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Poems by Mbizo Chirasha

LONELY DARK STREET

 

roaring with new toyotas hurtling past lonely
labourers unloading junk from city health lorries

sun scorched street labourers , stinking odours of crowded poverty

dirty eaten rags of their stripped overalls pleading for relief

venom of words from high offices crashing agnaist the concrete walls of
their grief

lonely dark street is patiently waiting for me

and deleliberately waiting for the bruised morning sun with its bleeding
rays

 

2. INSIDE MY POETIC BROTHEL/wriiten during an artist resident by programme
with the zimbababwe germany society/goethe institute.

inside my poetic brothel

condoms are holy bibles of time
verses of the holy book flushed down garbage sewers
slogan nicotined,politicians , sugar tongoued 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 versesof paradise lost
blood rending cantabury 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,athrax free blades
of sarcasm ,circumsize baratone voiced toddlers,soprano gifted babies
ritualized in roasting furnaces of syntactic invasion and choking glycerene
glistening assonace

metaphor inflicted alcoholics and bitches skeletoned by alittaeration
transmitted blisters
blisters stink and rot like festering roses
sometimes ghostly blisters bloom into poetic grapres and wisdom wine is
seived into refrigirators of time
brothel convicts punished in rhymed nudity
stripped of their viagra hawking licences,
rehabilitated into silent wards of poetic justice
AHOY.

3] DREAM OF RAIN/ dedicated to all women

this is the land that fed our dreams
wind suffocated by yellow smoke of wheat husk

our feilds 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.

4]POLITICAL CINEMA/extract from concrete poetry , my anthology under
construction.

somalia walking through doors of statism
refugee camps swelling from sting of scorpions
blogsites conjested with obutuaries and epitaph litteriti
politibros 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 toxined emails
i saw las vegas walking side by side with khayelitsha through the heart of
taliban
coruption smiling through half smoked cigarettes of cartoonists reading
wilkpedia and encyclopadias
literists tasting the bitter taste of vietnam disidents,dissidents
dumping cosciences 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 ofpont de lama

i sse magic slogans of ruffians weiding pks,ak47s in mydan villages

heavy smaell of diarhoea whipping our faces
the heartbeat of warizstan
literary doyens writing rude grafitti on eczema eroded walls
pundits shitting in ballot boxes
bandits urinating every where in the name vendatta.

5]HEART BEAT AND DRUMBEATS/extract of concrete poetry.

iam the rhythme of slum eulogies
i sing of tearing bellies of ethopia
iam the heart soothing souls roasting in freedom deserts

iam the rythme of slum eulogies
iam a blessed tune,buzzing the eardrums of bullet frozen africa
iam the drum beat clearing the mist and stench of rotting meat from
pavements of blood
my soul growing deep like wounds
i suffocate under semen-scented nights
iweep with souls whose messiah is bullet
streams bubbling red with blood

bombs landing in apple trees of jadeidi
voters fed with poisined election fodder
cosciences grinding in prpaganda mills
my pen is a weapon strugling between memory and myth.

FREEDOM DISCORD last part of the long poemFREEDOM DISCORD/pefomed in
zimbabwe at the united nations human rights day.

i sing of bridges too far to be crossed in chechnya
ising of freedoms too far to be harvested in adhemiya
ising of wombs that shaped generations of pavement lingo and
street vulgar in in townships of gorgia
ising ofpolitical messiahs dumping consciences in slogan bins of alexandiria
ising of blood grafitti writen on obscene placard walls of isalamabad

human tolerance is the trinket my father inherited to me
human acceptance is the fresh milk from strong breasts of mothers behinds
the mountains of katanga
human dignity is the blood that bubble in the conscience of my system
human rights are blogsites of freedom island
human rights are websites of democracy
human rights are naobitas of humanity.

