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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
Decade of Bullets
Ouagadougou, Ouagadougou, Ouagadougou
See a procession of young mothers chattering their way
From water fountains in grenade torn sandals
And blood laced bras
Somalia, Somalia, Somalia
See the moon disappearing in a mass of gun smoke
Guns splitting the stars from the skin of night
Rwanda, Rwanda, Rwanda
This is a wound from which the pus of grief flows freely
Meandering through rock masses into the valley that lost its freedom
Timbuktu, Timbuktu, Timbuktu
I hear a rush of footsteps of sorrow
Rugged peasants carrying their compounds to far away valleys of flowers
Copyright © Mbizo Chirasha | Year Posted 2017
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
Identity Apples
iam a fat skeleton, resurrecting
from the sad memories of dada
and dark mysteries of aminism
iam buganda
i bleed hope
i drip the honey of fortune
makerere, think tank of africa
i dance with you wakimbizi dance
iam tanganyika
i smell and fester with the smoke of african genesis
iam the beginning
kilimanjaro the anthill of rituals
iam the smile of africa
my glee erase the deception of sadness
my tooth bling freedom
iam myself, iam gambia
when others seep with bullets stuck in their stomachs
i sneeze copper spoons from my mouth every dawn
iam the colombia of africa
iam the cinderella of africa
where mediums feast with the ghost of kamuzu in mulange trees
here spirits walk naked and free
iam the land of sensations
iam the land of reactions
coughing forex blues
squandermania
i still smell the scent of nehanda’ breath
iam african renaissance blooming
i stink the soot of chimurenga
iam the mute laughter of njelele hills
iam soweto
swallowed by kwaito and gong
iam a decade of wrong and gong
iam blister of freedom vomited from the belly of apartheid
i see the dawn of the coming sun in madiba ‘s eyebrows
iam abuja
blast furnace of corruption
nigeria, the jerusalem of noblemen, priests, professors and prophets
iam guinea i bling with african floridization
iam blessed with many tongues
my thighs washed by river nile
iam the mystery of pyramids
iam the graffiti of nefertiti
i am the rich breast of nzinga
iam switzerland of africa
the rhythm of kalahari sunset
the rhyme of sahara, yapping, yelping
iam damara, iam herero, iam nama, iam lozi, iam vambo
iam bitterness, iam sweetness
iam liberia
iam king kongo
mobutu roasted my diamonds into the stink of deep brown blisters
frying daughters in corruption microwaves
souls swallowed by the beat of ndombolo and the wind of rhumba
iam the paris of africa
i see my wounds
iam rhythm of beauty
iam congo
iam bantu
iam jola
iam mandinga
i sing of you
i sing thixo
i sing of ogun
i sing of god
i sing of tshaka
i sing of jesus
i sing of children
of garangaja and banyamulenge
whose sun is dozing in the mist of poverty
iam the ghost of mombasa
iam the virginity of nyanza
iam scarlet face of mandinga
iam cherry lips of buganda
come sankara, come wagadugu
iam msiri of garangadze kingdom
my heart beat under rhythm of words and dance
iam the dead in the trees blowing with wind,
i can not be deleted by civilization.
iam not kaffir, iam not khoisun
iam the sun breaking from the villages of the east with great inspiration of revolutions
its fingers caressing the bloom of hibiscus
liberation!
