Cry freedom and other Poems by Tendai Bhasvi

Tendai Bhasvi  is a   Zimbabwean pen warrior and  a prose poet   residing  in England . He writes very long , touching and mesmerizing poet.This edition of his poetry  is first  to be  published on this journal in 2016. The poetry   journal of Tendai Bhasvi marks  the Black History month in 2016. Some of these thought provoking poems  will be read   by Mbizo Chirasha at the House of Hunger Poetry slam- Black History month in Harare at Pamberi Trust Gardens.

Cry Zimbabwe cry freedom

 

Iripi Gandanga,

Gandanga ine muswe,

The insults of Masoja pale in their faces

Sons of war mongers,

You could see evil in the blood line,

Trying to brain wash our people with propaganda which stank,

Installing fear and asserting power,

A mobbed mooed cry of a destitute bull with no horns,

Spoils of the lavatory uttered

Damned words of desperation,

Such as the calls the sons of cruel migrants called our comrades in our land Matororo,

I burn with anger if I think about this act of terrorism,

Why call us names, we landed first in this land,

We never came to your land to take a slice or a piece?

Why grab mine which has been mine since the beginning of Time,

Icky names they called us and galling

For their own fun and dine,

Ignoble,inclement such as their intentions they stole our shrines and named them for thy kingdom would never be mine,

Victoria falls

The smoke that thunders as we know it,

Sinoa, Umtali, Gwelo

They changed our names for their own names with no meaning,

For their kingdom prospered,

As their spines grow prongs of flagrant greedy as our old men die,

Die in vile conditions for their land.

Oh,sorrow is our comfort as they took all the good words from us dear lord we cried.

Cried a river Manyami,

Cried an ocean so deep our souls socked salt,

So sour we wipe out tears with sand and blend as happy with no resentment,

From riches to rages the dimensions of life changed from masters to slave,

Words of happiness taken away by means of breaking our souls,

That was breaking a nation to bits with no sympathy,

Degraded  we cried and hide in caves To survive we packed,

Like cornered wolfs we fought back,

A war so complicated we fought,

Conquers we won for that we shine,

Cry  Dzimbabwe cry,

Do you know,

This Prince of thieves stole off the dimes of the world,

Gandanga rakatonga at last,

Such as the will and persistence

Of thy Gandanga you called,

This is  the  land of our forefathers,

So be it as the land of our own,

Mwana wa Misisi chewed water at One point flourished like Aids,

They inflicted pain and suffering,

With a torn of abrade, hate and slaughtered my people for fun,

Imagine the pain

Imagine the suffering

Imagine the lost heroes who died for our freedom,

Imagine the vast minerals stolen,

Imagine Their scrape away tactic so dirty it taunt,

Taunt the living and the dead

Up to date we remember them,

Spreading  fear to vana Gogo

And vana Kule,

Hedzo chembere dzokangwa,

Kana miromo yochekwa.

A clear message of hate and actions

Expurgate with no hesitation to obilterate,

Gandanga iri musango kwete mumisha,

The elders would point out to the goons with a quest to kill,

No ,no ,they wouldn’t dare venture in the Rimuka fearing kurakashwa,

Such as the cries of the AK47, the uzi and SKS, cluttering and their blood splattering,

Defending the land our land we dearly owned,

Though in hand with guns to minuend us to the end,

Victorious we defended our borders to the end,

Cry Dzimbabwe cry,

Your wounds are still fresh just nurse

In time you will rest this cancer so deep even some of our people are turning to sell the land they so dearly own,

Changu chagwa, ndochengeta ndoga, I sell my soul to the devil,

Tsitsi dzeyi gomana kubisa mwana wevhana madzihwa,

I am not the fool who cuts a branch he is sitting on,

Leave me being, kana zvanetsa

Its none  of your business,

I will destroy my  own  land it’s my pride and possession,

Ndiri Huku yadya mazai ayo

I cry with you my Dzimbabwe,

Your heart is my heart and my death is your death,

Long live my nation,

Long live Dzambabwe.

