This time,
You mistimed,
And went too far,
Why on them,
Why them,
Why not the Americans,
Or on them,
Why not the British,
Or on them,
Last time I said it,
And I fell victim to lambast,
You had destroyed Mozambique,
By your terrible storms,
The other time,
I said it again,
You are racist, xenophobic and full of favoritism,
And your stubborn supporters again did it,
Lambasted me badly,
You had brought to us your terrible xenophobia,
And today why Lord,
Why on the people of Haiti,
Why on poor Haiti.

America’s misguided little chihuahua,
Forcing innocent civilians to a war they never wanted to fight,
Humanity is mercilessly decimated,
With nowhere to run and indeed running to nowhere,
Hospitals, churches, mosques, schools and homes are ruthlessly bombarded,
And reduced to some useless rubble by tankers, missiles and rockets,
As the cowardice world watches frozen with horror and fear,
Who can challenge the greedy, selfish big brother dog that America is?

Gaza, an unliveable besieged home completely annihilated,
Civilians being gruesomely hacked with bionets like unwanted animals,
Children as young as newly borns being beheaded and heartlessly dismembered,
Human bodies ripped apart with body parts littering all over the rubble that is all over,
The whole environment smells heavily of blood and death,
Smoke, gunpowder and broken concrete dust.

The extensively wounded are numb and can cry no more,
As they anticipate the very obvious,
An unplanned and undesired meeting with their creator,
In a place overcrowded by the non-existence of medical supplies,
Where what used to be hospitals are now part of the dusty rubble,
The rubble under which hundreds of poor Palestinians lie buried.

For many Palestinians, life turned into being about survival,
Humanitarian catastrophe became the order of the day,
The demonised Israelites bandits using starvation as a weapon of war,
Cutting out all forms of communication with the rest of the world,
And also aid,
Civil order has collapsed and died a painful death.

Horrific and senseless genocide
Brutal and relentless aggression,
indiscriminate attacks and indiscriminate use of indiscriminate force
Starving innocent souls not only of water, food or medical supplies,
But also of peace.

The world will be judged for its silent approval of these war crimes,
History will judge us all,
History will judge bully, nondescript America,
History will judge demented, mentally derailed terrorist Benjamin Netanyahu
History will judge evil little minded Israel.
Bully America’s desperate, savagery and filthy *****,
Her time is on its way.

We fought wars,
Rough, ferocious and deadly deadly,
Genocides and Holocausts,
We killed, got killed and lived to tell the tale,
We still touched our mouths, noses and faces,
We sneezed, coughed and had high fevers,
We shook hands, hugged and kissed,
Yet we survived and lived to tell the tale at the tail-end.


Wars were fought throughout the world,
World wars and wars for supremacy,
Nuclear wars and cold wars,
Religious wars and wars against colonialism,
Tribal wars and civil wars,
Trade wars and industrial wars
Insurgencies and conventional wars,
Wars against Ebola and wars against the SARS virus,
Wars against slavery and apartheid; and wars against oppression,
Wars about us against them and them against those that are against them,
Some, really senseless wars.


We emotionless watched them fight their wars with arms folded,
As they emotionless watched us fight our wars with arms folded,
It is not our war, they felt,
It is not on our soil, we reckoned,
They are not our people, we believed,
Our economy will not be affected, they said,
After-all, we share no common Ancestry,
With pride, we developed a defensive “Them” and “Us” attitude,
Every nation for herself and only God for us all,
We never wanted to be part of others’ wars,
Neither did they want to be part of ours,
Depositing the spirit of Worldianship into acute non-existance.


Today, a horrendous and cataclysmic war has been declared against the world – them and us,
Ruthlessly savaging, ravaging and bulldozing the lugubrious world full of them and us, like a demented storm really gone mad,
A devastating and ruinous world war 3 with some shift of gear,
An atrocious insurgency against a common but deadly and hostile enermy,
A silent, ruthless and predatory bandit which intentions are catastrophically loud, heavily thudding and explosively explosive,
The wide world has been dolorously and traumatically held to ransom,
And ransom of the worst order and disorder,
Plunging the outrageous and despicable West and the rest of the cultured world on one side,
Fighting side by side in a war they never wanted to fight,
Not even side by side,
Desperately befriending my unspeakable enermy because he is the enermy of my enermy,
And the enermy of the enermy of the enermy who is my enermy,
Just imagine the symbiosis,
Just imagine.


