DICTATOR’S SONS – Milking the state until udders bleed. Black market moguls farting wind of rich diamond ore. Fat cats belching out ethanol and malt whisky. Political siblings singing faking new revolutionary gospel. Dictator’s sons took after their autocratic demigod. Frying corruption frikadels in shame sodden parliament chambers. Swigging extorted coffee on nepotistic wet cabinet tables. Squashing adversaries like coach roaches with rifle butts. Dictators Son’s lips froth verbal diarrhea. Tongues lubricated by vitriol laced sputum. Hearts carrying wet bags of insults. Dictator’s sons biting bombs and munching grenades. Imbibing shrapnel. Dictator’s sons milking the state until udders shrink. Ballot slaves and revolutionary hand-maidens relegated to colonial vomit and November dinner crumbs’. Dictator’s sons garb in golden chains and diamond trinkets. Peeling off the rich skin of the country with double edged swords of black market cartels ALUTA CONTINUA!
Readers are free to send comments, ideas and creative vibe to the Brave Voices Poetry Journal commentary box. Contributors must read submission deadlines on the MIOMBO PUBLISHING on Facebook or write to the Journal Editor and Curator MBIZO CHIRASHA at miombopublishing@gmail.com.

kamau
PATRICK KAMAU is a graduate in literature and special education from Kenyatta University. He hails from Murang’a County in Kenya. Currently he is a special education teacher. Kamau loves reading, making friends and writing poetry. His dream is to publish an anthology in collaboration with other likeminded poets.

TUMOR

This eating disease must be incised
The gangrene that gnaws the entrails
Malignancy permeating all facets
A facade presented to hoodwink
On the rooftops claims of health
Fangs of vipers lying!

Tumor that muzzles
Emasculating our livelihood
A bunch of vipers entrenched
Our kraals poisoned
Ogres that double talks
A claim of our saviors
Rhetoric’s laced with shoddiness!
This tumor must be incised
Camouflaged ineptness muzzling
Our freedom nuptial bride raped
Crass scorpions poisoning
Knights of vices on pedestals
And us groveling!
Cut of the tumor-
Gore the pus
Africa must be healthy
Vipers of retrogression cut
Imbue spirit of nationalism
Posterity against corruption.

BLESSING. S CHIGUNDA an avid reader a recriminating voice demanding the rights of the oppressed proletariats, to be justly implemented. Stripping off the subterfuge of this oppressive government

CASTRATED NATION

The testicles of concern have been cut off.
Citizens are left with nowhere to lodge their complains to. Weaned to face the nation self-brewed catastrophes of putrid
Muzzling peasants, proletariats. Casting smirking and wry fetters
Depriving them to taste the aftermaths of their toil
Taunts, though latent left them in dent
Broadcasting threats
To anyone not in parallel to their vague mandates
Anarchistic nation
Controlled by rebellious treason engaged president
Who flouts their turpitude rules
Hounding liberals from dawn to dusk
Vigil orgies, organized on how to
Usurp, cow and coerce egalitarians under their authority
Asphyxiate audacious, auspicious liberals
Taking bold unflinching strides
Heading to denounce subterfuge constitution
Is but manhandling their always afresh wound
Located on where testicles were castrated
This act summons a tyrannical bludgeon
To deal gaunt buttocks of the democratic reformers
Neither civilians nor mere citizens are awry
to the government
But it’s the nation which is unstable
What their vague law contains today
Tomorrow it will be a taboo
Constituted with the lecherous, stolid and frigid rulers
In their insolent ears do the wails, groaning’s of the unfortunate
Echo and re-echo
who are tedious, humdrum of parroting virulent slogans
Against the opposition party
It’s a castrated nation

chidora

TANAKA CHIDORA is a literary critic, blogger and writer who teaches literary studies at the University of Zimbabwe. He is currently writing his first novel titled MAGAMBA HOSTELS. It is some kind of auto-fiction which, as he claims, is meant to bridge the gap between a lie and truth.

MAGAMBA HOSTELS
(To my unborn novel)

Wooden structures mushroomed in the night,
Jostled for space towards dawn
and, in the morning, presented a motley sight
That tells a story of those who spawn
Hope
And dust.

