump, wretched cellIt is not the clank of the keyAs the warden locks you in

It is not the measly rationsUnfit for man or beastNor yet the emptiness of the dayDipping into the blankness of nightIt is notIt is notIt is not

It is the lies that have been drummed upInto your ears for one generationIt is the security agent running amokExecuting callous ordersin exchange for a wretched meal aday

The magistrate writing in her bookpunishment she knows is undeservedThe moral decrepitudeMental ineptitudelending dictatorship spuriouslegitimacycowardice masked as obediencelurking in our denigrated souls.it is fear damping trouserswe dare not wash of our urineit is thisit is thisit is thisDear friend, turns our free worldinto a dreary prison.

Ken Saro-wiwa


All I Want

All I want to do is blow the trumpetand make thunder, all I want is to createa bolt of lightning in this indigo blacknessall I want is to see people cast smiles toTheir faces and say, ”oh, look, we arePeople, we are living”

that is what I want, to see people live

Wanting to be alivebut my sister I am a sad brother,brother I am a sad manBut I do not want to be sadyet countrymen, I am SAD.

Panavanhu Mudavanhu


Fire in the Country

What the man seesThe mouth cannot utterHunger screams as povertyDevelops wingsMind boggling experiencesStifling the cries from withinThe black starved bodies muddled in mudThrown helter-skelter in the sea of povertyNothing except hunger,Which declare in unison:“povo yaramba zvemadhisinyongoro!”where can we work well and getreasonable wages?time shall come when revolution shallswallow somenow time to strive, to seek, to findand to yield!

Percy F Makombe


This City Stinks!

This city stinks!Each station is a broken upSewage pipeThe air is heavily pregnant with stenchInviting battalions of fliesBlack cats, rats…

This city stinks, my friendbut only recently was a multi-thousanddollar ceremony,the inauguration ofan executive Mayor who had rigged hiswayThey winedThey celebratedThey sang and danced

But listen O peoplethis city stinks!The last donation disappearedbetween donor-fingers and pot-holedroadsOur cornfields are wet with sewage waterour gardens are wet with sewage waterOur backyards are rotting with sewagewaternow listen, my friendThe city stinks!

Mufaro Gunduza


These Things Make Me Sick!

When I think of thisMuseum of financial mismanagementthesis of economic betrayalMortuary of pathological stagnancyThese galleries of politicalIncompetencechancers in chaotic charadeshoping that tomorrow will be a better daythese things, my friendmake me sick!

I can hear a faint sound, my friendechoes and waves, though in silenceWords from broken lipscries from sorrowful civil servantscurses from the jobless youthsa living testimony of economic defeathatched by thosePresiding in the golden nuggets of powerThese things, my friendMake me sick!

The bleeding woundsthese broken aspirationsamidst the deployment of armoured carsand live ammunitionthese things, my friendmake me sick!

Only time will blow the trumpetheralding new seasonsthe will of the people shall prevail

I wake up to realise thatYou send messages of peaceFrom your comfort zoneyet us in the shantiest of the shantiesDie slowly in economic languor


I can’t parade my hungerlest you stab me with a bulletI can’t grab food for my stomachFor you will call it “hooliganism”But truly speaking, your habitshave no trace of “humanism”should we all perishwho, my dear king, will you rule?

Mufaro Gunduza


I Miss Kumusha

The fresh smell of warm cow-dungon a rainy morning in the kraalI miss my rootsThe endless tales of witchcraftWizards riding on hyenasWitches chewing dead men’s bones with delight

I miss village folksThe smell of raw tobaccoThe sight of tobacco-stained yellow teethLike ant-eaten mealie-cobs

I miss night dancesWild excitements on moonlightsI miss my kith and kinQuenching throats with muchaiwa and mupetaStrong traditional brews

I miss shivering like reed in waterAfter the hooting of an owlOn pitch dark nightsShacking my spine in fearThe crying gulls, hyenas………

I miss traditional tunesThe mbira lyricsBoom-booming deep soundsOf the African drumEjecting beats of ecstasyIn the motherland

I miss the cracked course hands inGreetingThe scratched hard feetthat talk about labourresilience,bare survival ….