Desperate and distressed children of the world have been unintentionally isolated and agonisingly violated,
Tightly curfew-ed and strictly quarantined against their will,
Some, with neither food nor means of survival,
All, converted into Inmates in their own homes and excuses for homes,
As the catastrophic war notoriously spreads like a ravaging bushfire on defenceless nations,
Taking with it innocent children of the subconscious and powerless world,
With some, falling dual victims of the calamitous virus and also the armies,
Little-minded combat and action-hungry armies that are supposed to be protecting them,
Siding with their own enermy and the enermy of their own people,
Shame on the children of the sorrowful soil,
Children of Kunta Kinte, Zwangendaba, Mzilikazi kaMashobana, and Chaminuka,
Children of Moshoeshoe, Kgabo, Kaguvi and Kazembe,
Children of Skwati, Sikhukhuni, Shaka and Shiriyadenga,
Children of Soshangana, Christopher Columbus, Jan Van Riebeck and Vasco Da Gama,
Shame.


A little child distantly cries elsewhere in Africa’s distant peripheries of domineering poverty,
She sickly cries her last cries for food and last cries ever,
A little bundle of a network of visible veins lying on a reed mat like a ragged rag doll,
A tiny, vulnerable innocent crossfire victim of the massive deadly disorderly war,
Last in a family of twelve, that never had food since the first day of the lockdown,
As father and mother sadly gaze at each other, tears are shed and shared in capitulation,
They cannot leave their landlocked tiny shack to go out to look for food,
Their poor offspring lackadaisically closes her tiny eyes for the last time,
Departing from the weird world in a war that was never hers to fight,
Not even her “church mice” parents,
She dies in painful hunger and of a painful hunger that was the grandchild of Corona’s making,
A child of the African dusty soil prematurely returning to the African dusty soil,
A crossfire victim of corvid19 of the Chinese ancestry,
An indiscriminate weponous weapon of mass destruction,
Shame.


Amidst all this, songs get sung phonetically in different languages and tunes,
By different nationalities of different nations and nationalisms,
Touching and emotional songs, embodying and incarnating just but one and the same theme,
Coronavirus, corvid 19, the heartless witch which is son to a heartless witch,
Where do we run or even crawl to for safety?
Where really, at this humanity’s tattered and shattered darkest hour,
Our hour no longer our hour,
We have fought worse wars with worst enermies than you,
More titanic, more ravaging, more calamitous, more faceless,
Albeit, we lived to tell the tale,
The fearless warrior children of the fearless warriors that we fearlessly are,
We do not fight to fight another day,
And we cannot just fold our cold arms as you recklessly scotch our lovely earth to oblivion,
Rapacious Corona, it is just a matter of time,
Just a matter of time,
Corvid 19 – obnoxious bandit father of an obnoxious bandit wizard,
Heartless dissident son of a heartless dissident witch,
The epitome of prolific disrespect, involuntary solitude and proliferated solicitude,
The personification of convulsive misery, spasmodic destruction, and multitudinous deaths,
What goes around, comes around,
Just a matter of time.

I had a dream,
In the realm of the dream, I dare to dream,
That one day people would stare at him,
And stare at him not for the wrong reasons,
But stare at him because he is trying to make a difference,
Stare at my son and only progeny,
As he is trying hard to be proud of who and what he really is,
A being who refuses his environment to shape him,
A brilliant young man who believes that disability is not inability,
A change agent who will not let peoples’ opinions be his reality,
A down-syndrome with a difference,
I dare to dream

With a high expectation,
I look for her face in the crowd,
With a high expectation,
I search for her face in my memories,
With a high expectation,
I listen for her voice from a distance,
With a high expectation,
I search for her voice in my mind,
But no matter the expectation,
And no matter the effort,
I can neither see her face,
Nor hear her voice,
In the deepest of pain I have to believe,
Never will I ever see her,
In the deepest of pain I have to believe,
Never will I ever hear her voice,
For gone she is forever.

Beknown or unbeknown,
Let it be known and beknown,
The love and greed for power,
Oceans of greed for power,
The quest for selfish self-importance,

The power-gluttonous yearn for power,
Like hungry birds yearn for ants,
They yearn for powerful power,
They get devoured by power,
Power of control and power of influence.

Let it be known and beknown
Power consumes them into consumables,
It blinds them into the blind,
It deafens them into the deaf,
It controls them into the controlled.

It influences them into the influenced,
It fools them into the foolish,
It absolutely corrupts them into the absolutely corrupted,
It erodes them into the eroded,
It enslaves them into slaves.


Let it be known,
Let it beknown,
Power attracts the worst and corrupts the best,
Only what you give power to will have power over you,
And in the end, power fails even the most powerful.

