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Leben Panashe Kabete Poem
She has the eyes of a lion and the smile of a fairy
She has the claws of a bear and the cuteness of a kitten
She unlocks secured caves of hearts
In silence she sings summoning mantras
In peace she wages war against the sun
In life she nurses death with her soiled hands
She is a daughter of the soil and she has her lips to my neck
Africa,all I need is love
She walks softly in the sanctuary while she runs through avenues of minds
Those that behold her seductive frame become free slaves
Her curves burst nerves and destroy holy matrimony
In her tongue lies juices that fuel sparks of fire in blood lines
There is something about the way she spreads her wings
Something about the way she walks on water ,it's fishy
She fishes for souls in pools of African emancipation
She is a daughter of the soil and she has her lips to my neck
Africa,all I need is love
Her hands resurrect dead souls while her words kills them
She likes to be liked, her likeness is likable but her shadow is unpopular among my people
She wears expensive robes and cheap shoes
Her paths are straight but her ways are as crooked as the lines on hell's map
She is the candle type,she melts if you are that good
Yet her heart remains strong ,standing unshaken and outstanding
She connects easily with both nature and the underworld
She makes you wonder and understand
She shakes trees like the wind
She conceives in the mind
Her chariot brings forth gold and bronze
She is a daughter of the soil and she has her lips to my neck
Africa,all I need is love
STREETPO3TRY
Copyright © Leben Panashe Kabete | Year Posted 2019
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Leben Panashe Kabete Poem
Drum beats inside black bare hairy chests
Tradition hidden in treasure chests
Chess played on mother earth , sounds like home
Home grown sounds ringing throughout the neighborhood
Stomachs kneeling and praying for food
Fathers crossing boarder lines and going for good
Living life behind the calabash
Brothers behind bars
Mother's beauty behind scars
The sacred statue of mother Theresa caresses those in prisons
Prisons of the mind can never be unlocked
Smoke in the nearby village , culture is burning
Village heads lay their heads on village grief
The village thief steals at noon
And then the slave hunters
Lurking in expensive
Futures perishing like sinners in hell
Let me not breath the air that sinners inhale
I come from light
I am pain
I come from life
*STREETPO3TRY*
Copyright © Leben Panashe Kabete | Year Posted 2019
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Leben Panashe Kabete Poem
LET ME LIVE
I have never lived
Have never cried
or ever lied
I am a brand new creation knocking at your door
My mission is to break into life through you
Please do not make it a mission impossible
As your belly expands day after day
My joy multiplies at the same time
My hopes lifted high up like the national flag
Shelled within your tummy just like i am shelled in innocence
Shelled in disillusionment
Not knowing your devious plan
The strategy devised by that malicious mind of yours
The plan to terminate my existence before i inhale H2O
Your idea to sever me from my life
And destroy me as if i am an ogre,a hideous creature
But what about my future?
What about the talent castled in me?
What about the change i was going to induce into the world?
Think of all the things that lie in the days i will be on earth
The fires i am going to stamp out
The souls i am going to help
The roles i am going to serve
Mother,are you going to rob the world of all that treasure?
Just because my father is a lunatic?
Are you going to act naive like he did?
Are going to reject me like he did?
Reject me like Judas betrayed his salvation?
Are you going to ignore the important so that you attend to the urgent?
Whatever the situation
Abortion can never be a right turn
Don't we all start our journey in the belly
and end it in the dust?
Why deprive me of my chance to serve my purpose?
What have i done wrong?
What did i do to deserve execution before i even break out of the womb?
What about the regret that will forever haunt you?
What about judgement day?
Today abortion may seem to be a great idea
What about tomorrow?
STREETPO3TRY
Copyright © Leben Panashe Kabete | Year Posted 2018
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Leben Panashe Kabete Poem
MORNING OF OPTIMISM
A blue pigment covers the heavens
hope spreading like a giant reed mat to infinite ends
Day ahead promising something new
like Indian merchant ships of 1570
The atmosphere is dense with optimism
Morning metallurgy separating our fears from hope
The morning is good.
Saints wake up kneeling besides the bed offering sacred prayers
Still waters become misty waters on which prayers of the day waver on
Workers make haste in bodies covered with blue work suits
CEOs pat their bellies and thicken their voices in preparation for meetings to come
Children of the streets stand barefoot perceiving the chocolates that are to come home in the evening
Dogs pop their heads out of their kennels trying to get a glimpse of hope
The sun smiles while rising like the flag in 1980
The wind sings a joyful song of hope
The street poet takes a celestial gaze at the streets
the sweet scent of morning
telling stories of optimism
STREETPO3TRY
Copyright © Leben Panashe Kabete | Year Posted 2017
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Leben Panashe Kabete Poem
DO NOT BLAME THE MONARCHY
Do not blame the Monarchy
For wounds from biting teeth that you dug up on your own
For the death of your children who were eaten by the wolf you domesticated
For your midget qualities and strengths
Your incompetence and your impotence
If you remember the cave after intermittent rain has soaked you
Do not blame the Monarchy
Do not blame the Monarchy
For the bad weather conditions
The witches and sorceres enchanting your life
For the ill luck that is ubiquitous in your life
Your ancestors peed on their prosterity so your life is automatically sour
That's inevitable,
Do not blame the Monarchy for your destiny
For the devil's artistry in your domain
If prosperity repels you
Success and your life are incompatible
They ploughed up to each other's boundaries
For fate , prophecies of doom showered on you
For asteroids headed for your existance
For spiritual battles you lost
For failing to whisper a prayer in the morning
Do not blame the Monarchy.
