Shout Out from Miombo– In this hot and suicidal month of October. Miombo presents to you one Titan of verses Jabulani Mzinyathi. Whose poetry, short plays and essays are widely read in Zimbabwe and around the globe. His Poetry is suicidal hot like October. His metaphors and proverbial expressions resonate with the scorching summer sun.Jabulani is our second Poet to be featured in our new project Time of the Poet. The main objective of this project is to inspire young poets in Zimbabwe, Africa and around the globe.Happy October month! Please contact Miombo on miombopublishing@gmail.com.
Exiled Farmer{tribute to Chenjerai Hove}
Now you are at home
At home in exile
That is the conundrum
Then you left
This unbearable psychiatric ward
Hear the demented voices
There in the red hills of home
Those deranging reverberations
The rattling of the bones
‘mapfupaanguachamuka’
Hear the words of the prophetess
That spirit of resilience
Now you are up in arms
Those daggers are drawn
Exile , keep your bags packed
Turn ploughshares into swords
This is what time dictates
And now the poets speak
What is this hen pecking its own eggs
I shall remember that incisiveness
Forgetting is a heinous crime
Freedom time is here
Voices deemed discordant
Voices to be silenced
Voices that are morgue bound
See their resilience still
Shattering the walls of conservatism
Refusing to be shackled
And trampled under jack boots of intolerance
Voices seeking self liberation
A new dawn is rising
Go tell it on the mountains
Over the hills and everywhere
That the machin
FATAL ATTRACTION
Candle flame
Luminosity
The brilliance
The moth in a dance of death
Drowned in the hot wax
The goat
At the python
A hypnotic stare
In a flash
The sweetness turns caustic
BACK HOME
Now back home
You mask the truth
Fantasies in the fore
Now you return soulless
A gaunt and derelict being
You embarked on self dehumanization
Now a pollutant you return
Warped ideas you bring
An unwelcome stranger you are
Reviled and rejected everywhere
Though you are worse than the prodigal son
These open arms welcome you
For forsaking home you are forgiven
IN THIS BLOOD
In this blood
The thud of the adze
Chipping off the rough edges
The craftsman’s inner spirit
Sweetly embedded in the medium
Then mutilated
Then annihilated
‘Thou shall not have any other gods’
Then the message is warped
In this blood
Those songs
The evocation of the spirits
The immense musical appreciation
These are the roots
Posterity shall have no parched throats
RUNNING RIOT
I dawdled and dithered
Then boom
Off it went
Shattering falsehoods
Unmasking
Shedding off the hypocrisy
Shattering conformity
Iconoclastic thunder clap
That is the essence
The truth is an offence
That rock off my shoulders
A giant step forward
A preparation for a cataclysm
This is my searing spirit
A riot of emotions
This is my searing spirit
A riot of emotions
This is between light and darkness
These are cymbals of my feelings
RESONATING CYMBALS
In the cosy arms
The cosy arms of Eros
The resonating cymbals of passion
Our galloping hearts
The blooming booming emotions
The fruits of that intensity
This flood of memories
This flood
THAT INDIAN WOMAN
She thinks in terms of caste
The Brahmins up there
Untouchables in menial tasks
Those inhuman barriers
The foul smelling segregation
She looks me in the eyes
The man you see she doesn’t
The colour of my skin is the issue
Deep inside I hear the explosions
Our impending shattering of conservatism
This gripping passion is colourless
THE VOID
Snippets of political debate
Speculation rife
The senselessness of it
The impending cataclysm
Fucking the desperation
The allure of trinkets
Throw in the Pan African spirit
Then you have a clear picture
The poet behind this creation
The right dose of reggae music
In the air the distinct smell of ganja
The colonial legislation cannot snuff it out
The flood of contradictions
The angelus still stealing souls
The struggle within the struggle
Oblivious of the annihilation
Talk of love I scurry for cover
Many a time I have fucked the desperation
I hear the jingle of coins
The rustle of crispy notes
The stinking lies told
The mind reeking of false modesty
Wallowing in this defilement
This place is one big psychiatric ward
Give me ignorance to accept this blindness
This blindness leading me into an abyss
Then there is this hollowness
There is this daemonic void
SMOTHERING
This aching heart
Burning on the cinders of rejection
This raging storm
That healer time will abate
Though the mark be indelible
The pain shall be stale
After the winter there shall be spring
That freshness sprouts
Nature exhibits her charms
This aching heart
The grieving shall be gone ,gone
Time the healer shall wave the magic wand
That excruciating pain shall be gone
Hope shall reign supreme
PRICKED
That soap bubble burst
That plaster fell off
That was the unmasking
A revelation of what was askew
That meteor streaked across the sky
It was a passing sparkle
It was a dry barren wind
All it left was a parched mind
Nowhere to find solace
Is Ecclesiastes the panacea?
Is it that happiness abides in sadness?
Can the past be interred in shallow graves?
Is it that time is the healer?
