Zambia Poems - Poems about Zambia

Sounds of Birth

Today, this of ours, arrives.
Fragile, nameless and, yet deeply adored.
Nine months of anticipation and care,
Culminate in this precious moment shared.

The first warm rays of a mellow sunrise,
Illuminate the face so pure and divine.
The sweet scent of daffodils fills the air,
As joyful tears and laughter echo off the pink plastered walls.

In this vivid, scent-filled room of

The Funeral Home

My footsteps changed and there upon stood this wide ostensibly simple wooden door which laid open such that I could see the comparatively dim candle lights on the alter. 
With my every heart beating sound, I approached cautiously with a rather uncertain foot step towards that alter. 
I could not but hold back the feeling

A Silent Goodbye

THIS is to remember my dear old friend
Memories I have, fading away
I walk on this road that has no end
In search of my friend, in a hopeless way.

I listen to bird songs in distant lands
To which my silent applause, brings me a tear
On this dreary dark night, 
I wish you could hold my hands, 
And

Deception

Through the cold night
I think of the homeless bird
seeking shelter under my roof
There's room for the twittering avian
A warm space by the ceilings
Not an imposition if the night is as calm as the 
silver moon that sneak past a dark cloud
And so this, a companion to accompany 
me through the gaping holes of my endless

The Cost of Zambia's Pettifoggery

We are quarreling over a graveyard of great ideas
Wandering under skies filled with flying political spears
Ideas are rotting under the soils dug by the unscrupulous
We buried our true identity and our mourning is pretentious

The commoners with good intentions are called riffraffs
The undereducated with concerns are labeled bellyachers
The elite have a sense of entitlement that exceeds

Kill the Corrupt Rats

Cookery is slavery if you don’t partake of the meal
It becomes foolery if you keep settling the bill
It is misery if you repeat the drill
Familiarity leads to rats chilling in the grill

Employment is exploitation if you can’t get a fair deal
It becomes poverty if you keep taking the pill
It is deprivation with tax deductions on

The Famous Expedition

A garden beneath the soaring sunrise-
Somewhere in nowhere
Lingers on~ in no-mans' land
A Majestic and glamorous scene-
A master piece with a picture green-
Landmarked with meadows within that nowhere-
Watered with blue waters perfumed in streams of gold.
Inconspicuous on a mystical terrain-
Lying hidden from the curious men
That explorers, wouldn't rather refrain.

My Family Tree

If I could have one tree in the garden
It'd be a sculpted tree with white roses

The women, Beautiful and elegant in their stature, 
would be the white roses that blossom earnestly.

Like branches frolicking in the twisting wind,
the men would solemnly standout
And I would be like a humble branch that has yet to bear fruit.

My ancestors,

Nightfall

As the night falls from interstices of burning clouds, lumbering through the broad sky like grazing herds of sheep
There comes a great forlornness through the deep forests of Zambia.
Land marked by Withered Tallowwood branches, that once covered the fiery red sun.
The bayou, with dry river beds sleeping all the more calmly than hibernating Owls~ 
Looking

In Dispraise of Poetry

Guilty as charged they passed on the verdict
As the prisoner who had been accused of an atrocity, stood before the jury.
It comprised of not more than three panel of judges.
The eldest judge with white curly hair that rested upon his shoulders.
The prisoner, Innocent as the first born sons of Egypt on a merciless night; He

Wall of Silence

My courtesy name passed down through generations, I bear the marker of an outstanding exultation.
Though sometimes I wonder if they were tall as I am.
Board as a leader, Fierce and humble in person.
Sometimes me thinks, the curiosity gives an innocuous valour.
This is so, I perceive
Praising and imaging them heroes in their own accord. 
Does my

Silent As the Tomb

In silence in dreams' 
Projections, Returning, Resuming, I thread my way through my dreams;
The hurt and wounded, I pacify with a soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night,
Some so young, some suffer so much, I recall the experience sad.

Sad because a few had lived to tell the tale,
Sweet because I had to

The Blind Poet

I was able to walk a mile at the age of 4
A gravel road in the night, cold with a breath of silence.
Holding tight to that familiar cloth, the only trust that I wore from birth.
I have it still.
It keeps me warm and guides my dreams along other paths, only that this time, I walk

The Saddest Portrait

SEEING through the window, are clouds which move slow or maybe the dozing fellow has decided to recall of the vibrant days as he digs deep into his bag of memories 
Alas! He's all left alone now
Everything has gone; tears have gone too...
All his left with is a rocking chair and an old radio from

The Stray

IT WAS a dreary February day
That melancholy walk by the park with a blue morning 
And a cloudless sky.

Alas! I met a stray puppy, effulgent with disproportionately large blue eyes.

It was fair, furry, dainty and round I thought---
It looked helpless to a lesser extent than I was that day, 

Nay; ---
curious and shy (In-need of

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