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Edward Dzonze Poem
The story unfolds
darkness today
but tomorrow it will be day
We might not see but we sure know
Poverty is not the story of Africa
not this blinding darkness either
We grope, we fall but that's not it all
we curse the darkness and rebuke the ground
Our story can not be grounded before dawn
Yesterday we fell, today we arise
the scars on our bodies paid the price
To arise is wise, we await the sunrise
Xenophobia is not the story of the Bantu
sometimes the road takes a sudden bend
but a traveler surely knows it's not the end
We stampede, we panic
but the sound we make in the jungle is not the music of the jungle
We arise to sing a new song
Ubuntuism; the sound track to the evolution of the Bantu
Darkness upon the land
The story unfolds,
We grope, we fall but we arise
We rise to go but sometimes we fall again
Terror is not the flow
of river Nile and Niger
Darkness fools the shadow out of sight,
deceive the eye and not the mind
We might not see but we sure know
Tribalism and civil wars
is not the story of Africa
Sometimes the fall hurts
but losing the chase hurts even more
and so we rise...
Yes, the story unfolds
we can endure nights longer than our sleep
but we can not endure sleep longer than the nights upon us
We grope, we fall but that's not all
We rise to go but sometimes we fall again
We might not see but we sure know
Africa will someday conquer its miseries,
It shall dawn in Africa as it dawned in America
and the lines will be read to the children of Africa
Yes, the story will be read to this end
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2016
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Edward Dzonze Poem
Our swollen faces
have become dashboards of our miseries,
The wounds may heal
but the scars will remind us still
of the the tears we shed to the blood lost,
of the shallow holes we dug with our bruised fingers
and the rough terrains we lay our heads at night
Its the look on our faces
that continue to say it all;
The scars, the blood and the tears
What now
have become a new song to our barbarity?
Worse than imperialism and tribalism
will this fresh wound on our faces ever heal;
a people willed to terror
killing their mastered skill
human blood the pill to their social and economical ills
Fresh wounds on our scarred faces
We cry, we continue to die
Crying before we die we ask Why?
How high should we take this poetry
to awake the gods of peace to this marooning barbarity?
A fresh wound
on our scarred faces
More blood in the streets
than there is safe water to drink
The beloved face of humanity
is all tattooed with scars of hate
We cry, we continue to die
Our swollen faces
have become dashboards of our miseries
From our swollen faces
the soar songs we sing crying
says it all better;
The scars from healed wounds
may remain on our faces a piece of history,
a narration of our past
symbolizing the ills we conquered
and know better to avoid
Wise enough to avoid the same stupidity
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2016
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Edward Dzonze Poem
Even if it rains
in white
snow,
I will shelter
my head
under a black
umbrella.
For the white
storm
that
splattered the
bones of
Nehanda and
Kaguvi,
i will always
dangle a black
pendent.
For the white
oriented
hatred
that
narrowed the
life of Martin
Luther Jnr,
I will smear
this black
powder on
my skin
to dwell in
rememberence
Even if it
pours in red
blood,
I will with
me carry a
black
umbrella.
For the black
dye that was
used
to die the grey hair of our
ageing
fathers for
sale in foreign
lands,
I will not
trade this
umbrella for a
penny.
For all the
fallen heroes
whose names
were never
written on
black
tombstones,
I will always
wear a black
beret in my
heart.
Call me black,
nothing is at
stake.
I take all the
bullets
if the sound
of the gun
keeps the
world awake.
Do not shed a
tear....
...the poem
just did-
Read-the-
poem-ALOUD
If you are
proud to be
black.
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2013
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Edward Dzonze Poem
I don’t have the financial muscle
To wrestle the American State President intellectually
If the truth be told ;
I don’t have half enough in my savings account
To ridicule the financial dry seasons I went through to this age
Congratulations to you Mr President Sir
For writing a new chapter on the American political page
From this angle
It looks like the president elect have got issues with my race ;
The African race….my beloved race
And just as it stands
I am speaking for that damned race
Riding through a broken wing of political ambition,
The “money-man” said stuff to undermine the African race,
His excoriation came with no humane moderation
Pardon his prejudice and the indifference thereof
He said a lot of derogatory remarks
The poet’s pen cannot scribble out of humility
At least they say the moneyed man is American
But I think the question should be Who is not?
The chosen candidate
Uttered things I would never say to a fellow human being
Most of us felt the sting,
That wasn’t quite mundane, nowhere near humane…
Nobody under the sun would ignore the stink
The Zuni can’t recall ,
Help us a little ,where you there
When the Shoshone , Cayuga and the Seneca dared the Appalachian Mountains untamed
With their bare hands and physical strength
The book of life might have missed it
Where you there to object
The template of creation in the face of the creator ?
