ETHIOPIA

     Decade of Bullets 

     matters of conscience
     IAM A REVOLUTION

     Stinking Breath of My Pen

     Tribute to African Writers-

     LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER

     In Memory of Motherhood

      Lunchtime

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

 _____________________________________________________

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

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matters of conscience


gulf of inspiration
oils the spin weave of my mind

rhythm and imagery my constitution
meditation my second bible after proverbs


iam apostoled by heart pounding drumbeat ritual of metaphors
pandamu! pangu ! panda ! pako !panda ! pandamu! pa!
sanctified by breath choking incense of satire

[wordsmith chiseling thesarus rocks for jargon,
poet planting saliva in wombs of readers digest to reap diction]

political suspense
nutrition to my poetic conscience

social drama
fodder to my mental digestion

war
rabies that poisoned the tongue of Pakistan
and diseased the saliva of afghans tan

corruption
polio
paralyzing penury burnt fingers of matopos
and inflation butchered thighs of Zambezi


poverty
scabies eating away bare brown ,winter ravaged buttocks of darfur
shrinking hunger  sucked mango like breasts of tutsiville

religion
measles blighting arteries of Vatican
bleeding yellow gums of mecca
and shriveling hoarse breath of Jerusalem

 _________________________________________________________

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.

 ____________________________________________________________

IAM A REVOLUTION

Tongues of their guns kissed the bottoms of our country walls
sand of corruption sedimented our banking malls
bishops munching rainbow chicken bones,
singing political verses

violence is a black disease
racism is a white disease
xenophobia is epidemic
blood spilling is endemic
dissidents studying theology
eunuchs graduating criminology
afghanistan ,earthquake of religions
pakistan,volcano of political legions

corruption natural lotion applied in armpits heavy weights
extortion vaseline shining on thighs on high offices
iam not revenging freedom of expression
iam bubbling with freedom of expression
iam constitution of word identity
iam poetry butter and bread
i see children blinded by propaganda peri peri
i see blinded nations

they ate the last supper joburg
their departure never came ,
even when the rainbow sun rose
iam in the drama of the state
my temper of dignity rise and sink
my children drank the apatheird poison
iam diagnosing them with freedom passion

iam tired of academics who loot
and intellectuals who shoot
luther is my tight comrade
iam a cheer leader
iam an african phonologist
i was born fron african sound
iam renaissance home bound

propaganda is the jingle of peasants
verdict is the slogan of exiled
iam a brand of poetic tomatoes
iam diving in trees of political apples

doubtful metaphors still dance out night in the glory of african sun
barometer of poverty boxed by Khoisan
rainbow streets bling with ghettoes
so what the fuss,motorcades
no longer drive ,village dust highways

rhythm of rainbow eaten by dogs
blood rhymes of freedom born frees sucked
by bed bugs
daughters depleted by social anorexia
babies whipped by cultural diarrhoea
we are suffering from freedom malnutrition.

_________________________________________________--

Stinking Breath of My Pen

greasy propaganda apples for peasants
bourgeoisie for sweating corruption omelet
villagers for cassava and diet coke
streets for hip hop and toy guns
school uniform for phd studies and bible for my daughter
wreath for saint valentine
roses for saint paul
revolutions changed and revolutions unchanged
canister for fat breakfast
bullet for big supper
i am fasting the supper and breakfast
sun born with vaseline on its forehead
moonrise with cancer on its breasts
tender skin of stars split by ghetto politics
kindas blowing condoms with lung wind
elders blowing balloons with broken hearts
another revolution
another liberation
another slice of politics
another rumble of hunger
another for the priest.
sweat drops, raindrops, tear drops
raindrops, teardrops, sweat drops
the breath of my pen stink

____________________________________________________ 

Tribute to African Writers

For I wrote so long a letter to Mayombe and Anowa

That I will marry when I want

For the beautiful ones are not yet born

While we wait for the rain

In the coming of the dry season

Behind the anthills of savannah,

Milking the cows of Shambati, gathering good bits of wood,

And the fortunes of Wangarini, in the forests with a thousand demons

A sleep walking land, for things had fallen apart

We faced the wrath of the ancestors, bones and shadows

For it was not any easy walk to freedom

With Farai’s girls, Nehanda and the son of the soil,

In that long journey of popynongena, we met Matigari,

And the tycoon from Peter Maritzburg, and the poor Christ of Bomba

We saw the devil dangling on the cross and his blooming petals of blood

We had the arrows of God

We wanted to kill the mangy dog

In the river between was this a war of freedom?

Indaba my children

We sang the song of Lawino and Ocol

Walking down Second Avenue

Fighting to decolonize the minds of the people

We became the house of hunger

In the country of our own

The butterfly was burning

In the burning summer season, we never ate the grain of wheat

For we harvested thorns and nervous conditions

Cry my beloved country, country of my skull

Nehanda still snores even after the struggle of Zimbabwe.

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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.

__________________________________

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 now.

