Best Zimbabwean Poems

Below are the all-time best Zimbabwean poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Zimbabwean poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Zimbabwean Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Zimbabwean poems are below this new poems list.

Zimbabwean crippled beggar by Semenya, Choene Alley
Zimbabwean Trillionaire -Inflation by Ranganawa, Tawona Mzila

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The Best Zimbabwean Poems

Details | Zimbabwean Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Long ago,the guinea fowls congregated 
Clourfully and innumerably 
And sang sweet songs 
And played in the savanah
They sang for the for the antelopes 
To leap  and dance in the beautiful grass lands
 The farm boys listened and danced too
And their hearts were merry

At night around the fire the folk tales were interesting;
The wild dogs barked ;
The nightjars called peacefully;
The owls clamorous,booming hoot was heard 
The starry fireflies flashed in courtship elaborate dances

But the conflagrations came 
And swept across the grass lands and bushvelds
The axemen were merciless ;
And by their millions the trees were severed
The poachers were ruthless 
And the animals wild knew not more peace
The guinea fowls were poisoned 
The nature loving farm boys beheld 
All this chapter in heavy hearted silence
The guinea folws and other song birds 
Shall never sing again
And the times shall never be better again.

Copyright © RAYMOSE JOSI | Year Posted 2015

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Mandela In You

Mandela In You

I scanned into your entire writ
I perceived an unremitting wit;
There’s a Mandela in You,
Oozing from your daring script;

Loaded with a spirit of sacrifice
To eradicate mundane malice
There’s a Mandela in You,
That resonates in your artifice!

A Fighter for Mankind’s thrall,	
Equality for gender and for all
There’s a Mandela in You
Reprimanding: Divided We Fall!

Peace is in your daring hand
Which you staunchly defend
For, Mandela in You says
“No to Civil Wars in our Land!”

Women also need their space
Enough to powder their face
There’s a Mandela in You
Lending impetus to their pace!

Antipathy, aloud do denigrate
Which Warmongers do initiate
There’s a Mandela in You,
With a smile that doesn’t fail;

It intones when Spirit is weary
Shining when the Sky is dreary
There’s a Mandela in You
Painting Blue the Sky so bleary!

Write, write, your mantra write
Let revulsion be in your write	
For, there’s a Mandela in You
Pleading for Humanity to Unite!

Dedicated to Zimbabwean Poet, Wilson Mapfumo upon being inspired by his Poem: Cry Africa.


14th Oct’ 2013

Copyright © Joseph Matose | Year Posted 2013

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The Rebirth Poem XI - Black Painting On A Black Wall

Black Blood was used to paint a picture on a Black Wall. Black Blood was used to paint. Black Blood. Blood bought from the very same people who stood side by side with you 25 years ago. Now that their kids have been given the Freedom you have fought for, all of a sudden that same Freedom must be taken away because they are taking land that is considered to be free. Not yours, free. So what do we call this? Xenophobia or Stupidity? Cause it was King Zwelithini who commanded for his former friends to be removed from this land now he has disappeared because he finally realised that Black Blood can't be used to paint a White Picture on a Black Wall. 

So what has happened to South Africa? The most diverse country in the world can't accept a few foreigners. People look down on South Africans saying that we are too lazy. On average how many South Africans would rather choose to sit down and complain about the unemployment rate instead of being innovative and creating new jobs? How many foreigners do you see on the streets with their piece jobs? Thousands. That's because they understand that they came here to work not to sit around and expect Zuma to visit your home and give you a job. But who am I to address my own country. Will they kill me too? After all, Black Blood was used to paint a picture on a Black Wall. 

So if I was to ask a fellow South African what picture did they paint I wonder what they would tell me. It's either you Black or you White they say. Whether you're Black, White, Indian, Coloured, Nigerian, Zimbabwean or Kenyan you're African I say. Imagine if all the South Africans in different countries were killed because quite frankly they are foreigners too. Please don't come tell me about being Black or White because Xenophobia is the result of confused people trying to see an invisible light. I can't believe we are having a repeat of Apartheid with our own kind. Those who fought for us are now considered to be the ones against us. If I could, I would change my race to Grey because sometimes people don't know whether they are fighting against Black or White. The picture is so clear you can tell that Black Blood was used to paint a picture on a Black Wall. 

