Enjoy today’s Poems ;
MASOKA by Abishy M. Mweemba
Masoka was born to a happy rich family
At age 15 he had to his name two brand new cars, a motor bike, bicycle, an iphone and ipod among other un-necessaries
His home…a hill mansion in the matter of festivities
Then Masoka happened…
His parents lost to the greedy and un-satiated thirst of death
Solemn celebration held for them
Property properly grabbed and wiped clean all assets that were to Masoka’s name
And what does he do
He gets high to get by
Profanes the holy to find comfort
Reality too harsh to survive sober
The self professed holy pointing fingers professing he is cursed
A good for nothing
He wanders around barefoot
Half dressed…dressed in half nakedness treading the chilly days of Lusaka
Finding comfort out of the thin warmth of a cardboard
So he spends his nights
His life cannot square that of a pauper
It is by no means better
Gruesomely spiced by the ridicule of the privileged
He has no vision no future no hope
He lives by the minute of the hour
Those available to help…sadly only do so to appreciate their privilege of a better life than his
They help to realize their humanity
Appreciate and accentuate their status and organization
“It is good publicity to lend a helping hand
It will make our organization known”
So I heard one of them say
As the sun broke down on what seemed a tranquil day
Its rays beamed amiss on Masoka
The evening’s air swept by
Masoka retired to restful quiet in the drowsing murmur of the second hand cars that roam Lusaka
He wandered far away from the accustomed haunts of street boys
Sought a desolate place that was in harmony with his spirit
Under the Mandahilll bridge
He laid himself down on the ground, disposed upon his back, with his hands clasped upon his breast
And thus he would die in holy calm.
DEATH OF A FIRST LOVE by Kenisha Nthembe Ngalande
Like a god,
Love built us from dust.
As if discontented with its creation,
It slowly put us back apart,
Leaving us bruised and hurt,
With it’s fire, we were burnt…
Our souls dislocated from our hearts.
With vengence in our hands,
We cut through love’s veins
Strand after strand.
With our pens like swords, each word against love, sharp as a razor blade.
But the adamant ghost of love holds on to our hearts,
Like shadows holding on to the last rays of sun.
And in the quiet of night,
We, the embers of the dead flame,
hear the silence scream its name.
ROLE REVERSAL by Simon Mwila
I’m sitted in my room and my room-mate gives a shout
thinking of role reversal and how the world would pan out..
I’m standing here just minding my business yet she stares
at the features of my body constantly like the sun’s glare..
She opens with a greeting, steping away from her peers
Her friends smile, amused, almost rendering silent cheer..
Fast foward, a few months down the line
She’s been quite sweet plus persistent, I’m almost glad to call her mine 🙂
Sometimes she says she loves me, but I still feel like an object
She looks around lustfully even, as if in search of her next project..
We meet at the rendezvous and with her usual disregard for my time she arrives late
She’s cold to my tears as I look at her face seeking solace and break it to her “Baby, I’m late”..
My life, my morals, my dignity, my future, all lying in a mass of inbalance and question
The tongue that spoke sweetly she uses to spite me, denying both of us with that question;
WHOSE IS IT?
By Kapa187