______________________________________ 

Lunchtime

I have eaten my poetry
I stuffed my metaphors for lunch
imagination my cool drink
empty bag of my stomach blowing tornado,
frustrated
a gunshot passed through my chest
another frustration

____________________________________

Anthem of the Black Poet

The succulent breast of mother Africa oozes with the milk of black renaissance
the rich womb of Africa germinates seeds of black consciousness
the black blood bubbles with identity of Africanness
the sweat of my brows flows with the revolutions from slavery to independence
I am the black poet
I am the black poet
black valleys bloom with flowers of nehandaness
African horizons shine with the rays of nkurumahness
black streets coloured with rainbows of mandelaness
black spears sharpened with the conscience of bikoness
I am the black poet
I sing of black culture bleaching in oceans of coca cola
I sing of black culture fried in cauldrons of floridization
I sing of black culture gambled in the dark streets of sunset hills
I sing of black culture burning in computer ages
I am the black poet
I sing of kings and their people
I sing of black kings and their people
I sing of the dead souls of black history
I sing of the rising spirits of black renaissance
I sing of the rising souls of black consciousness
I sing for the rising spirits of pan-Africanness
I am the stone you left for the dead
I am the tree bark oozing with the blood of age
I am the riverbed flowing with the mucus of age
I am the affidavit of black empowerment that requires your stamp
I am the title deed of black emancipation that needs your signature
I am the memorandum of black reparations that needs your fingerprint
I am the certificate of black repatriation that needs your identity card
I am the stone you left for the dead
I am the tree bark oozing with the blood of age
I am the riverbed flowing with the mucus of age
my mind is a drainage pipe pumping out acids of mental suppression
my mind is a drainage pipe pumping out cyanides of racial discrimination
my mind is a drainage pipe pumping nitrates of economic dispossession
I am the stone you left for the dead
I am the tree bark oozing with the blood of age
I am the riverbed flowing with the mucus of age
my gun is the rose of our freedom
my bullet is the nectar of our reconciliation
my bomb is the petal of our democracy
my gun is our 1980 celebrations
my bullet is our 1987 political revision
I am the stone you left for the dead
I am the tree bark oozing with the blood of age
I am the riverbed flowing with the mucus of age
is abortion a solution to overpopulation
is demolition a solution to pollution
is corruption a shortcut to poverty reduction
is Balkanization a shortcut to colonisation
is condomization a shortcut to HIV mitigation
HIV/AIDS has become a business
an import and export product like Coca-Cola in America and Nokia in Berlin
I am the stone you left for the dead
I am the tree bark oozing with the blood of age
I am the riverbed flowing with the mucus of age.

 _______________________________________________

Identity Apples

I am a fat skeleton, resurrecting
from the sad memories of dada
and dark mysteries of aminism
I am buganda
I bleed hope
I drip the honey of fortune
Makerere, think tank of Africa
I dance with you wakimbizi dance
I am tanganyika
I smell and fester with the smoke of African genesis
I am the beginning
Kilimanjaro the anthill of rituals
I am the smile of Africa
my glee erase the deception of sadness
my tooth bling freedom
I am myself, I am Gambia
when others seep with bullets stuck in their stomachs
I sneeze copper spoons from my mouth every dawn
I am the the Colombia of Africa
I am the Cinderella of Africa
where mediums feast with the ghost of kamuzu in mulange trees
here spirits walk naked and free
I am the land of sensations
I am the land of reactions
coughing forex blues
squandermania
I still smell the scent of Nehanda's breath
I am African renaissance blooming
I stink the soot of chimurenga
I am the mute laughter of Njelele hills
I am Soweto
swallowed by kwaito and gong
I am a decade of wrong and gong
I am blister of freedom vomited from the belly of apartheid
I see the dawn of the coming sun in Madiba's eyebrows
I am Abuja
blast furnace of corruption
Nigeria, the Jerusalem of noblemen, priests, professors and prophets
I am guinea I bling with African floridarization
I am blessed with many tongues
my thighs washed by River Nile
I am the mystery of pyramids
I am the graffiti of Nefertiti
I am the rich breast of nzinga
I am Switzerland of Africa
the rhythm of Kalahari sunset
the rhyme of Sahara, yapping, yelping
I am Damara, I am Herero, I am Nama,
I am Lozi, I am Vambo
I am bitterness, I am sweetness
I am Liberia
I am 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
I am the Paris of Africa
I see my wounds
I am rhythm of beauty
I am Congo
I am Bantu
I am Jola
I am 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
I am the ghost of Mombasa
I am the virginity of Nyanza
I am scarlet face of Mandinga
I am cherry lips of Buganda
come Sankara, come Wagadugu
I am Msiri of garangadze kingdom
my heart beat under rhythm of words and dance
I am the dead in the trees blowing with wind,
I can not be deleted by civilization.
I am not kaffir, I am not Khoisan
I am the sun breaking from the villages of the east with great inspiration of revolutions
its fingers caressing the bloom of hibiscus
liberation!

 _____________________________________________

3  Publishing History

matters of conscience- PUBLISHED BY  Ditch journal in Canada in Feb 2011
IAM A REVOLUTION –PUBLISHED BY Ovi Magazine in Finland in 2010

Stinking Breath of My Pen – Published by One Ghana one voice Literary Journal in 2010

Tribute to African Writers- published by Ama Books Journal of Contemporary Writing in Zimbabwe in 2012

LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER – published by Kushinda Journal of Arts in Wales In Memory of Motherhood by Mbizo Chirasha- published by Feminist literature Journal in 2012/BFEMLIT JOURNAL

 Lunchtime- published in forward Press in UK 2012