I miss chsing girls by the river banksthe tender sweet voicesthe bright and blooming faces

The gourds and calabashesthe grazing fat cowsOld Musharukwa whistlingas he tills the fieldsbirds singing on tree-topsthe fledging wheat headsmillet headsreal signs of hopeI miss kumushaI miss my roots

Mufaro Gunduza


Dead Men Walking

Yesterday’s existence, with warmingparties infestednature and humanity not incollaborationyet we survived, strove for a better worldand along corridors of time,hope was to comeThen I flipped another pageto centre-spread of today’s hungryhistorya filthy battered vision of hope instranglehold

For in stark clarity, with no holdsBarredWere crudities of existence, yelling fromThe splayed pagesOf the AIDS-threatened life of ustonight

Dawn of the collapse of humanityWhose soul-decayed eyesSunken deep in brazen socketsOnly remain the soul lighthouseFor signalling terrestrial guests fromHadesTo the comfy curse of this LivingDarknessThe rigours of existential deliriumBeyond repair, violating the virginity of our soulsWith a wrongful prescription, of thewrongest spermicide!

Then close the pages I did, andsearched for truthbut to witness what available reality?an absolute wipe-out of theNeighbourhood and beyond


The wrongful spermicide – turnedpandemichad ceased long to be a mere tendril of darknessbut the long and forged malicious armof deathgrabbing viciously at the world’s shirtfrontwringing out all life in long tendrils of darknessmore full –blown cases, tenaciouslyclingingat the gift of life, with dead men’s cold-blooded clawsseeking audience with fate,to propose a special reprievethese semi-guillotined men:Deadmen Walking

Felex Mafume-Mutasa


The Best Things Come To Pass

Who said so, that the best thingsCome to pass?best things?I used to think soTo know so

But today, I know betterEverything of this worldmay come to passBut my love is foreverit is an eternal flameI will never know if we ever guessedthat we are two candidates to a destinya destiny too sweet a destiny too real

There’s beggary in the love that can beReckonedLove is a poor one that can beSummed

But why should I not say it…?My passions are made up of nothingBut the finest part of pure loveJust as always say dear loveI would be able if I loved you lessTo talk about my love for you more

One day this flower absorbs meA nice flower indeedthe scent so succulentthe colour so romanticBut to a rude awakening my mentalfaculties are shaken

Y’re the best colourY’re the best availableIn scentIn flavour


The foot tracks in the wild Savannah ofMy sincere loveThe source of my sincere loveYou make me see vision and hopeUnique, like nothing else that I die for onPlanet earth!

Oh, too fond, my emotional outflow isHence endedYet the thick skin of my passion is onlyBut prickled

Felix Mafume-Mutasa


Shattered Dreams

I am in trouble so badwith no future to look atno hope to clingDream of heaven on earthBlown to the wind like dust

I did not take my friend’s adviceTaking myself to be a know-it-allDoing things which are noxiousI would have not been in a state soMiserable…With dreams shatteredAnd in trouble so bad

Everything seemingly in golden platterWith dreams to fulfilAnd hopes to satisfyIt was a double blowAnd I am in trouble so bad

With dreams shattered and smashedI am slowly go-go-ing…Slowly eating and eroding deep, deeperAnd deeperGoes the thingBeyond measure

It sweeps deepAnd I am in trouble so badI had dreams to satisfyTo be safe and enjoy my youthBut in a whisker, it was crushed.I was caught off footIn the blink of an eyeI was in cloud nine of devastated andDevoured youthAnd I am in trouble so bad


Had I known that Hardy playboyI would have not reached a state somisearbleOff guard, virginity was sucked out of meLike nectar from a sunflowerand he with greatness of a he beeI was sucked dry and left wiltingunlike a sunflower, I was left todieNot to die decently, but bitterlyAnd shamefullywith dreams shattered?and no hope, or horse to rideand in trouble so bad

I am slowly d- yingbecause I was caught off footlured by the decorated papers andThe innsI was left for deaddreams shattered foreverto die a bitter deathI am in trouble so badly

Oh you cousinCheck your stepsenjoy your youthand watch your stepslest your dreams will be thrownto the dogsand fall by the way poolskeep cool and be your GodAnd your dreams and hopes will fruit

Hardlife Upenyu Mudavanhu


Akulasini

I will not accept it, hayi mhan!I wont take that jazz from no one,Don’t think I can do it, ndinozvigona!And don’t think I’m blind, ngiyakubona!