Identitätsäpfel
ichbin ein fettes Skelett, das wieder aufersteht
aus traurigen Erinn'rungen an dada
und dunklen Mysterien des Aminismus (1)
ichbin buganda (2)
ich blute Hoffnung
ich tropfe den Honig des Schicksals
makerere, Think-tank von Afrika (3)
ich tanze mit dir wakimbizi(4) tanz
ichbin tanganyika
ich stinke und eit're mit dem Rauch afrikanischer Genesis
ich bin der Anfang
kilimanjaro der Ameisenhügel der Rituale
ichbin das Lächeln Afrikas
meine Freude tilgt die Täuschung der Traurigkeit
mein Zahn blingt(5) Freiheit
ichbin ichselbst, ichbin gambia
wenn andere aussickern während Kugeln stecken in ihren Mägen
schneuze ich Kupferlöffel aus meinem Mund bei jedem Tagesanbruch
ich bin das Kolumbien von Afrika
ichbin das Aschenputtel von Afrika
wo Medien schmausen mit dem Geist von kamuzu in mulange Bäumen (6)
hier gehn Geister nackt und frei
ichbin das Land der Sinneseindrücke
ichbin das Land der Reaktionen
huste Forex Blaus
Verschwendungssucht
ich rieche noch den Duft von nehanda Atem (7)
ichbin Afrikanische Renaissance die blüht
ich stinke den Ruß von chimurenga (8)
ichbin das stumme Lachen von njelele Hügeln (9)
ich bin Soweto
verschluckt von kwaito(10) und gong
ichbin ein Jahrzehnt von wrong/falsch und gong
ichbin Blasen der Freiheit gekotzt aus dem Bauch der Apartheid
ich sehe den Anbruch des kommenden Sonne in madiba ‘s Augenbrauen (11)
ichbin Abuja
Hochofen der Korruption
Nigeria, das Jerusalem der Edelmänner, Priester, Professoren und Propheten
ich bin Guinea ich “bling” mit afrikanischer Floridisierung
ichbin gesegnet mit vielen Zungen
meine Schenkel, gewaschen vom Nil
ichbin das Geheimnis der Pyramiden
ich bin das graffito of Nefertiti
ich bin die reiche Brust von nzinga (12)
ichbin die Schweiz Afrikas
der Rhythmus of Kalahari Sonnenuntergang
der Reim der Sahara, kläffend, jaulend
ichbin damara, ichbin herero, ichbin nama, ichbin lozi, ichbin vambo (13)
ichbin Bitterkeit, ichbin Süße
ichbin Liberia
ichbin König Kongo
mobutu röstete meine Diamanten im Gestank von tiefbraunen Blasen
briet Töchter in Korruptions-Mikrowellen
Seelen geschluckt vom Beat des ndombolo(14) und dem Wind des rhumba
ichbin das Paris von Afrika
ich seh meine Wunden
ichbin Rhythmus der Schönheit
ichbin Kongo
ichbin Bantu
ichbin Jola
ich bin Mandinga (15)
ich sing von dir
ich singe thixo (16)
ich sing von ogun (17)
ich sing von Gott
ich sing von tshaka (18)
ich sing von Jesus
ich sing von Kindern
von garangaja und banyamulenge
deren Sonne döst im Nebel der Armut
ichbin der Geist von Mombasa
ich bin die Jungfräulichkeit von nyanza
ichbin scharlachrotes Gesicht von mandinga
ichbin Kirschenlippen von buganda
Komm Sankara, komm Wagadugu
ichbin Msiri vom Garangadse Reich
mein Herz schlag unterm Rhythmus von Worten und Tanz
ichbin die Toten in den Bäumen die wehen im Wind,
ich kann nicht ausgestrichen werden von Zivilisation.
Ichbin nicht Kaffer, ich bin nicht Khoisun
ichbin die Sonne die anbricht in den Dörfern des Ostens mit großer Inspiration von Revolutionen
ihre Finger liebkosen das Blüh'n des Hibiskus
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
ROAD TO DAMASCUS
Granite faith exfoliated by superguns and sanctions whirls,
on this earth succumbing into dry spell of peace,
War-crats and confidantes skinning freedom from its people
Kofi drinking coffee with revolutionaries and revolutionaries in
Aleppo cafe on his way to Damascus
Daughters eating NGOs, GMOs, condoms and twitter
Bullet scorching the feet of super diplomats and mediators
Wiki leaks castrating the reputation of this state
Opportunists and oppositionists eating asparagus and liver in candle light dinners
Selfish pseudo prophets calculating political matrixes, salmonella laced sugar tongued
Democrats cooking autocratic beetroot and propaganda pizza for media rituals and puppets initiation.
