MP- your Profile Photo, Image may contain: one or more people and closeupDear Zimbabweans, Activists, media, writers and poets.  The Miombopublishing blog journal   brings you regular posts of word slingers and   word guerillas that are part of the Poets Free Zimbabwe Campaign (the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign) starting from September 2017 to August 2018.

We are going to feature one  Word guerrilla  every week  to send a strong message to the merciless , ruthless and careless Mugabe  regime  which has left  the POVO( majority) in limbo. Zimbabweans continue to suffer under the burden of untold poverty, human rights abuses, violence and despotism. The Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign is   trending on our Facebook group 100 Thousand Poets for Peace- Zimbabwe; Poets post their words on the group wall. The Admin of the group then select poems for the Tuck Magazine /Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign (Brave Voices Poetry Journal). MiomboPublishing supports the same CAUSE by featuring    single hardworking and vocal contributors to the Campaign every week. Dear reader the lyrical concoction fermenting   and frothing in the pots of Jambiya, the demi-goddess of Word!

We invite you to read her poetry, send comments like and participate in the CAMPAIGN   on our FACEBOOK platform. For more information send us an email to miombopublishing@gmail.com-

 

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EPICENTER OF WAR

 

In the wake of a globally malevolent gestapo;
on the rotisserie of fraud and corruption the goat and rising smoke does little to ease epic landslides and governmental malfunction.

Without doubt,
howl our hatred of bigotry and racism,
Crucify the psyche of “massa” and assemblies responsible for crimes against humanity – the persistent subjugation of an already weakened people.

rinse the dictator’s stain from our dreams
exorcise our inferiority complex
banish the buggers from our midst,

Illuminate our paths but then, sit silently and consider that the futility of our exploits hinges on the absence of true sanctity –
without it every man will become what he hates –

a bigot –
a plunderer,
collector of spoils,
his renaissance like chaff in the wind

Yes, Lets be sure to prune the countless colorful columns of oppressors and slave masters who govern our shores;
South Africa, Kenya, Zimbabwe,
The African lists grows –

Yet, have we not perhaps, if our fight is not against flesh and blood, become the victims of our own factions and cattle logged sagas?
Surely then our pens must ink the heart of this matter –

Indeed, we must beat our fists into the air and shriek our revolutionary disgust,
We must courageously pursue our purpose

but we also have to become more than a virtual voice in a wilderness of pronounced prejudice,
making way for the kingdom of God that is at hand –
unless of course we believe there is no God.

Let us not forget to hoist our flags against injustice,
minacious leadership –
satan’s spawn
segregation,
degradation and
disintegration –

Plunder holocaustic mindsets that threaten the human race –
And while we combat this contagion let us also remember to be the pillar of transformation that advocates
inner peace;

Let us not forget
that man’s heart is the epicenter of war –
that in crying for liberation
it is the soul of a man that hungers even after his belly has been fed –

Let us not forget?

 

(c) Jambiya
“The Power of Words”

 

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HARRY and GERTRUDE (The Chifamba kids)

 

When famine hit,
an abusive stepmom
dumped her husband’s kids
inside a Harare wilderness.
Third time round and lost,
desiring a bed and frothy bliss
the starving kids find
what their tummies need;
but what appeared
to be an answer to prayer
turned out to be a witches lair –

Walls of stick candy and
dunkin doughnuts,
cake and concoctions of confec-tionery
was in fact, enticement
and a cannibals trap.

The kids were doomed to die like that,
for evil believed in its conquering feat –
but the brother and sister
showed the witch her teeth;
the fire she built for their demise
was primed for her fate
when God opened their eyes
and the witch ate her words
as the flames,
gobbled her mirth.

Diamonds, gems and a golden vase
were their gifts for perpetual praise.
It was their prayerful wit
that granted unattainable measure;
Hope and trust turned into invaluable treasure.

It all started with little stones
That would eventually lead
back home.

Before you believe in myths
let me assure you,
The Chifamba kids
exist.

(C) Jambiya
“The power of words”

(This is a prayer we pray for every abused and lost child- to find their way to a safe place they can call home.

From the story of Nyasha – This is based upon a true story – names have been changed.

