MPyour Profile Photo, Image may contain: one or more people and closeup– Dear Zimbabweans, Activists, media, writers and poets.  The Miombopublishing blog journal   brings you regular posts of word slingers and   word guerrillas 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 guerilla  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.  Chikumbu   is blessed with simplicity of language   , the language whose marrow carries a deeper meaning.

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 Chirasha


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I wondered lonely
in that dark lane of thought
drifting softly ,
a cloud in a white sky
whose gray sun reigned
black mud.
Painting our gold skin
with leprosy,
from the mud pools of
stagnation we constantly fell
Teeth chattering,
my eye curtains were blown.
roof high, in that
mental asylum.
waiting for the already
train of thought from fate.
Always stumbling on the
hem of the sun coat
I got every morning.
To fall in the dirt ,
never being allowed to wash
It nor see it clean.


Broadcasted in cold bits
was a morbid body scattered-
across the doctors plate.
The still dark walls let out
a demonic laughter.

At the black little brave chunks
of flesh being graced
by a host of green fat flies
doing a lap dance.

Scalpel famished for action
dug deep into the algae
skin…letting out a spray
of toxic gas..that revelation.
The outlet of a revolution

The victims’ liberal head had
been cut short. Blown to
silent beats.
Courtney of our African suns

What was he ? A Buttered
and bruised little microphone
that wished it could.
The acid in his faculties did

Even in death he’s cold meat
seemed to chorister the hymn
of revolution.



Nestled high in continental
feather blankets –
an eagle he could almost fly.
Away from the insects.
Where the sun is fare
self loving – married not
to share.
He buzzes the hive to
madness mechanically programming
them to seek ye first or
be condemned
to eternal impoverishment



She is what she’s not
a bright- sprouting rose bed
for your puffed black-
horses pipe.
To spray and secrete that
vile diseased, rusty semen.
That clouds your humanity
driving you to horny insanity.
She is what she’s not !
A lotus flower thriving
poverty infested mud
For your greedy tentacles
to play fiddle with.
Play yourself not a fool
and give respect where its due.
Dance away from this madness
leave infants for school.



I weep and moan
For the words I’ve lost
In that great tide of confusion,
having not been spurn
nor shown the stupor of my youth
To which I have grown too old
and cold to repay the loss.


The heart of cities present,
and past.
Known to every man,
whoever became a man.
Where much means less ,
and less means much.
That idle rock the sea
could never wash,
but only could splash.

Where not the chirrup of,
But the cries of infants against,
The cold morning breeze gets ,
People out of their beds.
As they get ready to
welcome the sun that
soon sets , but not
allowing them time to rest.

Lush green sea of
half-baked structures,
masked by yellow clouds of ,
dust , smoke , rot and poverty.
Where a ray of smiles, laughter
whimpers, sudden noises,
never forgets to shine.

Truly it’s as rare site indeed
but a fortress for a soul in need.
call in the refugee camp of
the world , for the washed down ,
the poor , the broken, the persecuted ,
the thirsty, the lost and rootless.
COME! all who are weary and drink
your fill of the slums ,the squatters
and the ghettos.

Nyashadzashe Chikumbu-No automatic alt text available. I’m a young man, Poet and Writer, who’s very ambitious, and strives for complete self-expression. Very interested in all words of art strives to see art gaining its former glory

One thought on “Fast Rising Star- Nyashadzashe Chikumbu(Poets Free Zimbabwe 3)

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