DAWN RISING
i see many voices rising with the sun
sharp spears of the sun ,undulating with coming freedom
mother was there during liberation
i will be there for the other liberation
a revolution of million voices
voices of children of song
children of the soil
children unborn ,children born
voices of hunger in the gutters
voices in memory of those gone by the wind of madness
voices of vendors whose tomatoes squashed in days raids
voices whose taxes perished on talk tables
voices riddled by sanctions
voices roasted by imperialism
one million voices
from a country whose spirit is chimurenga
whose breath is nehanda
whose scent is the mist of matopos
voices of freedom coming
voices tired of honey coated promises
iam one of voices freed by my poetic words
drinking from poetic grape fruit
born with sugar and salt words on my tongue
iam mother africa raving metaphors
iam a slave of my verbal bravado
iam singer of africa untold
iam the blak poet
the bread of revolution
the rose blooming liberation
million voices sing me a song
i dedicate this satire to you
tongues of their guns kissed the bottoms of our country walls
sand of corruption sedimented our banking malls
bishops munching rainbow chicken bones
,singing political verses
violence is a black disease
racism is a white disease
xenophobia is epidemic
blood spilling is endemic
dissidents studying theology
eunuchs graduating criminology
afghanistan ,earthquake of religions
pakistan,volcano of political legions
corruption natural lotion applied in armpits heavy weights
extortion vaseline shining on thighs on high offices
iam not revenging freedom of expression
iam bubbling with freedom of expression
iam constitution of word identity
iam poetry butter and bread
i see children blinded by propaganda peri peri
i see blinded nations
they ate the last supper joburg
their departure never came ,
even when the rainbow sun rose
iam in the drama of the state
my temper of dignity rise and sink
my children drank the apatheird poison
iam diagnosing them with freedom passion
iam tired of academics who loot
and intellectuals who shoot
luther is my tight comrade
iam a cheer leader
iam an african phonologist
i was born fron african sound
iam renaissance home bound
propaganda is the jingle of peasants
verdict is the slogan of exiled
iam a brand of poetic tomatoes
iam diving in trees of political apples
doubtful metaphors still dance out night in the glory of african sun
barometer of poverty boxed by Khoisan
rainbow streets bling with ghettoes
so what the fuss,motorcades
no longer drive ,village dust highways
rhythm of rainbow eaten by dogs
blood rhymes of freedom born frees sucked
by bed bugs
daughters depleted by social anorexia
babies whipped by cultural diarrhoea
we are suffering from freedom malnutrition.
INSIDE MY POETIC BROTHEL
inside my poetic brothel
condoms are holy bibles of time
verses of the holy book flushed down garbage sewers
slogan nicotine d,politicians ,
sugar tongued camaradas
vaticanized nuns,priests,
americanized sex lords and sex tenants
english bitched poetic toddlers sip
from cinamoned,chilled
,sugared ,fizzling mugs frothing poetic wisdom
in unison , english mandraxed ,
utopian toddlers chant like koranic congregants
,enchanting , chanting,mind tilting verses
of paradise lost
blood rending Canterbury tales
macbeth pulsating monologues
mind blasting militant sattires
of black ink sanguaged with oxfordized instincts and michiganized impressions
yes drunks and prostitutes
with vowels and verbs condomized
in conscience sustaining imagery,
sodomized in apartments of revolutionary
doped symbolism
and castrated in bedrooms of
missionarism cocained irony,
anthrax free blades of sarcasm ,
circumsize baratone voiced toddlers,
soprano gifted babies ritualized in roasting furnaces of syntactic invasion and choking glycerene
glistening assonance
metaphor inflicted alcoholics and bitches skeleton-ed by alliteration transmitted blisters
blisters stink and rot like festering roses
sometimes ghostly blisters bloom
into poetic grapes and
wisdom wine is sieved into refrigerators of time
brothel convicts punished in rhymed nudity
stripped of their viagra hawking licenses,
rehabilitated into silent wards of poetic justice
AHOY.
DREAM OF RAIN/
this is the land that fed our dreams
wind suffocated by yellow smoke of wheat husk
our fields crimson red and gray with millet sheaves
pans hissing with oil baking bread
gleaming thighs of our days
sweating under the rain season sun
,that bloomed the flamboyant flowers
weeds of hunger already been exiled.