The walls that house me…
They have dark sockets during the day,
At night, dark sockets and night become
The brooding silence that will stay
Until the first hiccup
Of hope
Then dust

We live on as stories that will be told
Long after we are dead and gone
But here, we live in silence’s folds
Brooding, sighing silently like Stone
With intermittent moments of
Hope
Then dust

I cannot escape in the city lights
The curse of Stone for whom I bear a name
For the wind that howled in the night
And left ruinous glory and fame
Is here, howling
Howling away my hope
And leaving behind brooding silence
And dust.

tracy echoes.jpg

TRACY YVONNE BREAZILE is the current Mentor in Residence of the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Movement Online Writers Mentorship Program, Breazile is a poet living in the south eastern part of the United States. Peace is her passion. She is currently working on a collection of poetry echoing culture and customs of Africa. This work includes definitions and examples of various forms and functions of poetry as it has evolved through the ages. It is her hope that freedoms of speech encompass the entire globe. She would like to help people voice their feelings and attitudes about
BEARING
Taken aback two Niles her tears flowing
Contempt watery loud and vain screaming

Impatient wrought in silence quivering
Dismayed disheartened pain remembering

Glance frequent conflict and tension seeing
Countenance of the Pan often bearing

Flat efflorescent basin near swelling
Salty distinctive white seas come cresting

Rivers run pouncing north floods oft running
Harsh savages expendable dying

Fiery radiance inside burning
Wolfish rough slaughter selectively cutting

Searching souls lost and several found hurting
Darkly tart maddened land freshly bleeding

Oddly complacent breathless in pausing
Distorted laws breed selective leaving

Sly minds manipulating and stretching
Tough disenfranchise clauses exhausting

james coburn .jpg

JAMES COBURN is an Oklahoma poet in the United States. His first book of poetry “Words of Rain” was published in 2014. The book was a finalist for an Oklahoma Book Award. In 2016, ten of his poems against terrorism and to save the Sunderbans (wetlands) were published in “Onnyodhara” (The Alternative Way) Eid-special issue festival edition in association with “Anushilon” (The Culture & Literature Society) the National Literary Organization of Bangladesh. Coburn is a 2013 inductee of the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame. He has been published in several anthologies. Three of his poems were published in Tuck magazine in 2017-18. He is a resident poet at NonDoc.com.

TOGETHER WE FLY

With more eyes on the land.

We listen to the wind
between us
that touches the dispossessed across oceans.

The rain went down cheeks
of children
before hyenas were sent by tribes to spout
offerings of madness.

We rise above on every street, back road, garden path
and desert, every wilderness, prison, isolated heart.

Transcend the shallow murk.
We fly above splintered cliffs and witness the great rise
of the common man.

ntube ,

NNANE NTUBE A Cameroonian who is passionate about creative writing. A teacher of languages (French and English) but she is currently furthering her studies at the Higher Teachers’ Training College, Yaoundé. Her poems The Lost Bond, The Pains I Feel, Hungry Voices, Change, Trust in Tears, A Child’s Dream, are published by Spill words press. Her poem, The Visitor featured in a magazine in Zimbabwe; 3Mob.com. The poems, The Pains I Feel and If I am Your Rainbow appeared in an anthology of Gender Based Violence, #Wounded which will soon be published in Zimbabwe by the POWAD group (Poets With A Difference). Her poems Before I Met You and As I Hold Your Hand are forth coming in a wedding day anthology in Zimbabwe. She is a social critic, a youth activist for peace and an aspiring actress.
THE CHAMBER

A place of comfort
where speeches saw delight in strolling,
where hearts released all strings,
Where we sit as if in our parlors,
Has been robbed.
Thieves break in and stole our comfort,
They took our legs away,
They buried our hearts in their eyes,
On our seats, they put thorns,
Compelling us to sit still,
Our words they use to pin us down,
Nothing can dare the almighty speaker,
His mouth, the mic of the chamber,
His words, our Bible be,
Who dares?
The chamber has been robbed,
Thieves stole its name
The thieves we know but can’t point out,
The thieves whose voices have overshadowed all T.V stations,
The thieves who prance around like almighty devils
The chamber has been robbed of its seats
Its Shadows have become numbed.

banda underberg

SIPHO BANDA is a self-published poet living in Underberg, KwaZulu Natal in South Africa. His poetry book titled My Loney Crowded Walk can be ordered from him. Here is one of his poems.
IN THE EYES OF HYENAS

The glimmering African wealth
Is a table of extravagant breakfast
In the eyes of these hyenas.
It is served by starving and tearful
African black children
In the presence of our African immobile laws.

We all got up to join endless queues,
sprinkling dust from our hopes;
Hopes that lay fatal in our rights.
We smash the spider and
Forget its hatching eggs of sleaze
On its web,
And we wonder as we wake up
In five years
Of where has all the sheep gone.