These dying embers shall glow afresh
‘ Hence it is that poetry demands a man with a special gift for it, or else one with a touch of madness in him ;the former can easily assume the required mood, and the latter may be actually beside himself with emotion’ page 1472 THE BASIC WORKS OF ARISTOTLE
DEMENTED
Bombarding body and soul
Dabbling in debauchery
Trying to get to the bottom of things
Black sunlight- a conundrum
Tracking down the word hoard
Realising the same fate
Creating this hollow ring
Turning to alien philosophies
Leafing through Aristotle’s Thoughts
Imbibing Pedagogy of the Oppressed
Turning here to Roget’s Thesaurus
To the Oxford Dictionary turning
Proclaiming that I am autochtonous
Entangled in this confusion
Expressing righteous indignation
This fascination with whirlwinds
INDIFFERENCE
Beggar’s artful voice modulations
Pricks not long lost conscience
The hardness of cold steel
That is the scheme of things
The beggar chants the refrain
‘Upenyu hwakasiyana-siyana’
Chill gusts of indifference blow
Maybe some consciences are pricked
Still the beggar flaunts his artistry
The beggar’s observation in his finger tips
There is that deep chasm
The distance between his needs and my wants
Am I not my brother’s keeper?
Songs of sorrow issue from the pavements
Behind these lines the pity and disgust
INDELIBLE SCAR
No seed shall prosper
For your womb is cursed
Every seed sown shall be chocked
Only thistles and thorns grow
Goblins you shall bear
For forsaking the gift of motherhood
In vain you shall labour
Babies cries shall haunt you
The sprouting seedling you extirpated
Bear now the indelible scar
Your days shall be full of vampire shrieks
Wolf draped in sheep’ skin
SALT, MAIZE,etc
With mud and spittle
Now we receive sight
This turbulence
The bloody dawn
These demented voices
Taking nothing for granted
This poem is evidence of treason
The grip tightens on shrivelled balls
Children learn these caustic lessons
Savour this succulence
Fly, fly without perching
THIS LESSON
Trust not
Those smiles
Those assurances
Like dew they dissipate
Those vows
Heartfelt they are not
See the selfishness
That rabid dog snarl
Ask for divine intervention
What was his fate ?
The fate of doubting Thomas
To deflate their egos
Feed on this skepticism
For the fullness of life
THERAPY
Gradually the grieving gives way
The wound time the healer heals
That erstwhile vicious blow dissipates
Time waves its therapeutic wand
The freshness of life wafts in
After the storm comes calm
Taste the succulence of time tasted wisdom
Reality submerges false modesty
Those urges soar to the summit
That pain is relegated to the backseat
Intense feelings take to the high table
That is the height of this therapy
Can one forever wallow in grief
See the enormity of this conundrum
THOSE RAVINGS
They take to podiums
They slander
They ridicule
Bringing to shame
Men of integrity
Belittling them
Hear the ululations
The deafening ululations of sycophants
They take to podiums
Exposing their demonic ways
Shameless propagandists
Taking advantage of the gullible
They shit and piss in those faces
See the abuse
Those men of little minds
They take to podiums
Preaching the gospel of hatred
Trivialising noble ideals
To the wise mocking themselves
In their relentless efforts to mock others
Frothing at their loud mouths
Exposing themselves to scorn
They take to podiums with impotence
Exposing their barrenness
Exposing their vanity
Exposing their desperation
Their words shall not take root
In the minds of the discerning
Forever we shall salute men of honour
Though they be subjected to vitriolic attacks
Time shall be the judge
‘The first opinion that is formed of a ruler’ s intelligence is based on the quality of men he has around him. When they are competent and loyal he can always be considered wise, because he has been able to recognize their competence and to keep them loyal. But when they are otherwise, the prince is always open to criticism ;because his first mistake has been in the choice of his ministers.