POLITICAL CINEMA
somalia walking through doors of statism
refugee camps swelling from sting of scorpions
blog sites congested with obituaries and epitaph litteriti
politburos exfoliated by fissures after sprees of wines and malt whiskies
warlords seeing through lens of holocaust
bring ngugi and keita
to give biting lyrics and deep rooted sense of belonging
we belong here
parliaments choked with propaganda toxin-ed emails
i saw las vegas walking side by side with khayelitsha through the heart of tali ban
corruption smiling through half smoked cigarettes of cartoonists reading wilkpedia and encyclopedia
literists tasting the bitter taste of vietnam disidents,dissidents
dumping consciences in garbages of politrix
paparazzi dipping nostrils into broken pavements
where politics is pizza,celebrity is diet and royalty is nutrition
i see shikota and khoikhen gupling white wine
and gorgonzola sauce in surbubs of pont de- lama
i see magic slogans of ruffians welding pks,ak47s in mydan villages
heavy smell of diarhoea whipping our faces
the heartbeat of warizstan
literary doyens writing rude graffiti on eczema eroded walls
pundits shitting in ballot boxes
bandits urinating every where in the name vendetta.
TUTSIVILLE
kuwait of africa
you my disease!
senators feast blood in feilds of wealth
digging diamonds out of your intestines
rise and see your wounds
politics the hot dog of newspapers
gossip the the beverage of newsrooms
the toungue of money is rough , its grammar is vulgur
exotic bees drink the nectar of your sweat
maggots feasting the bitterness of your enduerene
you carry wombs for others to celebrate birthdays
rocks of poverty farting the smell of religious myth
you are groaning under the feet of your struggle
your reason sticthed together by the clatter of the gun and
thunder of burden
you are roasting in hissing pans of bullets
country of dust and hunger , ilove you
with your shrivelling hopes blooming.
DEMONS GRAZING
democracy doesnot heal the syphilis of apatrtheid
it never healed the herapatitis of racism
it is the ritual of the governed to govern
though they remain governed
democracy, a word of the coruppted learned
democarcy a , a fart of the bullet
signature of ballot
sting of the scorpion
blood boilng stomaches of darfur
darfur you smell nagasaki
blood frothing hard rocky buttocks of congo
congo you sting bagdad
hunger ponographing breasts in somalia
ministers dangling bellies
poetry scattered in slums and ghettos
word stitched betwen bullet and ballot
grammar punctuated between slogan and vulgur
democracy an oxymoron . of abacha' machete and madiba' bible
hyberbole of guatanamo bay and robin island
DEMONS GRAZING 11
democracy
freedom unearthed from apatheird intestines
a legacy that carried sorrows since the days of yelping babboons
and yapping dogs
monrovia blooming legumes of blood in superstions
of blood harvesting
crocodiles basking in the east of political comfort zones
afghan with the heart burn for freedom
babboons laughing other baboons in political forests
politicians crushing poverty under their feet
polishing streets with the glitz of robots and rainbow sweet talk.
ETHOPIA
see talking slums
silenced tongues
freedom silenced
hope killed
a bling of ghettos
collapsed humanity
mothers weeping ,
under the compression of religion
trees dripping trears
ethopia your festering open wounds
you are my anger!
children burn in smouldrering carnisters of hunger
time opened new wounds of memories of old scars
chained on rocks of ignorence
you need a compass of decence
my poetry is a catalyst fermenting your injustices
into beverages of justice
you are my sadness!
your hearbeat bleached in political fermentations
rhythm gavanized in furnances of cultural myth
laughter imbibed by the rude stomach of the gun
culture crushing under the weight of globalization
ethopia , you are my wound!
CHILDREN OF CHIMURENGA
trapped between digital civalization
and chimurenga revolution
iam a poet fromthe land stones
iam a writing from the bush of trees
justice is not the shape of our noses
freedom is not the size of our breasts
morning children of chimurenga
belly of the struggle carried you to war and back to your cananan of mixed flowers
your ears are not wounded by bullet , but by gun sound
your minds stitched together by marxist propaganda
you married liberation and divorced oppression
erasing the dust if centuries of peripherilization
born out of blood filled centuries ,
living in centuries refilled with blood
where the sun rise with blood on its thighs
trees weep at dawn
sorrow dangling in the mist of your wronged faces like drying biltong
good morning children of chimurenga
LETTER TO FLORIDA
florida!
iam drunk with the sting of your tongue
iam drenched with the bitterness of your lips
iam dopped with the smelling scent of my sweat
florida!
black smell is lingering in the botoms of your conveyor belts
spirits of my children dancing your coffee shops
sight trapped in your coca-cola barrels
scent floating in the rude rhythm of hip hop
florida!
my children
with civalization scarred faces
with their slavery wounded hearts
florida bring back my children
come out lets fight
florida.!