(c)  Tendai Bhasvi

Ring of fire

You thought a child is plucking
A fruit from that juicy mango tree,
Think again,
Though the process is sweet in the pot,
The pipe be drained a seed is placed
In a precarious womb
The scotch is a brew a trap in future
Scores,
I won’t forget retaliation,
Be warned my revenge
Is vengeance of the sun,
I am hot not fire,
But loathsome, fragrant
Calamitous is my judgement
And infernal could be best placed
Other than injurious or egregious
Or
Swinish not only the British fear me even the Finnish,
For thy sweetness which you enjoyed
And Bob is thy witness,
I now settle my score with your
Pot that made thy man for kingdom come,
You open your gates like falls of Victoria falls.
But don’t be fooled,
A catch of one or two is the prize
So be hold a John or a Mary
The cries is a sign oh dear Lord,
I trapped a queen and her reign of princesses,
Including all her female followers
Who came before and after
oh dear lord,
I still make them sick in the morning,
After we settle our score
My brew is Mr happy in the process
But a ring of fire the day the pot is too large to hold the brew the bond
Is rebelling,
My trap is easy and nothing heinous
Just a ride from here to that post
Before the court,
just a drop of glue I stick and paint
Your inside wall
In months to come
You bare the fruit of that ride
Of post to the court,
My ring behold,
My ring be strong,
I know we are friends
As I natured you from day one
With respect and dignity
Ask my mother who taught me
Her mother who taught her
You are mine so be mine in times of need and pain please prevail
I cleaned your tears of red
Every month you cried
From age ten your cries were always a gash of the lady from the red hills,
I called you names
From
witch red
Manchester red
Red Mama
And all the names that bare red
In colour oh dear behold,
Why fight me now
Why not when the pot brew sweet Not a burning ring dear lord
That day we rode sweet George
From that post to the court,
I never knew
That this day will come when
You burn me oh dear lord behold.

 

(c)  Tendai Bhasvi

 

The funeral before

Have I not shown you my power,
I am the chosen one , Africa chose my vindictive , patriotism and intellectual abilities,
Decided by the higher gods of Africa . I talk my talk with a talk no other can talk.
Iam the blood hound of the oblivion,
Purview is a seam embedded in my clothing line,
I am old but not dead yet,
Wishing my death , adds more years to my throne ,
When the outside world hears my name,
They scoff.
I’m a doctor , lawyer
A politician an accountant ,
I run my throne over lands and seas beyond boarders in minds and binds to remind,
I talk for those who can’t talk for them selves,
You brand me hitler ten fold,
But besotted is the truth of being African but talented to speak the unspoken. You milk our udder and create commotion to fed your evil quest,
My legacy shall not die when I pass over, but my bones and blood runs in the veins of Africa like a cancer,
Don’t be fooled by those with little knowledge and shun my name, for they fear my words.
Could be called a foe of his own people and his kind,
In mind we all know that I speak the truth.
Ndikafa, mapfupa angu achapfuka.
Mbuya nehanda said so and her words materialised with vengeance and a throne yet replaced by me.
Who am I ??

 

(c) Tendai Bhasvi

Blunderbuss is the tool the system term us to rule.
To stoop is a notion of not the truth , but perfidious
Such as the actions of the body thus spontaneous,
Running away from the sticks tyrannical, twerp is somebody
Patriotic to beliefs, soon to receive the benighted
Prize as they call it ignorance, as it may sound.
I would never twinge the melancholic, thus shall not be woe betide
In the name of rebellion, such are the cries of the children of the deserted land of Palestine.
They have to be a beginning , so as the end is near
Who in the name of humanity would not cry seeing the cries of children of Palestine?
Such as the world we leave in and call ourselves humans?
Who has seen their generation dissolve in a thud and flash in day or moment ?
I hug my pillow and wet it with my tears for a war that’s not even mine.
I have empathy while my hand writes the words I sympathise the message would be portrayed.
So not, the leaders who support the obliteration of the Muslim brothers and sisters beyond the reach of my helping hand.
I am Christian human as the Muslim brothers and sisters we stand!
Shall I lead my mouth to do the talking while my hand throw a missile little to maim those with blunderbuss?
Blood is blood, flesh is flesh who has the quest to rewrite the rest if not the start so the end is mend?
I cry for the Lord to descend rain revenge to those who use the words of peace to defend!
An act of pride so does the supporters of the killers of the ride,
Long leave Palestine so does the pillars of the religion shall thrive .
Blood pulls blood don’t cry when the coffers are full then dry when the ride gets by!
Peace is most we can promote if not let’s stop the lot who hungers the children and old ,if not the bold let’s stop the cold!

Resenting Pain: for the children of Palestine
(c)  Tendai Bhasvi

 

Compiled and edited by Mbizo Chirasha