You treat me like I’m some kind ofDummy,My friend ungadlalisi ingqondo zami,You want to steal my pride, kundibira ini!Hazviite kani, it won’t do, akulasini!

I’m not moved by your tears, chemaHako!How can you cry for chinhu chisiri chako?You murdered the very soul of myAncestors,Now you burden my heart withEmotional blisters!

Hear now the whisperings of theirAngry voices,As they examine the facts and considerThe choices,Uyezwa yini?its worse than hellChiona manje, vana voita rebel!

That tomorrow our people will cease toSuffer;We must fight, yes rebel, zvirinani kufa!Hayi ungangibambi, wena olandelaUsathani,The victory is mine, akula mfo,Akulasini!

Fungai James Tichawangana


Fractured Spirit

Where are we heading?In this wildernessWhere to be on the wrong sideOf the political coinIs to swim in a poolOf scalding liquid steelWhat peace is this?

In this Hararean iron jungleWhere to live peacefullyIs to erect a firm durawall?A stonewall of naked silenceWhenever politics is a subject?

Countrymen,My spirit is fracturedI’m nine pregnantwith disillusionment



Why These Gaping Differences?

I grew up in the securityof your cream plastered promisesI grew up in a protective fortof your flame lily promises

Now,What rule is this?You settle your debts in chequesWhile I settle mine in coinsIn your barren Hararechildren battle with dogsOver morsels of sadza at the base ofStreets binsWhile your belly sags and nodswith over-eating

Woe!I wish there were architectsOf kind hearts:Their combined effort would save you



To The Ashes Refused To Be

Darkness floatsAbove the landReality is lostThough hidden inThe floatingDarknessStill it is there

Individually caged and in make-upMaskedWhich when washedThe concealed being is seenMist clothes feelingsThough destroying not

When this fear rulesTomorrow whether I will meetor follow to the pitthose who criedto stifle the wailing of the landstrangle to death

Wax had no mercyIn vain it triedStill the cry was thereCycloplegia handicapping eyesThough this fear ruledThese feelings burnt notTo the ashes refused to be

Willias Masocha


The Alien

There was a fencevision of painVision of survival and munchingthey had no partnershipBelonged to different times and planetsalien

Willias Masocha

At The Pigsty

The farmer smiledit was a tooth or twoto the soilThe rest wentdid the termites nibble themwhere are their graves?I would have written an epitaphof teeth, flesh and boneshe cut the piggling tailsbroke the teethThe sequelmusic to the earperverted feelingssurvivalectomising parts directlynot in words and songnot with pen and paperthe pigs squealed

squealed and squealedmist in his hammocksWax in his hammocksdun in his earsDun in his noseand numb handsthough they could break teethAnd cut tails


mating at determined timeshad it been a beeorgan exploding with violent obsessionThe farmer smileda tooth or twowhat happened to my eyes?

Willias Masocha


What The World Badly Needs

A little more kindness andlittle less greeda little more giving andless needA little more smile and a little lessfrowna little less kicking a man when he’sdowna little more “we” and less ”I”a ittle more laughs and a little less crya little more flowerson the pathway of lifeand fewer on graves at the end of strife

Abramiah Mponda


I Am

The downtrodden of societyan existing symbol of society’soppressionvictim of parasitesThe repugnant, stinging, egocentric-Mosquitoes of society“I am”, the smallest fish in a poundsquashed by a hierarchy of fat fish andalligators“for how long shall I stand aside andlook?”I am the pebble swimming among rocksI was neither born to eat from society’sbinsNor to be clamped by its vicesI am physically chained but mentallychurnedBy pen I shall liberate myself, if not byPainEven hard, “I “ will fight ahead to makeIt heardBy any means necessary

