Identity Apples - Poems by Mbizo Chirasha
- By Mbizo Chirasha
- Published January 26, 2010
- Poetry
-
Rating:
Mbizo Chirasha
Mbizo Chirasha was born in 1978 in Zvishavane District in Zimbabwe, and was inspired by his social surroundings at a young age. As a young man, Mbizo quickly gained prominence as a performing poet and writer both in Zimbabwe and internationally. The themes of his poetry include children's rights, politics, social lives, gender issues, praise and protest, culture and African pride. Mbizo's poems can be read in print, but are even more powerful when performed by the dynamic poet himself. With a vision of using his poetry to promote peace, healing, stability, and cultural freedom, Mbizo is a poet with commitment, talent, and a desire to perform whenever and wherever he can.
View all Entries by Mbizo Chirasha
IDENTITY APPLES
iam a fat skeleton, resurrecting
from the sad memories of dada
and dark mysteries of aminism
iam buganda
i bleed hope
i drip the honey of fortune
makerere, think tank of africa
i dance with you wakimbizi dance
iam tanganyika
i smell and fester with the smoke of african genesis
iam the beginning
kilimanjaro the anthill of rituals
iam the smile of africa
my glee erase the deception of sadness
my tooth bling freedom
iam myself, iam gambia
when others seep with bullets stuck in their stomachs
i sneeze copper spoons from my mouth every dawn
iam the the colombia of africa
iam the cinderella of africa
where mediums feast with the ghost of kamuzu in mulange trees
here spirits walk naked and free
iam the land of sensations
iam the land of reactions
coughing forex blues
squandermania
i still smell the scent of nehanda' breath
iam african renaissance blooming
i stink the soot of chimurenga
iam the mute laughter of njelele hills
iam soweto
swallowed by kwaito and gong
iam a decade of wrong and gong
iam blister of freedom vomited from the belly of apartheid
i see the dawn of the coming sun in madiba 's eyebrows
iam abuja
blast furnace of corruption
nigeria, the jerusalem of noblemen, priests, professors and prophets
iam guinea i bling with african floridirization
iam blessed with many tongues
my thighs washed by river nile
iam the mystery of pyramids
iam the grafiti of nefertiti
i am the rich breast of nzinga
iam switzerland of africa
the rythm of kalahari sunset
the rhyme of sahara, yapping, yelping
iam damara, iam herero, iam nama, iam lozi, iam vambo
iam bitterness, iam sweetness
iam liberia
iam 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
iam the paris of africa
i see my wounds
iam rhythm of beauty
iam congo
iam bantu
iam jola
iam 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
iam the ghost of mombasa
iam the virginity of nyanza
iam scarlet face of mandinga
iam cherry lips of buganda
come sankara, come wagadugu
iam msiri of garangadze kingdom
my heart beat under rhythm of words and dance
iam the dead in the trees blowing with wind,
i can not be deleted by civilization.
iam not kaffir, iam not khoisun
iam the sun breaking from the villages of the east with great inspiration of revolutions
its fingers caressing the bloom of hibiscus
liberation!
(c) Mbizo Chirasha
DEMONS GRAZING
democracy does not heal the syphilis of apartheid
it never healed the hepatitis of racism
it is the ritual of the governed to govern
though they remain governed
democracy, a word of the corrupted learned
democracy, a fart of the bullet
signature of ballot
sting of the scorpion
blood boiling stomachs of darfur
darfur you smell nagasaki
blood frothing hard rocky buttocks of congo
congo you sting baghdad
hunger pornographing breasts in somalia
ministers dangling bellies
poetry scattered in slums and ghettos
word stitched between bullet and ballot
grammar punctuated between slogan and vulgar
democracy an oxymoron of abacha' machete and madiba' bible
hyperbole of guantanamo bay and robin island
DEMONS GRAZING 11
democracy
freedom unearthed from apartheid intestines
a legacy that carried sorrows since the days of yelping baboons
and yapping dogs
monrovia blooming legumes of blood in superstitions
of blood harvesting
crocodiles basking in the east of political comfort zones
afghan with the heart burn for freedom
baboons laughing other baboons in political forests
politicians crushing poverty under their feet
polishing streets with the glitz of robots and rainbow sweet talk.
(c) Mbizo Chirasha
iam a fat skeleton, resurrecting
from the sad memories of dada
and dark mysteries of aminism
iam buganda
i bleed hope
i drip the honey of fortune
makerere, think tank of africa
i dance with you wakimbizi dance
iam tanganyika
i smell and fester with the smoke of african genesis
iam the beginning
kilimanjaro the anthill of rituals
iam the smile of africa
my glee erase the deception of sadness
my tooth bling freedom
iam myself, iam gambia
when others seep with bullets stuck in their stomachs
i sneeze copper spoons from my mouth every dawn
iam the the colombia of africa
iam the cinderella of africa
where mediums feast with the ghost of kamuzu in mulange trees
here spirits walk naked and free
iam the land of sensations
iam the land of reactions
coughing forex blues
squandermania
i still smell the scent of nehanda' breath
iam african renaissance blooming
i stink the soot of chimurenga
iam the mute laughter of njelele hills
iam soweto
swallowed by kwaito and gong
iam a decade of wrong and gong
iam blister of freedom vomited from the belly of apartheid
i see the dawn of the coming sun in madiba 's eyebrows
iam abuja
blast furnace of corruption
nigeria, the jerusalem of noblemen, priests, professors and prophets
iam guinea i bling with african floridirization
iam blessed with many tongues
my thighs washed by river nile
iam the mystery of pyramids
iam the grafiti of nefertiti
i am the rich breast of nzinga
iam switzerland of africa
the rythm of kalahari sunset
the rhyme of sahara, yapping, yelping
iam damara, iam herero, iam nama, iam lozi, iam vambo
iam bitterness, iam sweetness
iam liberia
iam 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
iam the paris of africa
i see my wounds
iam rhythm of beauty
iam congo
iam bantu
iam jola
iam 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
iam the ghost of mombasa
iam the virginity of nyanza
iam scarlet face of mandinga
iam cherry lips of buganda
come sankara, come wagadugu
iam msiri of garangadze kingdom
my heart beat under rhythm of words and dance
iam the dead in the trees blowing with wind,
i can not be deleted by civilization.
iam not kaffir, iam not khoisun
iam the sun breaking from the villages of the east with great inspiration of revolutions
its fingers caressing the bloom of hibiscus
liberation!
(c) Mbizo Chirasha
DEMONS GRAZING
democracy does not heal the syphilis of apartheid
it never healed the hepatitis of racism
it is the ritual of the governed to govern
though they remain governed
democracy, a word of the corrupted learned
democracy, a fart of the bullet
signature of ballot
sting of the scorpion
blood boiling stomachs of darfur
darfur you smell nagasaki
blood frothing hard rocky buttocks of congo
congo you sting baghdad
hunger pornographing breasts in somalia
ministers dangling bellies
poetry scattered in slums and ghettos
word stitched between bullet and ballot
grammar punctuated between slogan and vulgar
democracy an oxymoron of abacha' machete and madiba' bible
hyperbole of guantanamo bay and robin island
DEMONS GRAZING 11
democracy
freedom unearthed from apartheid intestines
a legacy that carried sorrows since the days of yelping baboons
and yapping dogs
monrovia blooming legumes of blood in superstitions
of blood harvesting
crocodiles basking in the east of political comfort zones
afghan with the heart burn for freedom
baboons laughing other baboons in political forests
politicians crushing poverty under their feet
polishing streets with the glitz of robots and rainbow sweet talk.
(c) Mbizo Chirasha