Love was there and black was there too
There in God’s mind and unquestionable plan
To beautify the human face with a little black
To be sure enough equity was there in the creator’s plan
You were there in the political race ,
In your wealthy hands , with all the electronic space
Making your lizard-snake-reptile inference
Whatever the case with my race
At least the US dollar in my purse
Does not carry your respectably rich face on it
Check it;
I envy the presidential throne
From which you make those racial utterances
But then you give me lines and verses
To shelve my political aspiration for this writing pen
Face it;
We are still holding “those” truths to be self evident
‘that all men are created equal
that they are…..
That among these are life , liberty and pursuit of Happiness…’
Feel it;
I regard my African self with the same human respect
You regard your presidential American self,
That feeling is not bound with creed or colour Mr President
Smell it;
Right there in your office
The voice of justice and of consanguinity
Enshrined in your political dogma
So, what’s it?
I hear they regard you as a political saint
Some of us do not mind the colour,
Just give us the portrait
Word is a flame
To take them high
Beyond the cloud of weed and codeine
Serve it moderated; that’s what civility says
If I may ask, Sir..how is that so
The geese in your hand will turn into chicken
Because you have built a new fowl run?
Politics is fun, poetry just the perfect gun for the game
Think about it;
*’Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled
Masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless
Tempest-tossed to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.’
These are the words of the Melting Pot
The real nature and stature of America…
We love your America Sir.
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2017
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Edward Dzonze Poem
Flow
with me
along
the
rivers of
common
sense,
eroding
the
riverbeds
of
tribalism
and
racism,
revitalising
the very
essence
of man's
existence.
Flow
with me
you will
get the
sense.
Dine
with me
on the
table of
realism
and
enjoy
the
fruits of
collectivism.
Because
you
donot
see
beyond
races
and
tribes,
you will
call me
Negro.
Because
you
think
with
limitations,
you will
see me
inferior.
You wil
diffuse
your ego
in your
own
biased
prejudices
because
you do
not see
beyond
the
physical.
Because
you are
not like
me,
I am
black
proud
and
honoured.
I
humble
my
blackself
before
your
racial
utterances
because
i know i
am
reason
for envy.
I am the
blackest
black,
the one
racists
choose
to hate
because
i am a
living
testimony
to their
fallacy.
You will
call a
brother
Negro
because
you
think
with
limits.
You will
see
another
inferior
because
you do
not see
beyond
the
physical.
I am the
blackest
black,
flow
with me
here,
dine
with me
you will
see i
nothing
lack.
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2013
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Edward Dzonze Poem
They
knows no
shelter
but allleys
in the
dusty
streets of
Harare,
peripapetic,they
wander
from bin
to bin
in search
of
whatever
managed
to escape
the hand
in good
shape.
If only they
had a
choice
they would
choose a
home
All day
long they
hide
in the
condemnable
might of
drugs
liquor,
trying to
evade the
unfathomable
complexity
of the
Hararean
mazes
which
seems not
to have a
breakthrough
at all.
Fallen
victim to
dying
humanity
at a tender
age
they
knows no
comfort,
education
still
remains a
mystery.
Who talks
of good
food in
this
neighbourhood?
If only they
had a
choice
they would
choose to
be loved
When
spartan
becomes a
shadow,
to be
loved,to be
cared for
if only they
had a
choice
they would
choose a
home
but do
they have
a
definition
of
humanity
when
instead we
call them
names.
In our
faces they
cry,in our
ears they
sing,who
listens to
them
but
punctuate
them with
shame.
Life goes
on in the
streets but
what's the
going
If only they
had a
choice
they would
choose to
be you
so they
would
make a
difference,
Maybe i
better
close my
eyes and
pretend i
never saw
this
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2012
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Edward Dzonze Poem
Hazy,
fading
pictures
awaiting
the
justification
of
an
artist
Strange
echoing
voices
demanding
some
clarification.
A
microscopic
assertion
of
a
kaleidoscopic
impression
drawing
a
break
through
from
a
labyrinth.......
......i
pity
the
poet
in
love
I
pity
the
artist,
burdened
with
the
onus
of
drawing
the
hazy
picture
clear.
A
picture
anticipated
and
still
imaginery
I
pity
the
writer,
for
burdening
his
parker
pen
to
lay
the
answers
plain
on
paper.
The
answers
to
accompany
the
picture
I
pity
the
scientist
too,
for
coaxing
the
machines
to
magnify
the
microcosm
of
a
poet
in
love
to
an
understandable
version.
