Enjoy this weeks poems!!
POVERTY by Yvonne Sishuwa
Poverty wears a woman’s face, I saw her face,
She walked into a one and not five star glamorous hair salon and barber,
She smiled at the hair stylist but asked for the barber man,
She wanted to shave off her hair,
She said her kids needed to eat,
Her kids needed to keep warm,
Cutting off her crown and glory meant tuition paid on time next time,
It meant a fuller meal on their plates,
It meant warmer clothes,
It meant so little to all who saw her yesterday with the western idea of a beautiful woman but it meant an extra penny to her family.
I walked on further in my country and I saw poverty wear a man’s face,
Hands rough and worn out,
His speech, they said, was the perfect sound of illiteracy!
Who were they??!
He was a man who wore tired and starvation on his face,
He was a man with the whole world on his shoulder.
A man who worked day and night to earn at the months end what they gave as cheap change to their five year old kids for candy!
A man whose pocket, when summed up at the end of his lifetime would not amount to what they earned at a single months’ end
I saw him grow weary and angry with the setting sun and the ticking clock,
For night was drawing near, he was the bread winner yet even bread crumbs weighed much more than what was in his pocket…
I walked on
I saw that child that walks the streets,
Clothes torn, lips dry, teeth that had no use for a fancy western stick called toothbrush,
School was an idea that rarely crossed his brain cell,
An idea that meant long hours confined to a desk listening to a language he didn’t understand,
Listening to someone they called teacher talk about things that were not going to put food in his mouth, pay for his little sisters’ operation and put clothes on his back.
School meant hours spent off the streets where he could earn a penny from someone’s pocket,
He would rather be a pick pocket than a doctor!
Doctor, lawyer, engineer…those were dreams of the rich man’s child,
Dreams that if he spent more hours chasing,
He would not live long enough to achieve on an empty stomach.
A poor man’s child in my country learnt that he could only dream as much as his parents could afford,
Ask more than half of the local graduates…
I saw how they had drawn up policies that benefited ‘they’ and how the rest of us, even I, were being slaughtered silently by structural Adjustment policies!
Adjustment indeed for I saw a man adjust his back to carry his daughter to the nearest hospital,
Hospital! A place where people went to die not gets cured!
Where were the mobile hospitals-immobile!
An appeal to that man who is so busy renaming everything, UTH should be UTM-University Teaching Morgue.
I saw that I lived in a country likened to its woman,
A helpless woman screaming out for help as they strangled all her young, as she stood awaiting her massacre by this tool called poverty!
Where the system watched it’s woman-young and old alike, raped, battered and killed but kept silent or spoke without action
Where the culture taught the little boy that sexual and physical abuse was a woman’s plight, when he was the receiving end, it had to be received as pleasure,
“Kosa, ulimwaume”.
A country that the faceless butcher had placed inline of a sharp chisel,
Waiting to chop it up so they could easily devour it as it would not put up a fight
What was wrong with my country, I wept for me and my people but I had asked a question only a fool would ask, we all knew what was wrong!
Then I remembered that man who plays guitar on the streets of Cairo smiled for truly disability was not inability!
I decided to fight this like I had fought many trials,
I would through my best weapon-spoken word-put a face to them, the faceless butcher and his Ally!
I AM SORRY by Alexander PrinceCharmer Brown
I lay like dead, motionless in my bed, reminiscing,
I hold my head, stare long and hard at the ceiling, wishing,
That I could back track my life to our era of bliss,
Relive every hug and kiss, the loving moments that I’m missing.
A total mess, I get up with great effort and begin to dress.
Tears stream down my sorry face,
I look in the mirror, and staring at me,
Is an image of my own disgrace.
I wonder how far away I am from your picture,
Even if I can’t touch your heart, I can still feel your hurt’s texture.
You hate me more that you ever loved me, but I deserve it,
For ruining our perfect love and pushing away our future.
I remember the times you said you loved me.
The times I would gaze into your eyes and see,
The snowy purity of your soul’s innocence,
And the beautiful shine of a whole galaxy.
I wish that even if we are over,
I can still get to ask you for a single favor,
That you don’t forget my love for you,
For it’s the one emotion that’ll burn forever.
It hurts me to know that you are now but a dream,
That when you held me in the highest esteem,
I brazenly tore your heart apart and I can’t win it back,
And that your love for me can only dim.
There’re no words I can use to change the past,
I’m sorry for losing your love and your trust.
I know two things though; ‘sorry’ won’t bring what we had back,
And, my pain and love for you will always last.
Keep Smiling
POLITICALLY INCORRECT 1 by Il Divino
Let’s listen to a story, you and me.
The way it used to be-akashimi.
When knowledge was our pride and anchor,
Elyo twaleichefya pansaka.
Vote PF for change mwandi,
Yet dandy crazy was given tax payer money.
It’s better than the hour,
Where Hu was in power.
Nevers Mumba becomes MMD member,
And UPND will be in a pact with anyone, donchi kubeba.
Three million villagers ukwabula amalaiti,
And yet RB is sleeping like a king mu naiti.
Nothing changed in 90 days-pa bwato!
And yet i gat 2.1 billion under my pillow-Liato.
The only development is in Lusaka,
The rest kulanwa fye shake shake munsaka.
By Kapa187