7] PEN BOMB
i see souls of politicians i killed with my pen
their drooping faces exfoliated by tears
i now see freedom bubling in the placentas of future legends yet to be born
the acid of my pen sting like than atoms of tear gas

bearucrats drunk with blogs
magnates drunk with vlogs

poverty is nolonger a hidden poem
isee wounded slums of sewende
urine scented sex hostels of thokoza
where is raila and ida
where is kibaki and the other

i will write the beauty of our culture at lozitha home
when will hollywood visit hillbrew
i will share capuccino with michelle from celebration to coronation

autocrats fingers drip acid
power belong to the streets
power belong to the pavements
power belong to the villages

i will toil with empress favasi and king fovoza in the blazing baking sun of
valoyi
writing graffitos of comradeship

i want to drink champaigne with squatters,eating brinjals and butternut in
rural villages of kahuajoki.

 

freedom discord
FREEDOM DISCORD/ written and perfomed december 2008 at world aids day
/courtesy of british council , zimbabwe.
This is your time afrika
This is your time to sing songs of exorcising legions of Hiv/Aids
sing songs to cleanse demons of the pandemic
to reap fruits of anti-stigmatzatioto harvest flowers of anti-discrimination
i sing for bridges too far to be crossed in zambezia
i sing of freedom planted too far to harvested in katanga
i sing of blood graffitti wriitten on Aids peeled walls of soweto

good morning tanzania
good morning ethopiagood morning liberia
good morning kiberia

freedom mothers domesticated into birth giving machines
beautiful sisters cultured into money guzzling slot machines
children whipped by whirlwinds of diarrhoea and shigella

sing salif keta
sing masekela
sing fodoba
sing fela kuti
sing makeba
sing s sokon kante
sing songs of tata mandela
sing songs of mama and baba

human tolerance is the trinket my father inherited to me
human dignity is the fresh milk from the strong breasts of mothers behind
the hills of home
human dignity is the blood that bubble in the conscience of my system
.good morning vietnam
good morning guatanamo bay

goodmorning africa
good morning president
good morning zimbabwe
children will not go down with the sinking sun
sacrified on altars of ambition
crucified buy forces of expidiency
tear graffiti scrawling on debri of their slums of poverty and hovels of
crime
we are children born out of the hot sun of sahara and burning sands of
kalahari
we belong to the semen and condom drunk streets of home
womb of our past explode with souls of matryrs and bones of freedomites
choked by ropes of stigmatization
we are morphene -fuelled and maruajana doped youngsters whose praiseand
freedom is robbed by slogan fraudsters
we are dogs breakfasting from cucumbers and feasting condoms for supper
we are children of pandemic genocided villages
we are slaves of sugar and blood
we never fondled the breasts of freedom
we licked the tears of our mothers
we have no dignity to celebrate
we are souls blighted in sufferings
bring us nanobitas of democracy
not shigellas of autocracy.

byMbizo chirasha international /diplomatic perfomingpoet /writer
creative projects consultant/advisor
cultural/arts rights activist

mbizoc@yahoo.co.uk

iam an international/diplomatic perfomingpoet/writer/creative projects
consultant
insteadly society use war and terrorism in approaching problems
, ifeel the only approach to problems is dialogue and peace
.war have resulted in most continents fall into extreme hunger,poverty and
social confusion
.writers and poets must be ambassadors of freedom and peace
.hence i prepared these poems that reflect our social and political turmoil
to provoke warlords and trouble makers if that what they want tosee a war
cursed world
., so read the following poem.
TODAYchildren feast from NGO fodder
mothers breakfasting propaganda
fathersburning infurnances of mercenarism
writers mixing reality and pseudonism
TODAYfunerals planted evrywhere like vegetation
poverty eating away fibres in villages of degradation
hunger breeding crime pundits in townshipsof exploitation
slogan germinating bandits of this generation
TODAYdisseases dissing war cursed refugees
daughters smell not perfumes, but miseducation.
students fed with democracy barggage
when shall we stop to be the luggage?