So what are we becoming? Humans that can't love each other. Why aren't the Chinese being killed for opening up their China Malls occupying more space than the thousand of equivalent foreigners and their small place? Whether you're Chinese or Indian, diversity makes you South African. We are so busy disturbing the peace and equality within ourselves that people who enjoy inflicting pain have even turned around in shame. Tell me what would happen to all those families that have lost their sole breadwinners, fathers, friends and most importantly, lost the reason to pursue a dream to make the very same country that took his only parent away, a better place? All these innocent people have now passed and I simply applaude you and say. Well done. You've earned yourself a job, salary, happy family, home, car and all of life's treasures. And all you ever did was finally stand up, walk out and increase the unemployment rate. Then next year you will walk in, sit down and complain about the unemployment rate. So infact you don't know what you really want. That is a result of a Black Painting On A Black Wall. 


Copyright © Langeni Mate | Year Posted 2015

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Look, See, Learn

Look, See, Learn


Once upon a time boiling braggart was I
‘Fore the Damascene made me look High: 


Of Holy Majesty that He so commands,
Has He ever boasted of Power in His hands?


Servant of Humility why can I not be...
Who imbibes Sate from another’s glee!

***To Humble Men and Humble Women who reckon humankind’s deficiencies!
*** Inspired by Zimbabwean Poet, Klassy Kinda, upon her cherished reference to me as a Humble Man (which I’m still coming to grips with!)


31st Oct’ 2013

Copyright © Joseph Matose | Year Posted 2013

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Zimbabwean Trillionaire -Inflation

I am the Zimbabwean Trillionaire(inflation)

 Oh! Where did they go wrong?
 Now i am walking as i like in their country
 I have invited my trusted friends,
 Billionaire and millionaire
 All zeroes everywhere, they are trying to cut me off
 What they dont know is,I am here to stay

 I am a Zimbabwean Trillionaire, yes I am!
 I am valueless, so they say
 Disorder is my order
 My bestfriend sanctions has secured my stay
 I am not going anywhere whether you love me or not
 I am the Zimbabwean Trillionaire

 Diamonds my worst enemy keeps you all disillusioned
 All this dollarisation restricts my walk of freedom
 I am the Zimbabwean Trillionaire
 I am a Patriot , i am here to stay
 Zimbabwe is my home for the time being.

 All hope lost, i hear your cries
 You hate me and you want me to go
 But i am also a Zimbabwean now
 No nation will allow me in
 I am now Zimbabwean by naturalisation
 I am a Zimbabwean trillionaire and I am here to stay.

 Tawona M Ranganawa

Copyright © Tawona Mzila Ranganawa | Year Posted 2013

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Zimbabwean crippled beggar

Sprawling was he in the roasting sun outside an Indian store.
Shaking and jingling coins in his begging bowl hoping to receive more;
Just as his hunger grew terrible in his begging tummy,
Some rich man gave him a titbit of pizza, it tasted richly yummy.
Though the reek of his shoes was yay stuffy, his raiment soberly tattered –
And his body smelt malodorous but none of that to him ever mattered.
He’d grin wide his pitch yellow teeth and germ-favoured gums, opening his creased hands seeking alms;
And he’d do it over and over and over again, with sweat tumbling from ‘twixt his crying palms.

He’d sing painful songs of elegy, with grime of perspiration and muck on his face;
Weeping solemnly to everyone that passed by the town’s market place –
Alas! His tears recalled where the coins had fled, the coins of pledge of the piteous beggar;
The begging bowl of his coins was grabbed away by a snatcher, a very heartless drabber.
Oh poor crippled Zimbabwean Beggar, his weeping was all in vain,
Cos that rich man was never gonna feed him, again.

Copyright © Choene Alley Semenya | Year Posted 2015

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Sorida is greet-
Ings. My brother or sister
In Zimbabwean.

Copyright © Nicole Sharon Brown | Year Posted 2009