Bittersweet Poetry : Poems of the week by

As we continue to promote Poetry in Zambia ; here are this weeks poems ,enjoy.

I WANT TO HURT YOU

by Esnala Banda

I don’t want to HATE you,

i merely want to hurt you.

I want you to feel the pain i felt when you

ripped my ribcage open, stole and then broke my heart.

I want you to feel the despair i felt when i yelled “stop! Thief!” but

no one responded.

I want you to have the pain shoot through every inch of your body

the way i felt when life stitched my heart and my chest back together

without dealing me an anaesthetic.

I want you to feel what i felt.

I don’t hate you, how could i?

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to hurt you.

From wanting your heart to bleed from the inside out,

and have you choke on your own blood,

gag and ckoke again.

I want you to feel the burning yet numbing pain in your heart as

though its being feasted upon by millions of soldier ants.

I don’t want to HATE you.

I merely want to HURT YOU!

THE MAN AND THE GIRL by Chipo Chitambi

She deserves a medal; she’s been true to her lies. Get her a lawyer, just don’t hand her a mirror

She’s been as faithful as a villain and as authentic as a mask

Give her obscure, you can keep the real

No, don’t look, her back is bare

The worms and secrets she conceals have eaten it off

Leaving her stripped of worth

Like a colour blind painter

Like a mute soprano Gumption that lacks good sense

Yet it is consequence not circumstance.

So she got on the bus heading to the northeast corner of nowhere. She traded in her bus fare for aplane ticket instead.She found her seat, #323. She sat next to a man without a face; he asked her if she recognised him. She smiled, but her lips were stiff. He told her 6 feet under is not deep enough. That her imagination was nothing if not reality and she should have known. A wordsmith with a void pen skill. He told her she was looking for perfection on filthy ground. That It’s hard to love imperfection especially if it dwelt within. She got off at the next stop. She turns on to 316 street; she’s been here a thousand times. She keeps coming back.The story changes, this is the part she remembers. Please forgive her as she forgives herself. Forgive her insecurity, restore her health. Show her a bud, hide away the wreath. Then plant a tree. This time it won’t wilt. Him and her, different squares of a quilt.

This piece is random, unlike Him. But it is true; it just seeks a theme

Reflecting thoughts, refracting time. Same room, different places. Same womb, a thousand cases. It almost turns back. But it is not worth the danger duality brings. You get it, don’t you? I wrote this about myself but the meaning evades me.

“AM EVERY WOMAN” -By Art

Silent screams for help

dorminate my unvoiced

conversations…echoes of dispair wrapped in a cocoon emotional turbulance.

Etched on my breaking back is

a burden deeply buried in my

conscience.

My skin bears witness to the

brutal employment of

everyday physical abuse. Tatooed on my once marble smooth skin are grotesque meanderings of misconstrued use.

You

ask, “is that a birth mark??”,I

answer “no,these are eternal

scars left after incessant beating sessions I have now

grown accustomed to”.

Traumatised psychologically,

my self esteem maimed

because of a cancer called

‘loyalty and love’. I am tired,I need help, will

anyone hear me??

Enough is enough!! Can

somebody put a stop to this

violence. A domestic brutality

left unaverted. I am me, I am you, I am every

woman fallen victim to the

attrocities of gender based

violence!! Help, help, help…
By Kapa187