DIZZY POEM
my poetry is bitter break fast of propagandcrats
my poetry is grenade planted in the hearts of corruption crats
it is an enzyme of justce,fermenting potbellies of fat cats
it is hunger crushing tummies of ballot tired peasants
it is food feeding phds with theories of fanon and Malcolm x
it is reason of freedom sipped in coffee cafes
diz poem
is sanguaed between 1980 and 1966
it is the the medulla of voters drunk with their blood
metaphor of communities drunk with ambition
it is an oxymoron of osama and obama
it is haiku of gushungo , madiba and nkurumah
it is a sonnet of vietnam,bagdada, pentgon, afghan,tali ban,congo,Darfur
rwanda
soweto,shaperville , Georgia and televise
it is a hyperbole of bagdad scarlet and sharpeville crimson
it is a ballad of Nefertiti,Randi, nehanda
, nomzano and maphela,bronzing
and other prophetesses
it is a lament of sadam,slobadan ,
bokasa, dada,abacha, babangind a and kamuzu
it is an obituary of samora ,fanon, kuti , luther , sarowiwa
, kimathi , marechera , hani , mahlangu , tongogara
it is a juxtaposition of pagan and christian
parody of characters danc ing 1994 genocide theatre
it is a farce of stooges of slices and tea
bitter sacarsim of coup detats and juntas
IAM A POET
my tongue taste spices of jargon
my saliva taste cinnamon diction
my words are a service station of visions
against vagaries of wrong ambitions
my words do not die ,
they wilt with seasons
, they germinate and bloom with every generation
grinding greed hearts with crushing metaphor
iam roaring spring that move stagnant streams
memory is a weapon of mind
history is stenciled memory
iam a poet , the identity of memory,
the dignity of purpose
SQUANDAMANIA
i never saw hatred
iam taught hatred by memories of history and savages of centuries
blood of shapeville
death of elizabethville
colonialism is not stencilled by color or pencilled by race
it can be erased by reason and thought
squandamania
aluta continua
struggle continues
humanity lost in the graffiti of shebeen walls
strength of flags sold for eagles to loot
we laid beacons of freedom
now we drown in do ldrums of commotion
i see disciples hired to burn lives in election fields
,election skeletons
become souvenirs for mothers to cherish
we are no longer monkeys chattering your propaganda
we are no longer donkeys braying your slogan.
squandamania!
DIS FREEDOM
picking up crumbs of passion
like in cotton fields
passion thrown in dungeons of greed
pavements stinking bandages
robots yawning wounds
corruption bad breath suffocating lungs of our concrete jungles
extortion superglue of high executives
red lights of the dis freedom
our freedom calabashes frothing with bubbles of red missions and red ambitions
iam raised by breasts roasted by acids of plutocracy
iam raised by hearts tortured by pigmentocracy
iam raised by palms strangled by ropes of time
i have an appetite of laughter that is richer than grape fruit
iam a poem , the dignity of my pen.
FART OF TIME
souls squashed between cables of internet
and aids budget
children losing hands in jungles of google
children losing passions in forests of facebook
burning their tongues in dungeons of english
generation sanguaged between bluetooth and drumbeat
swallowed by cellphones and bullet
villages killed by commerce and bling
poetry cooked with borRowed language
its rhythm fermenting in calabash of borrowed culture
cultural oppression a tattered rag dangling on edges of pseudo civilized walls
dignity the balanced diet of freedom and pride
FART OF TIME 11
iam a descendant of placards and madness
home shabeenizing flags in exchange with gin and dope
daughters adopted by ford foundation and donor syndromes
hunger famous like Picasso
poverty known like Shaka
fear popular like dickens
sun rising toxic HIV/graffiti on its face
africa you are burning in the sun of internet
computers your fortune tellers
walkman your storytellers
bring back our ghosts
bring back our bones
for indians praise Nehru
moslems praise imam
zulu praise Shaka
english praise cecil rhodes
MY RHYTHM
Shaka zulu shaking the assegai spear
in england they sin shakespeare
i do not owe my dignity to the
bling street lights
to the bling of robots
to the gong of car horns
i owe my humanity to the
rhymes of valleys
to the scent of our flowers
to the rainbow colors of sahara sunset
to the rhythm of kalahari sands
to the sweet melodies from brown lips of zambezi
the misty thighs of inyanga
to the drum sound in the fontanelle of matopos
iam among patriots whose placentas descended from Shaka ,
dlamini,dombo,mutapa
,murenga and tavara,zimuto
iam a descendant of the roaring shangani
the grammar of my tongue , do not stammer my tongue
iam bantu.
DECADES BULLETS
Ouagadougou, Ouagadougou, Ouagadougou
See a procession of young mothers chattering their way
From water fountains in grenade torn sandals
And blood laced bras
Somalia, Somalia, Somalia
See the moon disappearing in a mass of gun smoke
Guns splitting the stars from the skin of night
Rwanda, Rwanda, Rwanda
This is a wound from which the pus of grief flows freely
Meandering through rock masses into the valley that lost its freedom
Timbuktu, Timbuktu, Timbuktu
I hear a rush of footsteps of sorrow
Rugged peasants carrying their compounds
to far away valleys of flowers.