A walk in Africa,
Africa for Africans,
A walk down town Africa,
Meeting an African,
A troubled and unsettled African,
A troubled African in Africa,
Africa in Africa, An African Diaspora,
An African imprisoned,
At home and away,
A pure African,
From the Africa of poor Maputo,
A pure African,
From the Africa of poor Zimbabwe,
Ghana, Nigeria, Tanzania,
Somalia, Ethiopia, Congo,
A poor African,
From the pure Africa of elsewhere,
An un-free African in a free Africa,
Africa for Africans,
Africans yesterday,
Africans today,
And Africans tomorrow,
The Africa of Johannesburg.

When they spoke, I could not believe,
They are racists,
They hate Mugabe,
Nonsensical propaganda,
I went there and I could not believe,
They are all dark in complexion,
As if the sun only burns in their region,
They are scraggy and unhealthy,
As if they are mechanized skeletons,
They all look like they were born of the same mother,
A child cried piteously in one village,  
Like a lazy mouse,
In fact she, battled to cry,
The poor mother just looked at her with deep sadness,
Shaking her tiny head,
She could not help,
The child was dying of hunger,
And the mother just watched as the little girl died,
I cried,
She died,
The mother had no strength to cry,
She collapsed,
I cried another cry,
So much I saw, it is unbelievable,
Thereafter, I hated Mugabe with a passion,
And everyday I cry for all of them,
And I cry with them all.
**** Mugabe.

Today is the day,
The day today,
The impossible,
I do hereby decide,
My back, I turn,
On the once giant mother,
Now a just tattered street kid,
The land of my father,
The land of my mother,
Zimbabwe my land,
I leave them,
Brothers and sisters,
Cousins and friends,
My wife and children,
My mother and my father,
Them I leave in unimaginable despair,
In excruciating pain and murderous hunger,
Them I leave,
In terrible suffering,
And bitter oppression,
With no end in sight,
I live to land of the unknown,
When things fall into place,
I will come to fetch you,
Goodbye all,
Again, we shall meet.

I was born there,
I lived there,
In the prison that is,
Life there,
Died a long time ago,
And continues to die every day,
Life there,
Is no life at all,
No life is like that life,
A life,
Which is just a death sentence,
A life in Mugabe’s Zimbabwe.

A heart,
A soul,
A troubled heart,
A wounded soul,
A bleeding heart,
A wandering soul,
My heart,
My soul,
My hardened heart,
My battered soul,
The heart of a lion,
The soul of a bull-dozer,
The heart of a survivor,
The soul of a fighter
The heart of a guerrilla,
The soul of a gorilla,
I have seen it all,
I am a freedom fighter,
I am a Zimbabwean,
At heart and soul.

For long,
We have looked to the heavens,
Our necks are now stiff,
For long,
We have kneeled to pray,
Our knees can no longer stretch,
For long,
We have hoped it to happen,
But for long,
It has just been exacerbating,
Others have even prayed,
For his demise,
How much longer,
Will it take,
How much longer,
Are we still going to suffer,
At the hands of this monster President,
The Zimbabweans of Zimbabwe and elsewhere,
How long Lord.

The system has gone so rotten,
Like an egg gone so bad,
The system has murdered us,
Like we did the Rhodesian Regime,
Its masters and grandchildren,
For that,
We now pay dearly,
Those stimulating chimurenga songs,
Have turned to distressful sad songs,
Dogs of poverty,
Have been unleashed on us,
Ruthlessly mauling us,
Leaving us tattered,
And the nation,
Bleeding heavily and badly,
The system has gone so cruel,
Like a vampire that it has turned to,
And its ****** and mindless strategists
And heartless engineers,
The system.

It is really bad it is hurting so bad,
The bed we made and needed so badly,
The cause of our happiness and miseries,
Our reason for wanting to live for ever,
And for wanting to die now,
The bed that is a bad bird,
A bad bird not that bad,
So bad its hurting,
Hurting so bad.

648 police deployed,
4000 rounds of ammunition,
4 mortuary vehicles,
It was neither an accident,
Nor the act of an angry God,
It was neither a miscarriage of duty,
Nor the act of marauding ancestors,
They planned to **** us,
And indeed they killed us,
Like in the Sharpeville massacre,
On the Marikana soil of our livelihood,
Despite that our hands were up in the air,
Begging and running for our cheap lives,
Mission accomplished,
Typical of the filthy barbaric apartheid engine,
In a modern democratic South Africa,
Mission accomplished.

16 August, 2012,
Today, we speak,
And today, we act,
We are tired of working like animals,
They stressed,
We are tired of being treated as such,
They asserted,
Today, all that will end,
They declared,
Indeed “today”, all that ended,
As like animals, “today” they were slaughtered and recklessly,
On the soil under which lay their livelihood,
Away from their comfort zones,
Away from where their naval cords were buried,
Subjected to undignified deaths that had no honor,
While politicians and capitalists farted in their comfortable seats,
And like animals, they were forgotten,
The grandchildren of Black ancestry,
The poor hardworking breadwinners of their poor families,
Plunging their lives into sheer deep insignificance,
Shame Black men of honor,
Shame!