The
poet
in
love
with
Vanessa
I
pity
the
poet,
for
having
regained
a
loving
heart
once
lost,
only
to
surrender
the
keys
yet
again
and
this
time.....the
master
key
was
not
spared
.......gone
the
poet's
heart
to
Vanessa
I
pity
this
pit
the
poet
fell
in
for
it
is
colourfully
painted
and
on
all
the
walls
scribbled;
SHOW
SOME
LOVE
Love,a
picture
born
out
of
those
hazy,fading
pictures
Love,an
answer
to
those
strange
reverberating
voices
Love,the
detected
intractible
kaleidoscopic
virus
by
the
microscope
Love,Vanessa
is
the
labyrinth
i
found
the
poet
wandering
...............drink
it
Vanessa
ITS
NOW
SAFE
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2012
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Edward Dzonze Poem
Meet me here angel surrogates
for i have allowed my eyes to consume your make
and out of oblivion exploited my appreciation.
You bayonetted me with a warm grin,
embraced me with you fatal glance,
punctuated my wholeself with your pulchritude,
encacerated me with your decency
and yet decide to burry my ingenous altruism
in a shallow grave...a hole
This cup of coffee before me...
you prepared and stirred good to my satisfaction
and yet you knew i would not smell it.
This coffee i saw you prepare,
salivated and quenched for...
you served it in my presence,
meet me here Yevai
and know that i yearned and quenched for the coffee.
Stern and composed before a huge mirror
I see your reflection instead,
maybe just a ciggarete thought
Judge me not dear
for these folly filled illusions
but you made me drink and smoke,
trying to define my existence in your face.
In the dock i stand now,
facing murder charges and blasphemous attacks
on your innocent mother
for baking this special cake
and throw it into the world of man.
Had i been blind
her deft articulation would not have intervened with my misgivings.
My own psche i have murdered....
meet me here Yevai
This street called love
we were together where it begins...
saw you taking off,
laughed and thaught time shall come
when it was infact ticking away.
Tick-tock tick-tock i have waited
only to write my own epitah.
Had it made a difference if i shouted,
WROTE boldly,
smiled and told you how much you meant to me?
Judge me not Miss
for i will stand in the dock again
facing charges of mental illusions with the creator.
Illusions...
that inside the brown bottle
i will find you
when you were locked in your room instead.
Illusions...
that love was in the air
and i had only the birds to compete with
when some boys were chasing you instead.
Travelled for long side by side
not noticing the dermacation line between us,
the small fence that i thought
too low when i want to jump...
I shall say no more of it
I should have just told you
rather than live a life on paper...
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2013
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Edward Dzonze Poem
She
sang
a
song
unheard
of,
patted
my
lips
and
whispered
something
i
could
not
understand,
neither
could
i
feel
the
bruises
on
my
lips
when
she
and
her
shadow
were
gone,
leaving
behind
a
skeleton
too
real
to
be
skeletal
The
skeleton
which
gives
me
company
but
never
said
a
word
ever
since
we
met,
The
skeleton
which
convinces
me
that
Cuda
is
not
at
all
a
mystery
but
a
thesis
which
only
i
can
claim
full
mastery
Miles
away
she
stands
resolute
on
a
balcony
overlooking
my
pity
tattered
world.
The
letters
that
i
write,
she
can
jump
and
drop
a
response
by
but
i
cannot
fly,
the
balcony
is
way
too
high.
She
is
only
that
which
i
saw
in
a
mail
and
through
these
visions
towards
her
i
sail,
whistling
the
song
she
only
sang
for
me
first,
Upraised
by
this
not
so
skeletal
skeleton,
i
recited
the
lyrics
even
without
much
knowledge
of
the
meaning
Do
not
doubt
my
singing
(Cuda)
If
you
listen
to
my
whistle
Forever
more
we
shall
be
kissing
(ndinokuda)
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2012
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Edward Dzonze Poem
The heaven they preach
Is no haven to man but hell,
Their tongues sweeter than honey
Who can resist the melody
When they paint their world to taste in rainbow colors
Singing glory glory glory
Preaching the word according to their world
One-heart less
Astute in their chicanery, they have a face
Colorfully charming as a chameleon
The bait be-jeweled with treasure
Their words up to the measure
Its a highway of friendship and promises to the trap,
Hell a dead end to their ploy
They know the way to the promised land
Where poverty is a story to be told
They lead the way to the land
The land leads the way to the cage
Where the promised heaven is sure hell
From the cage,
At their expedient behest
Your labor leads them to their desires afar
The line is cast
The bait is set,
The hungry cage is salivating for prey.
The drum is struck
For our appreciation of sound
Venal as devious in their ways,
Astute in their chicanery, they have a face
Colorfully charming as a chameleon,
Their tongues sweeter than honey
As they paint green
The pastures they wish greener
Acclamatizing to our heart's desire for better
Copyright © Edward Dzonze | Year Posted 2016
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