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Tafadzwa Chamisa Poem
I regret having been born
to forlorn in this noxious, wicked world.
I distaste that I was born
in a biased, impovershirished, corrupt society.
I was born to careless; unloving parents.
I am living but unknown,
popular but uncounted.
No birth certificate to certify I am a living human being.
I am invisible to my State,
I am not included when they plan for others.
I regret having been born
in an abusive, malfunctional, disjointed society,
like that in which my mother slept unlettered.
A society where one aims to unnerves one for personal praise.
I curse the day that brought me to this world.
A world where life dictates my lifestyle,
A world where I am a victim of circumstances,
and my wits are buried in oblivion.
Africa is the cradle of mankind
yet her sons and daughters developed foreign lands first,
her children are haunted by these vicious cycles of poverty.
And now leaving Africa has been the African dream!
I wish was not one of these children.
I regret having been born;
To…believe the sky is the limit
when Armstrong’s feet stepped on the moon.
Copyright © Tafadzwa Chamisa | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Tafadzwa Chamisa Poem
I have in my life some sad stories no one would love to hear, moments when my mind grapples with dilemma, fear shouting for me to give Him an ear. Courage seated there shaking his head! Oh dear. That moment when the future is shrouded with uncertainty.
I mean those times when sadness seems eternal. That point in life when human misery runs, giggling in all its cruel ways. By day and by twilight, bound in destitute.
I am viced between truth and ignorance. Oppressed from the day I was born. I was denied by society and Poverty nursed me. In agony, rage and fury I cry but no hears me. Poverty knows no man, righteous or wicked, a noble or plebian. Every day he has new subordinates, civilisations and economies of the world crumble to their knees before His throne.
Vanity is my course of existence. When you see me soaked in marijuana smoke, just know I have tried to run away from this vicious cycle of poverty. I was not fast enough since,
I was enslaved from the day I left my mother's womb.
When you stare at those walls my friends and I clothed in graffiti, may you at least find the meaning between these lines.
Copyright © Tafadzwa Chamisa | Year Posted 2022
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