Inspired by the tale of Hansel and Gretel by Brothers Grimm)

 

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THE APATHETIC GRUNT

 

You have been sized and striped –
numbed to a reality that
eviscerates our humanity,
growing a crime infested hinterland,
our inescapable nemesis

Blind and impervious to peril and commination.
such foolhardiness,
like a phlegmatic on a
wild goose chase

The distant rich slip their shades
Plug their ears
arm their glass cages
hoping,
“it will never happen to us”.

They strut their stuff –
horror of horrors,
such damnation is for
the poor and the rough –
all the while our
milk and honey dissipates.

The apathetic grunt
and the politician are enslaved to materialism,
bribed or buried;
untouched by dry parched land,
the hungry and homeless.
with cocked eye, they snort as the malnourished scramble for crumbs –

Statesmen gamble for that which must sustain their crystal palaces and Persian rugs;
draped with egocentric pearls of wisdom
while the beggar croons
his toon like the “lust moon-chuld”.

What will you do
when the fountains run dry;
trees yield no fruit;
The cattle die –
fish stop jumping
and your gold coins
prove impotent –

The pauperized live amongst us,
“poor” is within us
like the sweat that soils a squatter camp on a hot summers day;
Like a dog-hungry infant suckling a dried up “Zamu”.

Your refrain empowers a cunning conglomerate who milks the fattened cow,
mercilessly watching their people starve;
encamped by bodyguards,
while our women and girls are torn apart-
Obliterated
Violated
Cremated

Men of Africa –
South Africa
Zimbabwe
Mozambique

Arise,
wield your staff
pen your words
gird your loins
Strap your shield;

poverty lives amongst us,
within us
growing a crime-infested hinterland,
our inescapable nemesis.

The apathetic grunt
and the politician
with the mussolinis of our time
cock an eye
and smirk.

Amadoda

You have been silent too long.

(C) Jambiya
“The Power of Words”

 

RED

 

Bowed, bent, low

“16 years old and
off to school I go
for the hundredth time –
and for the millionth moment
I tweek my smile
till it glows”.

Icy tears sting
frozen cheeks.

“I gallop, I prance,
I pray that she’ll loose the noose someday,
A prayer I pray everyday”.

Midnight.
welcome smiles;
Coke and candy relieves the bile.
Nikita sheds her skin
like a practiced chameleon.
not shy, no shiver
from the cool fanned air.
Pimped, pinched, and pummeled
Johns and Jills come out to play
dimmed lights along a fast night;

Nikita stares from a faraway place
Inside her soul.

“Silent sneers
ready derision
Jibes and jeers,
Eyes that know me not
neither sees
the girl in me”.

“I love you”,
serenades the paying “perv”.
Pleas for flavored popsicles.
Red turns to no one in particular –
“I pray that you,
yes you who sees me not
undo this tightened yoke,
lift from me this sexually marinated blob –

Stoke the fiery flames,
bring Nikita back to life.
Undo this choke inside my throat,
cuffed like a dog to a pole –
perfumed bodice too strong
for a slender 16 year old.

Mother,
what have you done –
Stop this revolutionary disease.
am I the consequence of poverty?
a plaything that stirs a mans generosity –
like a mannequin who boasts her lost virginity.

Perhaps hope will someday deliver me
from this never ending hell
Of candy-coated popsicles
and dresses too tight
for a little girl parading at night”.

Red holds Nikitas hand tightly –
the two must never become one.
But for this night only
Nikita needs a trusted friend.
Welcome smiles
coke and candy relieves rising bile.

Nikita stares from a faraway place inside her soul –
and sheds her skin
like a practiced chameleon.

“Mother
What have you done”.

Bowed, bent, low

“16 years old
And off to school I go”.
(C) Jambiya
“The Power of Words”

 

Hard talk from Jambiya-

The medieval sulphur spitting dragon towered over villages and robbed them of their livelihood; until courageous and stricken commoners severed his power, one limb at a time.Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign Fight the lock down and introduce the world to it luscious tourism trade, thereby transferring its pride in identity and rich heritage so that the exiled may return”.

 

 

BEULAH KLEINVELDT aka JAMBIYAImage may contain: 1 person, smiling, closeup-is an emotive writer who weaves the tragedy and victory of the human experience into a tapestry of memorable imagery and metaphor? She speaks with honesty on the spiritual and social challenges of our time. Jambiya’s works are a must read for those accustomed to the jaded perfunctory cleverness of modern wordsmiths

 

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