Abramiah Mponda


Blues

Linger than I can endureI will stand and listenTo the sounds of morn birdsWaking the worldBut never will they wake you my loveWhence you had gone, you never will returnLonger.Longer than I can endureI will stand and listenTo the sounds of dusk birdsTo send the world to sleepBut never more will I with you sleep myLoveBut in dreams we will be togetherForever love

Anonymous

You Made Me So

A hound of goodness I once wasan advocate of peacea trustee of happiness and joymaster of love carolspreaching harmony and solidaritybut no place is there for me, in thisworld overno place for peace, love or joy

Anonymous

The Epitaph

Here lies a young manborn during the hot daysof the liberation strugglebred through tough decades ofDroughts,completed school in the days ofthe economic structural adjustment issueand here he lies severed from us byAIDS

Panavanhu Mudavanhu


Betrayed

No. 16 Revolution DriveP.O ZimbabweBetrayed Nation

One Day in 1996

Dear SmithYou will forgive me for carrying that gun in1966it was just a compulsion ofcircumstancesyou see, sir, your forefathers took myland,my right to a livingas you can see I had no choiceI went to Mozambique, I somehowSurvived the Nyadzonia massacres, but sir yourForces, Maiwee…, even Hitler wouldHave been proudWe fought sir, sir we foughtWe lost limbs…But we had no choice

In 1980 you lost the election and we allcelebratedgladly we demobilised and waitedwaited sir for the land we fought forwaited for the education of our kidsWe waited above all for the recognitionWe hoped to lie one day at the Heroes AcreWe were wrong sir

We heard that there were categoriesGood, better, best kind of thingMy dear friend, a certain fellow wasBuried in a fenced bushI heard Comrade Zongororo was buriedIn something thatscarcely resembled a graveyard


Yesterday at the offices they told me toproduce documentary evidence toprove my historyYou yourself sir, you know we could notAfford to come up with registers andStupas to join the struggle

Sir, we have been betrayed, by our ownwe are destined for the dustbins of historyIt is not that I admire you, I meanyou were the extension of Hitler,Hardcore Nazibut we are no different now, we are stillthe worst in societySir do not reply, they will call me atraitorand I will disappear

EX-Combatant


Syllabus of Despair

Just a good glance, my friendon the Hararean streetscinematic sights of children in tattersbright ideas buried in broken dreamssorrowful sights of sad citizenscringing carefully for survivalblind beggars begging to live

Just a good glance, my friendon the Hararean streetselegant and elephant fatladies and gentlemen pass byif you are hit, they just run awayin their fancy flashy carswho cares?The wretched victims sinkIn their shrines of ennuitomorrow is another nightmareto be greeted by the same syllabusthe itching syllabus of despair

Just a good glance, my friendon the Hararean streetsthe bath waters that were thrown awaytogether with the babydisinherited by their leaders

Yet endless summits steal the limelightsuggesting robes of charityin declarations and edictsfalse Samaritan tears!

Mufaro Gunduza


To You Yesterday’s Friend, Today’s Enemy

The Savannah Sun baked us dryThe tropical rain soaked us to theMarrowTalons of hunger caressed our intestinesWe shared the same cave with venomousSnakesAnd fought with baboons and monkeysFor foodYou were our brother in those daysUrging us on through thick and thin.

We had an inspirationA ray of hopeA cause to persevereThe mosquitoes that sang incessantly onOur earsAnd with sharp stinging painDrove their proboscis into our wizened skinsThe buckets that grazed usAnd blew our friends offMade us feel like sacrificial lambsFor the salvation of the children ofIsrael and Egypt.

I remember, former comrade, when youStood before usUnleashing a barrage of insultingEpithetsTo the shameless ravenous wolvesWho were tearing amongst themselvesOur land, our minerals, our heritageEnemies wretching from us from ourGourd of milk and honeyAnd above all, taking a whip to driveUs outFrom the house our fatherslaboured to build for usI remember hearing you swearing


By the spirit of Chaminuka andNehandaVowing and taking an oathTo drive away the shameless wolvesSo that we may regain our inheritanceIn short, trading against what you areToday..