We are calling for the new dawns
That can lead us
Against the footprints
Of money-hungry-minds dwelling
In our so called parliamentarians of our Africa.

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WAFULA P’KHISA is a poet, writer and teacher from Kenya. He studied English, Literature & Education at Moi University. His work has been published in The Legendary (issue 48), Aubade Magazine (issue 1), The Seattle Star,The Beacon (ebook anthology), Scarlet Leaf Review, Antarctica Journal, NYSAI Press, AfricanWriter.com, Best ‘New’ African Poets 2015 Anthology, Mgv2 Magazine, Lunaris Review, Best ‘New’ African Poets 2016 Anthology, PPP Ezine (vol 2, issue 1), Advaitam Speaks Literary Journal (vol 2, issue 1), Basil O’ Flaherty Journal, Emanations (issue 2), Disgrace Land (ebook anthology on Zimbabwe), New Ink Review, Dwarts Literary Magazine, Better Than Starbucks (April 2018 Vol III No IV), Tuck Magazine, Nthanda Review and Best ‘New’ African Poets 2017 anthology. His work has also been published in French. He blogs at http //:wafulakhisa.wordpres¬s.com.
~ THE HANDSHAKE: A SEASONAL FLOWERING OF THE LAST BULLET
.
A soldier in combat, with a lone bullet in the barrel, doesn’t fire carelessly
At shadows or falling leaves, lest the foe swings forth; and kills him instantly
To keep with the tide of war, and hold his dreams in good taste
He must throw stones, and ride on backs of others– let the raging hot fire on the forefront
Or the choking red smoke at the rear front, reduce them to ashes
Then return home with a song [of victory], dancing on raw graves of slain kinsmen.
.
We are stones that captain threw at the beehive of angry bees
The deep maps of wounds on our bodies are testimonies of the brutality we suffered from their stings
We are donkeys on whose backs captain rode, through the choking august dust, to the fertile April rain
Left on the edge, where crocodiles of tax, the giant of hunger and the Ebola of theft lick our fingers with real appetite!
The sea has now softened, for him to cross over; eat and brew
what turns our insides wild, and strangles the sun before time.
.
The thunderous handshake, swallowed our cry of agony and shelved urgent dreams
When everyone ran out, to paint the city with laughter and song of early Christmas
When everyone slept with anyone without question, for the handshake forbids segregation
When everyone forgot the colorful dreams we shared, and the fat vision we had for this nation
And dropped the dirges we sang, and the wreaths we carried for the silent ones
The light of the day, like a pretty girl of unknown origin, shouldn’t confuse us to forget the darkness of the night!

eppel

JOHN EPPEL is a retired school teacher who lives in Bulawayo. He has 20 publications of poetry and prose to his name. His work spans over 50 years of life in Zimbabwe
BRATS
They wear dark glasses that make a statement;
their white denims are even more distressed
than the old folk at Edith Duly Home.
Those high-top sneakers, ideal for clubbing,
for trashing, for swigging, from the bottle,
Moet & Chandon Dom Perignon White Gold,
while their elders back home queue for putrid
dog meat, roadkill, discarded cabbage leaves.
On social media they brag, faces
already beginning to twist and bloat,
bragging to their thousands of admirers
that they are immune from prosecution,
like their progenitors, above the law.
These our sons! They post a flame emoji,
the evening is lit, the government
aides are hovering. You and I will pay.

ALECK MABENGE

ALECK T.MABENGE a passionate poet who writes for the love of poetry and as a way to have my voice heard on a broad range of issues. My poetry is influenced by the socio-economy-politica l issues of the day worldwide. My hope is my message reignites the dream of our fathers of a prosperous, peaceful Zimbabwe whose people look forward to brighter future free of social ills, disease and injustice.

SUCKLING THE NIPPLES OF POVERTY
Death beckons,
I am a walking carcass,
Vultures clad in Grey shirts, navy blue fatigues and boots circle me, The shadow of death hangs on my shoulders,
This jungle I call home is on the brink,
War smells in the distant yet not so distant future,
Overweight potbellied Lions in black tinted stretch hearses, Surrounded by armed camouflaged hyenas ready to silence my gnaw,
In this land I call home my bare back toils on the barren savanna, Whilst they whip my cracked dry back with ideas turned ideologies, Idolized by my brainwashed kin,
With every stroke the lash cuts through my skin,
Food is beyond reach I am malnourished,
Even the gods have put a price on the roots I need to relieve the pain, They feed not the production of remedies,
They demand I too become a pharmacist,
I have no access to the sugar I grow in the heat of the low veld,
Nor do I adorn my neck with the glittering harvests of the great dyke, In the periphery I am marginalized from the wealth of my home,
My stomach bloated from suckling on the nipples of poverty.