They have now gone far too far,
So many names they have called me and many a time,
A multiplicity of a multiplicity of names,
Time and again, I have ignored,
Forgive them Lord, for they know not what they say,
I believed,
No matter how demeaning and painful the names,
At one time I was called a dog and others,
At the other, pig and others,
And now, Trash.

I refuse to be associated with savagery,
I refuse to be associated with downright human life disrespect
I refuse to be associated with ******,
I refuse to be associated with blatant inhumanness,
I refuse to be associated with Donovan Moodley or Patrick Wisani,
I refuse to be associated with Shrien Dewani or William Nkuna,
I refuse to be associated with Sandile Mantsoe or Oscar Pistorius,
I refuse to be associated with Jacobus Oosthuizen or any of such Satanic barbarians,
I refuse.



Judge me for what I have or have not done,
Not for what Sandile has or has not done,
They are sick, they are crazy,
They are dramatic and narrow-minded,
Seeing me for what William Nkuna  and the others are,
Indeed, they are what they are,
Brutal, inhuman and diabolic,
Barbaric, heartless and savage,
But I am neither either of them nor trash,


I am a man and a very proud one,
I am a man and very proud to be one,
Was yesterday, am today and will be tomorrow,
Despite where their reckless utterances deposit me,
Despite their misguided and narrow-minded judgements,
I am a responsible and caring man,
I am not trash,
Never was,
And never will ever be.

Like dogs they lived,
Like dogs they worked,
Like dogs they earned,
Like dogs they died,
And like dogs they were forgotten,
The Marikana heroes.

The dark cloud of that day still hovers over us like a stubborn ghost,
A dark moment, sad and excruciatingly tormenting,
Democracy was plunged under a huge and portentous threat,
Just like the lives of each and every miner in solidarity,
Every miner that felt they had been uproariously ***** and beyond measure,
Lives being disparaged and sacrificed for money,

Some fat ugly capitalist politician proclaimed them criminals,
To impress his blood ******* immigrant masters,
The brutish British multinational super exploiters,
The stinking atrocious colonizers who stole our land and our humanity,

And as criminals they should be treated,
Declared the egocentric mercenary politician,
Indeed, as criminals they were treated,
And as criminals of apartheid, they fell,

Heavy machine guns roared,
And the whole environment smelt heavy of burnt gunpowder and blood,
The whole place depicted a war zone,
With bodies lying everywhere,
And the police force claiming victory,
The dead, really dead,
And the living, really leaving,

This is the Marikana story,
A story that has neither beginning nor ending,
A story that is told with very sad and shocking connotations,
A story that is neither a cause nor an effect,
A story of a high disregard for human life,
A story of split unions,
A story of greedy and hyper-selfish politicians,
A story of police brutality,

But above all, a story of innocent lives lost like garbage,
And fingers not pointing at no one,
The Marikana story.

Default African,
Yes I am,
And a disgrace for that matter,
Yet African with Katekism,  
I am supposed to be,
Come rain, sunshine or high waters,
I have betrayed you Africa,
I have 'back-stabbed' you in the face,
And spit rotten phlegm in the wound,
Giant mother,
With this badge of slavery I now proudly wear,
**** me.  

Never have I washed my father, Or mother,
Never have I washed my grandfather or grandmother,
Neither of these have I ever dared looking after,
Yet today,
I assume total custodianship and curator-ship,
I take care of some grandfather and grandmother,
Somebody's father,
Somebody's mother,
Somebody's grandfather,
Somebody's grandmother.  

Only yesterday I was told,
Your father and mother passed away last year,
And so did your brothers and sisters,
And they were all buried like dogs,
Their burials were the talk of town,
How could you let that happen,
How could you,
And I am these enermies' comfortable door mate.  

My grandfathers were colonised,
Because of our rich land,
And now I have been extensively colonised,
Because of their pound,
Because of wanting to be a Westerner – overseas,
Away from you,
Continent of respect and dignity,
Continent of dance and song,
A continent pregnant with untold tales.  

My sick mind has been colonised,
Graduating me into a nefarious modern commercial slave,
Just but an echo of an old tune,
A worse slave than my ancestor,
The Kunta Kintes,
I am a cheap voluntary slave,
Who has been gratuitously deserted by his values,
The African values.  