Yes, we survived the bites of thethe poisonous snakesa deluge of enemy’s bulletsThe threat of hungry lionsand blows we could not dodgeFrom hunger and diseasesbut not all of us did

Blood flowed in NyadzoniaIt scoured the earth into ravines inTembweFormed ponds in Gokweand in Chimoio multilated bodiesfloated in rivers of blood.

We fought, we persevered and that did itwe regained our heritage and freedomamidst tears of happiness and sorrowwe celebrated as we saw a new sun bright and promisingit rose with a new magnificent, laden with future promisesPromises of an abundant life full ofLuxuries and fooledAmidst celebrations we elected you our leaderto administer our inheritenceand to share it equally among the heir-apparents

Now after so many dark years of futilepromiseswe see in you your yesterday’s enemy incarnatewe watch you and your accomplicesgrabbing more and more for yourselveswe see the Mobutu syndrome in you


the Smith virus bleeding abundantly in youwe wonder whether the time is not yetripe to destroy the Vasco Da Gama disease in youto kick you out for you have taken enoughfor even the blind owner to seewhat the people of your kind sufferedIs what we will make you sufferTomorrow

Isaac Mthethwa


The Fat Cats

Like ticks on cows backs they multiplyLike destitutes they scramble for myShareIn my name they fly to conferencesIn my name they fly to seminarsYes, in my name they organise festivalsFor it’s in my status they found liberty.

Hey you fat catsFat catsEnough is enoughI am beginning to smell a ratFor I am a disadvantaged ratI speak for disadvantaged ratsNot you!

I say you fat catYour talking for me has been unfairYour talking for my colleagues isSuspectIn your arrogance you call me a victimAt an overseas seminary you purportedTo be defending meYet back home I am not known

Yet back home I am hungryYet back home you fill your tummy withMy share.No! No! let me say No!No more passing policies for meWithout meNo more talking for me without meEnough is enough Fat CatYou have done more harm than good.

Elliot Magunje

Resilience of Roots

Such strange ridiculousnessin the life of leaves in me evokesa soft awakening; caressing the darkcorners of my mind with razor-sharpawareness!They bud and sprout and bloom andSet the world aglowThen to wither and to the ground to retireTo the roots.

We are leaves drooping to identify withRoots which we never see till like leavesWe all fall down and disappear into theGround of death and discovery.Though we know where we belongWe no longer know how to belongLike leaves, we want to reveal in the warmthOf our independence and heritage visibly withoutAnxiety and despondency- but the elements?Like leaves casting off one by oneWe are left drooping to our rootsIn disconcerting sparseness.

We look down and we know,for we are happy to belongBut it is the rigors of existenceThe harsh and the rude realitiesEver exposed like leaves, to terrors of patriotismThe elements; wind sun rain-vagaries of weatherComing with a foreign cultureWearing out our resilienceSquashing us in our own existence happilyInhaling the moribund fumes of culturalDisintergration yet we still long to be resilient.

We may flourish in the blaze of worldly glamourYet heavy to the souls is the weightOf identity frustration


But only in times of trouble, trouble which we careEver in the end of an old existence lost in a newBeginning the relegated details of Old Roots yellingFor recognitionAn eyesore, a cultural pimple on tomorrow’s baby face-Is our conscience bleeding- scars watering Great Zimbabwe,Or oozing crocodile tears from heads drooping in remonstrance,Excluding no bold possibilities of reunion with rootsFatally failed?

But hey- our sense of belonging is Strongyet our delicate noses of cultural searchrefuse to smell the priceless and mysticLotion of a trapped culture.Whole power still holds conscience with ahand miserableYet resilient. Conscience! This euphemism-Whit skulls looking upwards through sixFeet of dust.

Felex Mafumbe Mutasa


Heroes Acre

At the door steps of our consciousnessIs the heroes Acre of national ambitionsBehold the bleeding skeleton of national dreamsWe sought the settler by nightWe fought the settler by dayAt daggers drawn encounterWe ran roughshod over him.

We were comrades in arms, brother,We were cadres in combat.The belt of revolution around usThe call of resistance about usBrother we fought!Before you became god, brother,In love, in one heart, brotherWe hated the enemyBefore you became bossBefore you became chef.

