Editorial Note– My Pen ,My Spear!- May 2016 Special Edition is with us , this is the first special edition by wordsmith from diverse perceptions , cultures ,generations and background . These voices are grounded to a common theme that seeks expose the rot in gutter township, political , social mishaps that bedevils our society. Thumbs up to the legendary Tendai.R .Mwanaka, Brian Kanjengo aka Bvunza Mutupo and the poetic madame Jane Nkiwane. The next edition will be in Mid May . This blog journal call for political ,hair harrowing and heart pricking poetry .From this edition we will be choosing three poets for the journal. Write , contributed , be counted and add your voice! Our images are a courtesy of a number of media and press teams around the world, thank you!
As the first rays of dawn lick the dusty streets of Makokoba township
Noise already fills the atmosphere
Stench from the blocked sewers fills the air
As i stand on the veranda of my match box home,
Clad in a thread bare attire, with an empty stomach
I look over the horizon
The rising sun rejuvenates my inner being
In the midst of poverty
I still stand my head held up high
Though my inner being has withered
My zeal to live has departed
I still stand
I stand against the obstacles in my path
All of these my determined self shall bravely brush away
Like a phoenix I will rise from the ashes
Fly away so high
Dance in the air like a bird
For I have chosen freedom
In the midst of poverty Education is my priority
Education shall wash away my poverty
It shall be a shield that once attained, will forever
Shield my hide from the scorching rays of the sun
From the storms and hunger
That awaits to devour my inner being
I shall stand against poverty
And you my fellow Brother
Climb a hill at daybreak and look on
As the first rays of the sun lick the ground
As it rises over the horizon
You know there is still hope
Just fly high
Like an eagle and stand against it all – BY Jane Nkiwane
“emancipation is a dead body with nothing to fear”
Tranquillity is for those who’ve answered for their sins
How sinful is a candle in the wind
That never burnt to eternity but got extinguished
Victims of winds and currents of this turbulent life
The fatter ones get executed first
The good die young
The cruel live to see their great-grand children
For they carry so much burden their spirit’s tainted
Great Zimbabwe, the queen’s governance laboratory
Guinea pigs fill the landscape
Scientist Elizabeth 11 in a white dust coat
Children don’t live to see the sun set
Young lives get interrupted at the break of dawn
Sunrays don’t provide light they render the young ones blind
The tip-toe to early graves before learning right from wrong
Takudzwa, with a universal right, a name and a clan
Ambitions bigger than Mount Everest
Dreams replicating Martin Luther King
We’ll never know now as your path was cut short
Destination was eternal life is still the destination
Heard about your tragedy tried to convert to words
Though never crossed paths trust you represented the best
Young children remain saints angels among demons
Yours is erased development
Prelude to great Zimbabwe’s seven days of mourning
The afterlife death remains a mystery
We aren’t never knew no child like you, believe me
Imagine what Zimbabwe will be like without you -by Brian Kanjengo
Tears flow all over on everyone chin
Seeing the gruesome burning of our fellow brothers
Seeing the blazes of fire swallowing our fellow brothers and sisters
How could you justify this?
How could testify
A brother turns against his fellow brother
Or its paradise of demons
Is this democracy or demon crazy?
As our leaders pray African unity
One way, from Cape to Cairo.
Haunted by diaspora demon
Haunted by the evil of the past
Knives and stones flew claiming African children’s lives
Police come to rescue in vain
Perished on the hungry fires
Is this what we call democracy?
Is it what we call unity?
From cape to Cairo its one way
Let the world unity against xenophobia
The western laughed
Seeing black people fight among ourselves
The Ubuntu is gone
Turns the River Jordan
Changing democracy to demon-crazy
Can we say democracy buried together with Tata Mandela?
I don’t think he would be happy where he is sleeping
Zimbabweans endured the crocodile infested Limpopo
Come to mzansi to be greeted by such a gruesome death.
Remember hungry crocodiles befriended them
Today you kill them like flying ants
The other world is possible
Murder is not African culture
Where did you see such a cruel culture?
Africans blessed in disguise to be in Mzansi?
The fact is we are all Africans – by Brian Kanjengo
A party is a shared dream
The army, the man-machine
Created our present dream.
Myth dies when a party dies
This is the dream we share
We are myth-killers!
A ring of strange thought
To be thought of as a god
Can become an anathema.
And the hoards within laughs
From their inward arena.
Damn those little Pharaohs!
They are the last of that lot.
Arriving at the dusk line
This is the shock
To find yourself alive.
My name, I know my name
And here I am
Hidden behind my name.
Like a malleable infant
I am conditioned to kill
Its in my guts.
Like esters of a perfume
Telling me to look beyond
Paradoxes in these dry dreams. By Tendai R. Mwanaka
OUR DESERT OF OUR DESERT
The blowing wind
Is like a fog
Obscuring our rising sun
And this is the desert
The desert of our desert
And distant people
Are always our enemies?