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Copyright © Mbizo Chirasha | Year Posted 2017
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER
this poem reshuffled cabinet
the rhythm resigned the president
its metaphors adjourned parliament
my daughter
awaken sleeping patriots eating peanut in slogan darkness
rise dozing voters in the warmth of political acid
awaken struggle heroes in graves tired of wrong epitaphs and fake eulogies
awaken fat cats puffing zanunised propaganda burgers in slumber
rise green horns drinking much talked herbal tea of change
grandfathers of patriotism to bring back
truth drowning in potholes of grief
god fathers of change to bring back my vote choked in drums of new renewed
corruption
bring red hot charcoal to roast political bedbugs sucking our blood in daylight
bring a word scientist to burn the justified injustice in poetic sulphuric acid
my daughter
this poem reshuffled cabinet
the rhythm resigned the president
the metaphors adjourned parliament.
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Copyright © Mbizo Chirasha | Year Posted 2017
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
Kalinga- linga
A daughter of revolution fed on rich political nutrition
With a smile bandaging scars of the streets and falsehood by political demons
Fingers burnt in pseudo democratic pans of West, what a political humor
I see you smelling love through the thick dew of corruption and robots
True heroes and heroines swallowed up in the deep silence of chingwere and uzambwera*
Leopold hill shadows faking dances to the throbbing rhythms of vumbuza drums
Kalinga- linga- your rising sun will soon spread the beauty of its fingers in the skies of Afrika
*Cemeteries of the poor (Translator's note)
Kalinga- linga
Eine Tochter der Revolution, gefüttert mit reicher politischer Nahrung
Mit einem Lächeln verbindet sie Narben der Straßen und Falschheit politischer Dämonen
Finger verbrannt in pseudodemokratischen Pfannen des Westens, welch politischer Humor
Ich sehe dich Liebe riechen durch den dicken Tau von Korruption und Robotern
Wahre Helden und Heldinnen verschluckt in der tiefen Stille von chingwere und uzambwera*
Leopold-Hill-Schatten täuschen Tänze vor zu den dröhnenden Rhythmen der vumbuza Trommeln
Kalinga-linga – deine aufsteigende Sonne wird bald die Schönheit ihrer Strahlen verbreiten in den Himmeln Afrikas
* Friedhöfe der Armen
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
Children of Xenophobia
Children eating bullets and firecrackers
Beggars of smile and laughter
Silent corpses sleeping away fertile dreams
Povo* chanting new nude wretched slogans
Overstayed exiles eating beetroot and African potato
Abortions and condoms batteries charging the lives of nannies and maids
Children of barefoot afternoons and uncondomized nights
Sweat chiselling the rock of your endurance
The heart of Soweto, Harare, Darfur, Bamako still beating like drums
Violence fumigating peace from this earth.
Kinder der Xenophobie
Kinder, die Kugeln und Feuerwerkskörper essen
Bettler von Lächeln und Lachen
Stille Körper die fruchtbare Träume wegschlafen
Povo* die neue nackte elende Slogans singen
Zu lang wegbleibende Exilierte die Rote Beete essen und Afrikanische Kartoffeln
Abtreibungen & Kondome Batterien die die Leben von Kinder- und Dienstmädchen aufladen
Kinder barfüßiger Nachmittage und kondomloser Nächte
Schweiß der den Fels deiner Ausdauer meißelt
Das Herz von Soweto, Harare, Darfur, Bamako schlägt noch wie Trommeln
Gewalt die Frieden wegräuchert von dieser Erde.
Translator's note:
* “the povo (the 'people' - referring to the low-income majority)” – This definition was offered in 1994. Cf. “[...] it has been frequently asserted that the access of the povo (the 'people'. - referring to the low-income majority) to the University of Zimbabwe has improved .” (Paul Bennell and Mkhululi Ncube, “A University for the Povo? The Socio-Economic Background of African University Students in Zimbabwe Since Independence”, in: Journal of Southern African Studies, Vol. 20, No. 4, Dec. 1994, pp. 587-601. – A skeptical asssessment of povo is offered by an apologist of the West who asserts that “the Povo masses are not attuned to the western format of democracy.” (Charles W. Duke, Zimbabwe: The Land That Weeps. Yeadon, Leeds, West Yorkshire : Best Books Online/ Mediaworld PR Ltd., 2003, p.83.)