At Chikurubi, at GonakudzingwaIn Lusaka, in chimoio and NyadzoniaBrother, together, we endured!

Now I feel the hot kiss of experienceBy this bleeding coffin of my hopedIn the desert of promises of prosperityAm’ citizen in the avenues of povertyI tour the streets of sufferingSealed out of the metal envelop of national memoryMy poor health and my poor wealthMy own scars are life’s vote of no confidenceRude reality’s karate kicksAm’ the product of a political abortion.

You, brother, at the pinnacle of wealth and privilegeYou bite the big slice of opportunity,You butter it with luxury and surplusSwimming in the proud pools of comfort


While I drown in the sewage of sorrowYou dress like a Christmas treeWhile am covered in canvas!You sleep in the plush of artificial heavensWhile where the night finds me is where I sleep.

From the gutter of the ghetto,Through the curtains of fearI see your status, I hear your sirensMy brave brain sentenced to insanityAll my wishes exiled to hell!still am a tramp, I am a squatterin the lands for which I foughtIn the lands for which I bledfor how long brother, will I be ascavenger, a scavenger from bin ofYour greed!Yet am’ the blood that boughtliberty.

Visit my shack, not my grave at heroes acreBuild me a house, not a grave at heroes acrecelebrate my life, not my death at heroes acreGive me a car, not a hearse to Heroes acreUnder the flag of Ascot freedom of fears and tearsI am still licking the sweat ofLiberation labourslabours unrewarded!Waiting for independence from independence.For an experience not on occasionoh heroes acre of our ambitionsThe grave of our great expectations.

Jethro William Mpofu


O Mother

O motherIf I had a choiceIf it was possibleIf my wish could beI’d stop travellingThis stumbling block and misty filled journeyTo the year 2000Because 2000’s harsh and ‘ll wry her face at meBequeathing meKlilly-nilly with 2000 problemsTow thousand!I’d rather sprint backTo that carefreeBlessed year I was born because there’s milkWarm and nourishingFrom the perennial fountainOf your breastThe milk I was wont to drinkUnder the floodlights of your smileReposing peacefullyIn the lukewarm cotton-soft

Raymond Nyapokoto


Squashed in My Disintegration

Whenever I raise my mind’s eyeTo look up at the ceiling of my mindI come to a rude awakeningThe cracking roof my mind is hideousAnd through crack I see the skyWhich my mental facultiesWant to believe is heavenDamn is- blood dripping from the slay of hope?Trickling into my eyes. Visions I blink hard,And- what a sight!

I am the fly of my existence squashedDashed as the wall of intimate realitiesHas prized open the unguarded cracks ofMy soulThe enemy with proboscis, has begun to suchThe marrow of my being drinkingDrawing deep into the lungs the intoxicating fumesOf my disintegration.

My mind has been stinging with a thousand swaspsOf thoughtBut whose ear would hear my silent voiceWhen I am made to smash up my wordsEffectively crunching all essenceWhich might be lying in ambushAnd every illusionIs rattling the tin roof of my memoriesOf the ultimate realities of life

Felex Mafume-Mutasa


Me and Them

I have no mouth for their slogans,No stomach for propaganda porridge,No nose for their fried faeces,I will not ride their cheating chariotsI will not bite their baitIn my black brain,I have kicks and cursesNo kisses and kindnessesThere is salt in my green bloodSweetest poison in the political cupI will not sing songs I did not composeI will not pay debts I do not oweWhy apologise for what I did not do.

I see politics private ports,In my mental telescopeAll is sick and insaneI refuse to liveI refuse to dieI will existIt’s just me and themIn revolution.

Jethrow William Mpofu


Letter to God

This is to you father of creationOwner of all existenceand the instrument of moralityTo the children of the fatherland,I will sing no song.I will recite no poemBut, I will read, this, a letterA letter to godFrom a concerned citizen of planet earth

Dear GodFather of creation, are you watching this?To live is now but to dieThe journey from birth to deathIs now but a funeral processionThe world is now but a deathbedGraves and houses for space competeHearses out-number taxes

Mortuaries overload like the chariots of BabylonCemeteries fill like rural latrinesMourning songs are now but daily anthemsHell has colonised planet earth, oh God,Cant heavens intervene?See the rivers of our tearsAs humanity is swept from the earth’s floorWhy Father of creationDo you let the devil bath, bath in the tearsTears of your children?Father of creation,Should the world die young?