Do not blame the Monarchy
For the demons that battered you at night
For your acted confusion that has led you into the ladies toilet
Now you are facing your naked mother
For your dullness
For being a sham ,a scoundrel , a villian , a scum
For eating poison because you are a scoffer
For stepping on lamdmines by ignoring that the fact that running is not arrival
For your unguided appetite that lets you eat the seed before the season of planting
For the painful blood dwelling reward that you got from touring women's dresses
For your failure to listen to the grey haired
For your futile attempt to surround the ant hill single handedly
For taking a candle into the river so that you see the crocodile
For playing the drum with an axe
Do not blame the Monarchy
For misfortunes that you built up for your self,on your own
Do not blame the Monarchy.
STREETPO3TRY
Copyright © Leben Panashe Kabete | Year Posted 2018
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Leben Panashe Kabete Poem
TOLD STORIES
Once there were stories told
About the rising and setting of the sun
The colour of the moon
And the forming of dawn
Once there were stories told about the streets
And about the heart of the ghetto
Once there were stories told.
Stories were told once
About barefooted little feet
Standing in a dusty street
carrying an empty pot belly
A head the size of a giant pumpkin
Stories about hungry children
Thinking mothers struck by the invisible two edged sword of HIV
Which cuts deep into the bone chasing happiness away
Once there were stories told
About trousers sagging just bellow the buttocks
Small beards emanating from smoke filled cheeks
Crimson red eyes due to smoke from joints of marijuana
Stories about teenagers sitting on broken bridges
Not perceiving their broken futures
Oversized caps cupping big heads covering small brains
Brains filled with kilolitres of alcohol
Yet with a few milligrams of geography ,science and maths
Once there were stories told of desolate teenagers in a desolate ghetto
Once there were stories told.
Stories were told once
About snakes deceiving their prey with expensive Jordan sneakers
Fancy clothes,fancy cars and orders of pizza
City girls falling for the smell of ethanol blend
Next thing we are expecting a new creation
Stories about the sixteen year old giving the forbidden fruit to the bald head
Babies quickly transforming into mothers
As a result of unsuccessful experiments with sexual organs
producing unfortunate results of little hungry crying mouths
Waiting to be fed by unemployed children mothers
Once there were stories told
Stories were told once
About the street crying for her young
Once there were stories told
About the voice of the ghetto heard at midnight
Crying for her children in stories told
Once stories were told.
STREETPO3TRY
Copyright © Leben Panashe Kabete | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Leben Panashe Kabete Poem
DO NOT BLAME THE MONARCHY
Do not blame the Monarchy
For wounds from biting teeth that you dug up on your own
For the death of your children who were eaten by the wolf you domesticated
For your midget qualities and strengths
Your incompetence and your impotence
If you remember the cave after intermittent rain has soaked you
Do not blame the Monarchy
Do not blame the Monarchy
For the bad weather conditions
The witches and sorceres enchanting your life
For the ill luck that is ubiquitous in your life
Your ancestors peed on their prosterity so your life is automatically sour
That's inevitable,
Do not blame the Monarchy for your destiny
For the devil's artistry in your domain
If prosperity repels you
Success and your life are incompatible
They ploughed up to each other's boundaries
For fate , prophecies of doom showered on you
For asteroids headed for your existance
For spiritual battles you lost
For failing to whisper a prayer in the morning
Do not blame the Monarchy.
Do not blame the Monarchy
For the demons that battered you at night
For your acted confusion that has led you into the ladies toilet
Now you are facing your naked mother
For your dullness
For being a sham ,a scoundrel , a villian , a scum
For eating poison because you are a scoffer
For stepping on lamdmines by ignoring that the fact that running is not arrival
For your unguided appetite that lets you eat the seed before the season of planting
For the painful blood dwelling reward that you got from touring women's dresses
For your failure to listen to the grey haired
For your futile attempt to surround the ant hill single handedly
For taking a candle into the river so that you see the crocodile
For playing the drum with an axe
Do not blame the Monarchy
For misfortunes that you built up for your self,on your own
Do not blame the Monarchy.
STREETPO3TRY
Copyright © Leben Panashe Kabete | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Leben Panashe Kabete Poem
LOST IMPROMPTU
I know I vowed to stay loyal to you Father
I vowed to work for the good of your kingdom
I know I made promises and even promised to keep those promises
but now I find myself breaking my promises to you
It happens so fast like an Olympic athlete breaking world records
My name is a pool of manure in your book of records ,its dirty
My works are a mirror which mirrors the corruption of my eerie mind which loves to err
If sin had a syllabus I'd be studying for professor right now
Right now I am a vehicle with the Devil at the steering wheel
If you ask me what the drive to what I'm doing is, I don't even know
And my mind doesn't even know what embarrassing thing I am going to do next
If my guardian angel is still with me then he deserves a merit award
Lucifer has me off limits ,I am living off guard
Off late I haven't been pleased with how I am playing the cards but I cannot stop
I cannot stop dancing to this song, I know the devil is the Dj but my body muscles are revolting against me
I have no control over me I am like a puppet at a circus
I cannot stop
And yes Father ,sometimes I hear what seems to be your call but then I cannot clearly hear it over the sound of me making love to the world
Sometimes I want to talk to you but Lucifer calls me to his office there and then
He is bossy
I'm the one at loss
Father I don't how much time I have between now and until the devil colonises my mind again
But please rescue my soul
I'm Done Living In Death!
Copyright © Leben Panashe Kabete | Year Posted 2019
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