I stand accused before myself,
I am a cumbrous culpable default African,
An African who has lost his ebullient Africanness,
A charlatan ******* African on a detour,
A dismantled, shameless self destroyed pimple,
A nauseating counterfeit second hand African,
An extraneous stain on Africa's underwear,
I am of as much value to Africa,
As is an over- used ****** to a  filthy growth point *******,
Regrettably, that is the African I have become.  

How I wish I washed my father and mother,
How I wish I washed my grandparents,
How I wish I took care of them,
The wish is killing me badly,
I may as I have  run away from you Africa,
But never from Africanness,
Litres of your blood flows in body pipes,
I am because you are,
I am a default African.

A little bag of bones and ***** skin crawls lackadaisically,
Looking every inch like a moving mass of biltong,
With one arm weakly clasped on the protruding belly,
Looks for somewhere to lie,
Some water tank explodes from inside of her,
Writhes in unimaginable agony,
Screams the screams of death,
Spreads her bony legs sickly,
Out comes an object,
Yes, a baby is born,
In extreme poverty,
It cries and cries,
The shallow cries of a newcomer,
It cries the cries of not being well,
It opens its tiny eyes to a new world,
A world extensively pregnant of poverty,
It dies in the weak sickly mother’s arms,
Veins-wrapped boney powerless arms,
The death of a missed call desperately wanted,
Ended before it even started,
In extreme poverty, it dies,
Just like it was born,
It is eaten by starving dogs,
Dogs in extreme poverty,
Perfunctorily torn apart like a rag doll,
As the mother helplessly watches,
Too weak to do anything,
Born and died in poverty.

The down of the gown of the dawn of some gone day,
A ray day that has downed and dawned at sunset,
They have diabolically colonized our divine state,
Belligerently gang ****** our stupendous democracy at will,
The demonic bloodthirsty ******* barbarians,
Declaring a violent war which no one wants to fight,
A losing warring war of one against all.


Impetuously slaughtering our defenseless defenders at will,
Turning the blue-clad fierce hunters to the fierce hunted,
The hunted that are being haunted,
Hounded and hunted by the hunted,
Converting every corner into the hunters’ hunted ground,
The church and the charge office,
The home and the street,
The here and the there.


Who will protect our “toy gun” wielding protectors,
Protect our trigger-shy protectors from the cunning detractors,
As one by one they are won one by one,
One by one by the one that is supposed to be won,
The defenders of our slate state,
The defenders of our democratic democracy,
The defenseless defenders of the defenseless.


They have been plunged under siege,
As every one of them personifies some certain demise,
Every one of them is just some subterfuge death in waiting,
Some truculent death just waiting to happen,
Bust, rust and dust in the waiting,
Stylistically stylistic starving yawning mobile graves,
Prey of their own prey,
The ultimate fray prey.

As day in day out they live the life of a cigarette,
On one side they are smoking,
On the other, they are being smoked,
Any attempt to fight back is regarded criminal of the worst order,
Police brutality,
We forsake them, they forsake them, the law forsakes them,
Who will defend the mighty defenders?

A moment parlously cathartic,
A time spent submerged in seas of tears,
Terribly stricken by grief and heavy sorrow,
Looking forward to a speedy healing,
A reeling healing through her burial,
My mother’s burial,
Yet it proved an insignificant step towards it,
Buried, her body was,
But not her,
As for closure,
The page can be turned,
But the book can never be closed,
And never will it be.

A monstrously graceful and gracious disgrace
A malicious tyrant with a burning vengeance,
The Satanic betrayal of a people so down and out,
The atrocious ****** of a defenceless citizenry,
The barbarous Lucifer of our era.

When we thought our nation had gone to the dogs,
You religiously rescued it and plunged it further beyond,
When we thought our motherland was dead and buried,
You exhumed her, mutilated the remains and fed them to crocodiles,
******* child of the product of our soil.

Our guides are painfully turning in their graves,
Monomotapa, Nehanda and Kaguvi,
Lobengula, Mzilikazi and Joshua Nkomo,
A collection that epitomizes peace and order for their descendants,
Patriots that sacrificed their lives for their offsprings’ wellbeing.


But Grace, time is always of essence,
What goes around, certainly comes around,
Has it ever occurred to you that God is for us all,
And he is not asleep,
When he hands over the button to us, what are you gonna do?

God bless the woman,
God bless the queen,
An Angel,
Whose immeasurable services,
Are never appreciated,
A varied flower,
Which decorates the world,
And makes life,
Worth living,
A being,
That is just another way,
Of making another being,
God bless her.