Copyright © Mbizo Chirasha | Year Posted 2017
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
ETHIOPIA
see talking slums
silenced tongues
freedom silenced
hope killed
a bling of ghettos
collapsed humanity
mothers weeping ,
under the compression of religion
trees dripping tears
Ethiopia your festering open wounds
you are my anger!
children burn in smoldering canisters of hunger
time opened new wounds of memories of old scars
chained on rocks of ignorance
you need a compass of decency
my poetry is a catalyst fermenting your injustices
into beverages of justice
you are my sadness!
your heartbeat bleached in political fermentation
rhythm galvanized in furnaces of cultural myth
laughter imbibed by the rude stomach of the gun
culture crushing under the weight of globalization
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
In Memory of Motherhood
Pain scribbled signatures in mothers buttocks
announcing the beginning of sunset
sun rays remained un vomited from the beauty of rainbows
war tied ropes of struggle round their necks
many rhymes of suffering sung and unheard
in congregations marching townships and mountains
in search of freedom seeds
seeds of their wombs yearned for freedom far to be harvested
motherhood a definition of honesty hearts
with breasts carrying scars ,laughter ,smiles, and hope
those dimples signatures of resilience
thighs with grafitti of bullet bruises
valleys of their backs smell blood of sons,
sons long buried inthe barrel ofviolence
life stolen in its greenness
motherhood her hands trust red clay soil , even
during cloudless seasons
the womb that breathe rays of this dawn ,today
scribbling this memory on the walls of the rainbow
Shoulders of motherhood carried journeys and hope
how many times hope die ,rise and ripe
erase propaganda from her shoulders
delete the baggage of slogan from from breasts
abort the luggage of war from her womb
bring pastures that she reap fruits of freedom
motherhood how many times you cough sorrow
how many seasons you sneeze hunger
you have eaten enough poverty
and licked the rough hand of war long unforgotten
motherhood freedom is no
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
Gaddafi
I see America dancing in oil sodden nights, nostrils stinking the scent of death
Your ghost exorcising demons of colonialist clout, walking along banks of the lost river
River that lost its freedom
Your shadow suffocating under the smell of exile and scent of slums
Gaddafi, propaganda is fart, fart deodorizing the winds of the villages
I have a burning passion to bring back the dimples and wrinkles of this country.
Ghaddafi
Ich seh Amerika tanzen in öltriefenden Nächten, Nasenlöcher verströmen den Duft des Tods
Dein Geist treibt Dämonen kolonialistischer Macht aus, schreitet an Ufern des verlorenen Flusses entlang
Fluß der seine Freiheit verlor
Dein Schatten erstickt unterm Geruch des Exils und dem Duft der Slums
Ghaddafi, Propaganda ist ein Furz, Furz der die Winde der Dörfer deodorisiert
Ich spür eine brennende Leidenschaft, die Grübchen und Falten dieses Landes zurückzubringen.
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Mbizo Chirasha Poem
Kongo
Your past is a mint of blood and tears
Daughters tearing their way to decay
Sons castrated by poverty and superguns,
Kongo, a dream battered and bruised
Your conscience poliorised by oppressive dance
Highways clogged with hatred and vendetta
Gutters donating stench and typhoid
Kongo, let my poetry feed your withering dreams for guns, insult the tired memories
Of voters.
Kongo
Deine Vergangenheit ist ein Münzwerk von Blut und Tränen
Töchter die ihren Weg zum Verfall aufreißen
Söhne, kastriert von Armut und Supergewehren,
Kongo, ein Traum, mißhandelt und zerschlagen
Dein Gewissen poliorisiert von unterdrück'rischem Tanz
Überlandstraßen verstopft von Haß und Aktionen der Rache
Gossen spenden Gestank und Typhus
Kongo, laß meine Dichtung deine welkenden Gewehrträume füttern, die müden Erinn'rungen beleidigen -
der Wähler.
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