Unless they throw
Sand into the air
For the hand
That throws the sand
Does not hold a sword
And this is where
We were born
And we permit ourselves
To know nothing else by Tendai Mwanaka
White Girl, Black Boy
The human skin is now the only existing surface
That has survived a history of cut and paste manifest destiny
The dermis has become an interlocutor of presenting, as a surface
It both jails, skyrockets the contours of the landscape and flesh
I imagine, imagining my imaginations
What if white is not?
A smudgy pinkish colour?
The black boy thinks: If I was really black, I might not really be seen
Because I could hide things in my own blackness and if she were really white
When she is being white, white as family tree white
She wouldn’t see me, for she would only be the wind
Light stripes of wind, pinned around my corporeal clothes
Like cold tasting light, itself in the mouth of itself
The white girl thinks: It is a black skin muddled, annihilated of its truth
No more his own skin; crythematous-patches, necrotic tissues-indurated
Skin boiling in its blackness
The black thing always, wanting, needling…
Getting in the way,
Like the deadly white of the sky
She inherited the whiteness
The sugar coating whiteness
It is whiteness
She thinks, and you can’t deny her that: This is the fire injected by history into my veins.
A white horned hunger to live, as long as bacteria
In this whiteness
Whiteness as white-coloured white?
The two, the white girl and the black boy, are talking of the cloudy of ice-cold that is always hovering on either side of this harness, the weave is the skin, which attempts to harness a centrality of spirit, and the rituals each of the two enacts to cipher it out in their relationship.
But, I will do an Alice walker here
And I imagine, with Walker, the psychic liberation of black if it understands
Black is not really black
I imagine, still with Walker, the exhilarating feeling of white if it could walk (doing a Walker with me) away from the caged feeling
Of its body, in its own skins by Tendai R. Mwanaka
LIVES NEVER LIVED
Hundreds, thousands, dead with lives
they never lived.
Tongogara and Chitepo couldn’t survive
the terrors in their voices.
But they gave us all the gift of a new nation.
and Mugabe worked as a ray of light
burning through the horrors of the liberation
In Matebeleland they died with lives
they never lived.
The event is still unexplainable.
The mass graves of tens of thousands overshadowing
any spirit of reconciliation preached
Death’s gift bringing us once more together
in the 1987 unity accords.
And to another bout of reconciliation.
But dying they never stopped, with lives
they never lived.
Throughout another decade of brutalities.
Yet they endured!
While each measured death’s pain receded
from their memories, always replaced
by another shadow of a reconciliation
and a selflessness of their spirit.
White farmers, and a new party formed, yet they died
with lives they never lived.
Displacements, farm invasions, stolen elections
gunshots: police, military and security brutalities.
Echoing through the rural area’s dark nights and-
With lyrics like the wagging song of
the river of blood, singing songs of despair.
Disenchantment and dismay churning throughout
the whole country, and also
hunger, poverty, diseases and death.By Tendai R.Mwanaka
Meet the May 2016 Special Poets
Jane Nkiwane is a young writer , who is passionate of poetry, rugby and chess. She likes playing around with words. Jane resides in Bulawayo, the second Capital of Zimbabwe. Her poem Phoenix brings a touching message of complexities of life especially to the young people. She gives a symbolic example of life in one of the oldest suburbs of Makokoba. Jane will be also a contributor of Poets for Water journal that will be published next week in ClimateDiariesofAfrica, http://www.climatediariesafrica.timblr.com. She is a member and contributor to the 100 Thousand Poets for Peace-Zimbabwe.
Brian Kanjengo– is a poet who possess a powerful hand of poetry his two poems I wander! And Takudzwa are powerful pieces though a little pessimistic they touch much on loss and death . The tragedies of Zimbabwean is xenophobia ridden countries like South Africa. He bemoans the suffering of young Zimbabweans as they cross crocodile infested Limpopo to fetch for green lives in Mzansi.The Poet contributed his poem Tree in the First journal of the Poets for Climate published in ClimateDiariesAfrica,www.climatediariesafrica.tumblr.com
Tendai Rinos Mwanaka is a multi-disciplinary writer, scholar and artist from Zimbabwe. Author of several books of poetry, nonfiction and fiction including among others, Finding A Way Home, Revolution: Struggle Poems, Playing To Love’s Gallery, Zimbabwe: The Urgency of Now, proud co-editor of the bestselling, Best “New” African Poets 2015 Anthology, Democracy, Good Governance and Development in Africa. Tendai is popular in the world with controversial pen that seeks to tame rabid political elite in Africa and Zimbabwe that fails to respect the wishes and aspirations of the masses.
Mbizo Chirasha is the My Pen , My Spear Editor. He is the Manager and publisher of the Miombo publishing journal that seeks to expose the literary talent of young poets, writers and communicators. He is a Creative Communities Expert, Writer in Residence , Poet , Blogging Editor/Publisher. He is managing a lot of writers , creative , community and literary arts projects ,please kindly give feedback to email@example.com