You are so many things,
In one,
As much as you are one,
In so many things,
Daughter, sister,
Mother, wife,
Comforter, consoler,
To mention,
But just a few,
And an irreplaceable extension,
And conduit,
To man,
You are some unique kind,
Of symbolic,
And unbending sanctity,
A conspicuous epitome,
Of courage,
And encouragement,
As confirmed among other items,
By the pain,
You endure in labour,
But not minding,
To go through it,
Again and again,
And again.


Man,
Can only imagine how it feels,
To carry an unknown live object,
In your body,
In the darkest,
And most precarious waters,
Of humanity,
Changing your living habits,
Owing to a vacuumed unknown,
Incognizant of what to expect,
At the end of the long,
Tiresome wheelbarrow push,
A snake or a lion,
A murderer or a saviour,
A ******* or a nun,
A president or a dissident,
A Mugabe or a Mandela,
Yes,
All these,
Came out of your generous belly,
And made you to sweat,
Scream,
Writhe and wince,
In burning,
And torturous agony.


You are peripatetic,
And ubiquitous,
A convincing symbol,
Of unfailing love,
Infact,
Love personified,
You imbue pride in us,
And our children,
And a very infectious sense,
Of longing and belonging,
Mother of man,
And woman,
Mother of the station,
Mother of the ration,
Mother of the nation.


Your heart is soft,
Like your breast,
And is fraught,
With forgiveness,
And care,
Despite that,
Some of your sisters,
And daughters,
Engage in heartless,
And heinous baby dumpings,
And others,
****** our innocent,
And defenceless unborns,
Fathers,
And mothers of tomorrow.


Like us with the sun,
You fall and rise with us,
Feeding us,
And fostering us,
When we are sick,
Having sleepless nights,
When our progeny are unwell,
While we snore,
And dream of fake riches,
A literal pregnant mine,
You really are,
Rich and abundant,
In love for us,
And a very nourishing fluid,
For our young offspring,
An offspring you strive to nurture,
Even single-handedly.


But nevertheless,
We cheat on you,
And lie to you,
With absolute uniqueness,
We abuse you,
Belittle you,
And inhumanely eviscerate you,
We make you our slaves,
And regard you,
As being beings with no rights,
Nights and tights,
Days and bays,
Yet,
No matter how much,
We subjugate you,
Or how diabolic,
We treat you,
You continue to love us,
May God bless you,
On earth and in heaven.
                                                 ________

“If I could have it my way, everyday would be women’s day” - Dr Noah Marutlulle

A humanitarian crisis,
A situation catastrophic,
A sprawl of ramshackle buildings,
Now vacated,
As masses continue to flee,
What’s left of their battered motherland,
With operation Murambatsvina at its apex,
I left where my house used to stand,
Now a rubble of broken bricks and choking dust,
Just with the dress I was wearing,
And bitter memories of a faceless monster,
The prophet of doom,
An epitome of conflicted personality,
The hardhearted devil personified,
I fled on foot,
Ran-walked, ran-walked,
Swam across the Limpopo River,
Ran-walked across Kruger National Park,
Met the police,
Abused, ***** and sent back,
Swam back,
Ran-walked, ran-walked,
This is the Zimbabwean fate,
Our heart-wrenching fate,
Exodus after exodus.

His mind is empty,
And so is his conscience,
Shops are empty,
And so are streets,
Schools are empty,
And so are workplaces,
Churches are empty,
And so are beer halls,
Towns are empty,
And so are villages,
Food stuffs have taken refuge,
And so have masses,
Empty the word,
Empty all over,
An emptiness so full.

For long,
We have looked to the heavens,
Our necks are now stiff,
For long,
We have kneeled to pray,
Our knees can no longer stretch,
For long,
We have hoped it to happen,
But for long,
It has just been exacerbating,
Others have even prayed,
For his demise,
How much longer,
Will it take,
How much longer,
Are we still going to suffer,
At the hands of this monster President,
How long Lord.

I did not decide,
To be Zimbabwean,
Neither did I decide,
To be in Zimbabwe,
If I had a choice,
I would neither,
Be a Zimbabwean,
Nor be in Zimbabwe,
Only if I had a choice.

The pain of a pain so painful,
The pain of the hopelessness of losing hope,
The dire pain of hopelessly plunging into dire hopelessness,
The pain of progressing very fast,
And very fast in reverse past the reverse,
The pain that is so so,
The pain of dying,
But still living to tell the tale,
The sad stale tale of a country so deserted,
The tale of a country so dilapidated,
The toll tale of a people so dead,
The tall tale of a land surface so empty,
As if the buildings have turned into lions,
Crocodiles and snakes.