The Prince by Machiavelli page 124
MZWAKHE
Mzwakhe
Mzwakhe
Mzwakhe
A cry for a home
Homeless
Confined like a caged bird
Mzwakhe
The fight courses through veins and arteries
During those days
In these days
Where lies are said to be truth
And the truth is an offence
Shall we ever know the truth
People’s poet you are not alone
Have you been made an outcast
An outcast in a society you fought for
Mzwakhe is prison your home
Mzwakhe
ON TRIAL
Herded into stadia
Like sheep to the slaughter
To be dipped like cattle
The ticks of opposition eradicate
We the gullible
To be protected from powerful orators
The art of circumlocution
That they have mastered
The Socratic laugh resonates
Hooligans on the rampage
For reason must be propagated
Fear paces up and down
The corridors of power shake
The cupboards brimming with skeletons
Official history now is shredded
That trial now has begun
Our collective conscience- the prosecutor
Posterity the judges
REDEMPTION SONGS
Hear the beautiful tapestry
Woven from the consciousness
See the images of freedom
That undulating beat
That pronounced bass guitar
That punchy drum kit sound
The catchy congas and bongos
Now is the redemption time
Chills in the spines of the wicked
They shall be scattered and shattered
THE VOW
Grandmother told me
Yes she did
She told me
Of the emasculation
Of the dumping
Nowhere near the prime land
Today these sandy soils
Today the barrenness
That resilience
That resilience
Every grain of it
Shall set all the slaves free
LET IT FLOW
That charting of fresh paths
Slashing the thistles and thorns
Shattering the glass houses
The glass houses of conservatism
Shocking your English sensibilities
Moulded by Shakespeare, John Donne, Ben Johnson
Carew and Marvel among others
This emotional outburst
The imagination will blossom
The stream of consciousness rolls
Jolted , you will sit up and listen
Keep not posterity away from its share
Its share of this wealth
Shatter, scatter the shell of conservatism
Virgin lands must be tilled
The rivers must be navigated
Constrict not the flow of thoughts
RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION
I cringe at the sight
Of shit
The shitstem
You call system
The shit
That poverty is
Unbridled corruption
Of the shit classes
Shit in their mercedeses
Offending the air we breathe
Shit that builds mansions
In the midst of squalor
Everywhere is the shit
Spreading disease
Shit that keeps me away
From the glamour
From the glitter of my land
I cringe at sight of shit
Stinking shit
That keeps this poem in shit
The censor’ shit
Give me blindness
For sight hurts
Give me ignorance
For it is bliss
BEEN TO
Years of moonlighting
White arse licking
Dirty dishes washing
Wailing and wishing
The lies told are stinking
It’s not the land of opportunity
It is the land of uncertainty
Skin heads and shit heads love to kill
Black people pain and death give them a thrill
Down my spine runs a chill
HOLDING ON
What relay race
When the baton is not passed
What competition
When there is one competitor
LESSONS IN NATION BUILDING
The rubber stamp
Squashed testicles
Impotence
Virility long lost
Keep the wigs
The irrelevance
Thugs unleash
Castrate the so-called intellectuals
Dissenting voices drown
Rule anarchy rule
That is revolution
Sow xenophobia
Separation of powers
Let the west have that
Laws come from the barracks
Public dissent crush
Hold them forever in terror
PROPHECY
It shall be so children
When the right time comes
The prophets still speak today
Through the deft brush strokes
Through the incisive chisels
Through the plethora of musical instruments
The prophets still speak today
Through the prancing lines of prose, poetry and song
Those that do not understand today
They shall wallow in mental squalor
Those that do not understand today
They shall tomorrow sink in deep regret
Listen to the prophets in timelessness
Listen to the prophets in the garden of inspiration
Listen to that divine inspiration
Listen to this divine inspiration
Listen to the prophets forever
THESE CRACKS
Yarn after yarn is spun
The spin doctors
Hammering us relentlessly
Vicious propaganda
Political party thugs
Amassing degrees in violence
Capped in the morgues
Fireworks displays
The flaming petrol bombs
Conspicuous by its absence
Is the truth
The excruciating pain of today
The succulent fruit of tomorrow
The truth is an offence
It shall never be a sin
The brimming cupboards
No more shall they hold skeletons
NOCTURNAL VOICES
Voices in the dark
Dark voices
Voices in the dark
Shaking my conscience
Voices baying for blood
Deranged voices
Voices full of hate
Nocturnal voices
Voices, voices, voices
Voices, squalor laden
Those night voices
Passing, passing ceaselessly
Voices!
Jabulani calls himself a prophet, a poet and a philosopher. To him ‘POETRY’ is the short form for person of extraordinary talent. He has had poems and short stories published in several publications,among them are the following: The Chronicle, The Citizen, Moto Magazine, Mahogany, Journal on Social Change and Development, Compost[USA], NgomaYokwedu[ Bwaz]. Crackling Voices of Budding Writers[Bwaz], Whispers in the Wings[anthology, amazon books] One Ghana One Voice[ezine].Jabulani has also been deeply involved in legal writing.
He was once a columnist for Moto Magazine and back then for professional reasons operated under the name Pro Deo. He has also written a lot of short plays. One of his popular plays, What Goes Around Comes Around was performed by Great Zimbabwe University students in 2014.
Jabulani was awarded a Diploma for Excellence by the Scottish International Open Poetry Contest [1997]. He was also a finalist in the Edgars Stores Competition in the 1990s.
Jabulani has also a lot of unpublished works that comprise a novella entitled ‘ Derailed’ and a Chishona novel entitled ‘ Mumambure’. Jabulani has collections of poetry which he calls ‘Voices’. Free verse is what jabulani dabbles in. He has no sacred cows and is a socio-politico critic who writes not out of anger but righteous indignation. He is greatly inspired by reggae singers and in particular the late great Peter Tosh
We at Miombo we want to applaud , Jabulani for his efforts in uplifting poetry in Zimbabwe. Keep the good .You are an inspiration!
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great poems indeed with a deeper meaning.
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great stuff ,thank you for passing through.Spread the blogsite around.It should grow into leaps and bounds.
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Thank you Bandera ,Keep writing .You need to form a poetry club at school next semester.
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