Speak to us father of fatherFrom the bearded forest of your wisdomFrom the dump acres of the father landWith erect bodies, we are listeningTell us what to do,Speak to us father of creation,


The children are cryingThey are weeping and wailing

Citizens of planet earth, natives of the universeChildren of mother natureIn one song and in one soulRally behind the godsAgainst this enemy of creationThis opponent of nature:AIDS:

With slogans of chastitywith wit and wisdomwith care and caution



To My Sunshine

This is to you alone my sunshineYou the sun that lights the darkness of my lifeIn all the chambers of my heartIs a vacancy for none but youYou alone is the citizen, the legal citizenOf the world in my heartYou alone is the native, the permanent nativeOf the country in my head.

I always watch you my sunshineIn the movie of my memoriesI always see you my sunshineIn the film of my imaginationAgain and again my sunshineI see you, in the mini-series of my thoughtsYou are a main character in the drama,The drama of my dreams my sunshine.It is miles and mountains of distanceThat sentence us apart my sunshineBut gallons and gallons of desire keep us one

Bucketfuls and bucketfuls oftears of my love,Tears of love, of painful longingfor you.rain down my cheeks.

come to me my sunshine,come to me, and be close to meWhen the world has gone to bedCome to me in the green grassAnd we will each to eachsing songs of loveIn gentle soothing tones of loveCome to me my sunshine, when thebirds have gone to sleepCome and be close to me.


I have never drank, my sunshine,from the river of things unknownI have never drank, my sunshine,of waters of wisdomI know nothing my loveExcept to love you, to love youAnd to love you again.come to me, my sunshine, and beClose to me

come to me and speak in happywhispers.

if to love you is to defy ordinanceslet me stand accused, even behindthe bars of iron.Even behind the boulders of rockI will be forever loving youCome to me, my sunshine,and be close to me.

Search therefore my sunshinesearch all the corridors, all thecornersthe streets and avenues of yourheart and find a place for me, aPlace for me, a heaven for myHeart, come to me, my sunshineand be close to me

This, my sunshine, is not a letterthis, my sunshine, is not a poemIt is a document communicating feelingsIt is the product of my heartDo not read it my sunshine, but feel itIt is the short story of my long loveSeal it in the envelop of your memoryAnd know thatI LOVE YOUCome to me, my sunshine, and be close to me.



My Private Anthem

This is a tribute to nobody,To Mau MauKimathi and KenyathiTo Luther and XThis tribute to everybody

To you who cry, to you who bleedTo Haile SelassieTo Biko and MoloiseTo Hector PetersonAnd the unknown soldier!To those who diedTo those who disappearedBearing badges of their beliefsTo Fidel Castro, to Mau Mau GaddaffiAnd the lion childrenThe disciples of truth

This is my private anthem,I am an uncensored version of a violent movieThis is my private anthem,I am the active volcano gods hadbribedbut soon I will erupt…..and burn them alive,those who persecute usThose who haunt usthis is my private anthem.to you who oppress usyou who kills here we comeI am the big bad eyethat has sent the grin behind yoursmile soon I will fire electric winkOf:RevolutionI am the big nose, that has smeltthe dust below your carpetsoon I will sneeze out thecleansing mucus


of: ReactionI am the talented tongue, that hastasted the bitter poison in yoursweet sugar soon I will spit theHot saliva of: DemonstrationI am the big lip that has feltThe curse behind your kissI am the loud mouth that willPreach the poetic truth of:RebellionI am the bad ear that has heardwe talk tonightof those who sentence us topermanent poverty, tonight wenot in whispers but in slogans

You see them, a man smilinghis whole body a big smile while weCry tears of bloodwhile we chew our tongues in hunger

But tonight we talk

Jethro W. Mpofu

i am in trouble so bad

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