Every morning we look at the calendar,
We look not to check the date,
Not for the month,
But to confirm,
How many days could be left,
How many days,
Before the righteous devil takes him,
The one-time epitome of African Renaissance,
The now heavily expired dinosaur of African Patriotism,
A stubborn stain on the underwear of Africanness,  
We sit by radios,
We sit by television sets,
Every news hour,
And we buy papers every day,
In anticipation of the news,
The news that would throw the world into a frenzy,
The Zimbabwe News,
The news that would be the news,
The President is no more,
Finally.

The children of Allah,
The children of their God,
The children of our God,
The children of the God of the British,
The children of the God of the Americans,
The children of the God for all,
What wrong have they done,
What price are they paying,
The children of Iraq.

Only yesterday,  
We lost our beloved ones,
Leaders of yesterday,
And leaders of tomorrow,
And we prayed that it does not happen again,
Not in America,
Not in Afghanistan,  
Not in Africa,
Not anywhere in the world.  

The echoes of our cries still reverberate,
And our wounds still smell,
Our fears were forever awakened,
And our tears are still rolling down our cheeks,
Our deeply broken hearts still ache,
And day in day out we pray,
September 11 must go forever,
And never revisit us.  

Innocent people were blamed,
And innocent people suffered tremendously,
God painfully abandoned the children of Afghanistan,
As some ungodly and heartless forces tortured them,
The unborn, the born and the already dying,
Children of a living God.

And today,  
September 11 is unrespectfully intruding on us,
Like a crazy vampire seeking a ****** revenge,
Shame on the innocent and noble children of Iraq,
Their now cheap-as-a-chick lives are on the block,
As the greedy and insensitive demon prepares a barbaric carnage,
All because of egocentricity and sour power,
All because of a personal vendetta.  

Anytime now,  
The whistle will be blown,
And world peace and stability will be gone,
But who is George Bush in the eyes of God,
Who is brainless terrorist Bush in the eyes of man,
Just another September 11.

Here I stand,
Today and now,
At the centre,
Of the middle of somewhere,
A very dark, dead and fearful darkness,
Having paid one of its regular intrusions,
On an unsuspecting African village,
Giving birth,
To a complete demise of activity,
Save for the stubborn nature,
A strong cold wind blows,
Rattling leaves off trees,
My heart thuds,
At the thought of a ghost,
Making enough noise,
To scare me,
Like a bare-footed traditional dancer,
Pouncing the earth,
My skin crawls on my bones,
At the thought,
Of callous and faceless wizards,
This is their time,
And this is their rush hour,
I could be standing,
On the roof,
Of some departed's house,
At a distance,
I hear a drum beating,
And a strong roar,
Of an ancestral spirit coming home,
Strong enough to shake mountains,
Strong enough to shake the earth like a quake,
Strong enough to spill rivers,
Lakes, seas and oceans,
A dog barks drowsily,
A snake hisses,
A squirrel quirks lackadaisically,
In the wonders of an African village.

A walk in Africa,
Africa for Africans,
A walk down town Africa,
Meeting an African,
A troubled and unsettled African,
A troubled African in Africa,
Africa in Africa,
An African Diaspora,
An African imprisoned,
At home and away,
A pure African,
From the Africa of poor Maputo,
A pure African,
From the Africa of poor Zimbabwe,
Ghana, Nigeria, Tanzania,
Somalia, Ethiopia, Congo,
A poor African,
From the pure Africa of elsewhere,
An unfree African in a free Africa,
Africa for Africans,
Africans yesterday,
Africans today,
And Africans tomorrow,
The Africa of South Africa.

I am an African,
Just like you are,
Here I am in Africa,
From Africa,
I may speak,
Not your African language,
But a cataclysmic African,
Who speaks my African language,
I am.
An inferior African,
You may as you do,
Regard me,
But still,
African I am,
African I cry,
African I laugh,
African I sing,
African I live.


You have made me feel ashamed,
To be in this part of Africa,
But never,
Will you make me feel ashamed,
To be African,
Whatever derogatory labels,
You may stick on me,
No matter how unAfrican,
Kwerekwere, Grigamba or whatever,
But still,
I will be an African,
Even a much better one.


African,
Like my father,
His fore fathers,
And their forefathers,
African,
Just like I was yesterday,
African,
Just like I am now,
African,
That is what I will always be,
And African,
Forever.


According to the author, we are all foreigners in any country on this earth, more like tenants. No one has any claim to any portion of this earth for it belongs to God. The barbaric, self-centered and intolerant demeanor we have recently witnessed in South Africa tells the story of mindless teaks on a dog that are claiming to own the dog and solidifies the myth that Africa is a dark continent and Africans are still stuck in the animal kingdom. How do we dispute what is becoming more of a fact that “you can take Africans from the bush but you can never take the bush out of Africans”. Fellow South Africans (the perpetrators), you have proved to be more disgusting than ***** and the most befitting place for you is the sewage dump that is far away from Africa. If there was another Africa that is not this Africa, I would have done the obvious and most logical thing – to completely disassociate my dignified African self from the brainless, destructive, inhuman thugs that you are. Today, I am an African who is dead ashamed to be African!

Looking like scrambled eggs,
It would be better,
If she was gorgeous,
It would be better,
If she was one of us,
We used to be,
One big happy family,
United indeed in deed,
United in every respect,
But that was,
Before she pitched,
And now,
That unity has been shattered,
And that happiness is history,
We now view each other with suspicion,
With everybody ever-alert,
Brother has been turned against brother,
And sister has been turned against all,
Parents have been turned against us,
And our enemies visit us at will,
That family is now just but,
A collection of individuals,
With the same surname,
Thanks,
To my brother’s wife.

Give me a bomb,
I would like to bomb the church,
Give me a gun,  
I would like to shoot the priest,
Bestore unto me, witchcraft,
I would like to bewitch my brothers,
And sisters,
My roots have been uprooted,
Courtesy of the church,
And my brothers and sisters,
And the priest made sure,
My ancestors are now called demons,
And theirs,
Angels,
My culture has lost significance,
And so have I,
Give me the bomb,
I would like to bomb the church,
Give me the gun,
I would like to **** the priest.

I know what I am,
I know who I am,
But I am not sure who I am,
Or what I am,
They call me Black,
I do not know if I am Black,
They call me African,
But am I African,
Where these names came from,
I wonder,
Maybe they are just nicknames,
Yes,
Fom those historical enermies who were up to degrade me,
I do not know who I am,
But I know for sure I'm just a poor millionaire,
Poor in Western materialistic classification,
I know I am Umuntu,
A millionaire Umuntu,
Rich in Ubuntu,
But that's not all,
I'm in search of my identity,
I need to know who the hell I am,
For I am black and African,
But I'm neither Black
Nor African.

He gets pleasure in being baptized “War Vet”,
Just like a fly gets pleasure in being called a dinosaur,
He is turned against all and sundry he has,
His brains and his conscience,
His father and mother,
His brother and sister,
His own people and his country,
The stupid youth in Zimbabwe.

He is an Angel,
But a diabolic one,
Everything he touches,
Turns to Blood,
He is a passerby,
A mischievous passerby,
Sitting on a time bomb,
He is a short-sighted explorer,
Whose voyage of discovery,
Is never-ending,
He is some kind of death,
He has killed,
Is killing,
And continues killing,
For fun,
Who needs the suicidal bomb,
Bob.

A walk in the streets of Harare,
Once the affectionate him of her,
No longer the beaving heaven,
I used to know,
The pothole infested streets,
And the dilapidated buildings,
Tell the story,
So do the people,
And the atmosphere,
Unfortunate crossfire victims,
Of circumstances,
Poverty is written all over,
Like advertisements on billboards,
Everybody looks like a street kid,
Men, women and children,
Shops are very empty,
Yet pockets are heavily loaded,
When you stand at a shop entrance for a short while,
People come to form a queue behind you,
For anything you need,
The magic process is queuing,
Is this the hand of enemies of freedom,
Apostles of oppression,
Through out the lengths and breadths of Salisbury,
In homes, garages,  Hospitals, at funerals,
Queues are the order of the day,
Harare lived,
And Harare led,
One time humble midwife,
For the restoration of your people’s peace,
An important part of their mortal bodies,
You are now a dry season for everybody,
What has now gone wrong Harare,
Who is responsible,
You decided to become nothing,
And you have become the best nothing,
Who is responsible Harare,
Shame on you.

How could I have sweet dreams,
If I can not sleep,
I cannot even close my eyes,
For I am scared to close myself,
Out of a world full of you.

I have fallen,
I fell,
I do not know how I fell,
I knew one day I would fall,
But not so soon,
Yet I am down and out,
I dug my own grave,
I thought it was fun,
Great fun,
Yes it was,
But I have now fallen into it,
The symbol of a starving predator's mouth,
I have aids.

Juliana Suffered tremendously,
She believed,
And deserted her tradition,
To walk with Jesus,
But God neglected her,
And failed to save her,
She died in pain,
A few days later,  
Christinah started suffering,
Our other sister,
She suffered,
Every second of every day,
And those who believed prayed,
Not again Lord,
But again he descended on us,
Like he had a grudge,
And robbed us,
Of our friend,  
Entertainer and our everything,
A God,
Who is meant to save,
And not to destroy,
We were still in mourning,
And he slapped us, in the process,
They may believe what they want,
But God is a devil.