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SYDNEY HAILE SAIZE 1 born in Harare, Zimbabwe. Is a poet published in a couple of publications including the recently Anthologies Best New African Writers 2017 and the Zimbolicious 2018.
A PLOT OF RESIGNATION

An undercover oath for a coup
Its blood there!
Its war right there!
Let’s bid them farewell
Let’s wish them well
I can see bloodshed, thirst hunger and more bloodshed
The prescription is very clear
I bet from their noise you can hear
I can see greedy
Taking over and overlooking the needy
From their noise I bet you can hear
Yes from greediness
Monopoly and corruption; the fruits will be bloody
Damn red!
Heck no bloody red!..
From my compilation Eyes On The Parliament (poetry of protest)

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EMMANUEL DOUGLAS MULOMOLE was born on 8th December 1994. He is a conscientious poet, avidly quotable writer, story writer and Life advice writer. He is from Africa, Southern part which is Malawi as his country. Many of his poems have been published on national and international website and some of her poems have also been published on international anthologies. He has won many awards from international poetry forums
“STOP CORRUPTION”
My county, my Africa, my continent
They are being embraced by corruption
Corruption is a huge poverty agent
That always bring to us a painful affliction
Let’s herald our words that stop corruption!!
My region, my state, my province
They are being kissed by corruption
Corruption is a weevil governance
That oppresses our development in nation
Let’s raise our placards that stop corruption!!
My house, my home, my compound
They are being surrounded by corruption
Corruption is an invisibly causeful wound
Wound of beckoning the rats to our nation
Lets speak our views that stop corruption!!
My brain, my feelings, my thoughts
They are being abducted by corruption
Corruption is a nefariously gloomy light
Light of bestowing a blindness in our nation
Let’s scream our voice that stop corruption.

MUNIA KHAN is a poet and short story writer, born on a spring night of 15th March in 1981. She enjoys her journey to the literary world. She is the author of three poetry collections : Beyond The Vernal Mind (Published from USA, 2012), ;To Evince The Blue (Published from USA, 2014),and Versified (Published from Tel Aviv, Israel, 2016). Her upcoming inspirational non-fiction book is called Attainable which will be out by Motivational Press, USA. Her works have been translated into Japanese, Romanian, Urdu, Italian, Dutch, Croatian, Spanish, Russian, Greek, Finnish, Indonesian, Bengali, Irish and so on

image-of-munia-khan
“CAN YOU EMBRACE”A VILLANELLE
The miracles of life can you embrace
The rain’s gone before clouds touch the ground
When you hear the call from the land of grace
In all the flames of fire fume’s left the trace
Into the bluest sea the sky is drowned
The miracles of life can you embrace
Creatures are crawling into human race
Where the peace of mind can be lost and found
When you hear the call from the land of grace
Where the mother’s womb is the child’s birthplace
And the earth’s the playground vast and profound
The miracles of life can you embrace
The sorrow ignores the fatal disgrace
Where voice is the pain and tear is the sound
When you hear the call from the land of grace
The teardrops caress on innocent’s face
Before the dawn the singing birds surround
The miracles of life can you embrace
When you hear the call from the land of grace

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CHRISPAH MUNYORO is currently a graduate of Applied Art and Design, Graphics and Website Programming. at Kwekwe Polytechnic College in Zimbabwe . Munyoro is a talented writer, journalist and a dedicated Design Artist. She is natural linguist, fluent in many languages among them English, Shona, Esperanto, Setswana, Swahili, Italiana and Yoruba. She began as a columnist writing feature articles in the Gweru Times in Midlands Province Capital of Zimbabwe. She has worked as a Midlands Chapter Chairperson of the Zimbabwe Association of Freelance Journalists. Munyoro was once a Zimbabwe Representative at Zone IV Regional Youth Games in 2014 Bulawayo in the boxing discipline. The multi-disciplinary artist is registered under AIBA the international body of boxing. The Writer, Artist, Poet, Journalist and athlete has been writing poetry since her tender years and she has participated in various writers, poetry, journalism and sports
NAGANA FEVER

Bites as sharp as that of a wasp
Leaving everything out of grasp
The pain just horrendous
Throbbing and veracious
Headaches, involuntary shivers
Life smoothly planed,leaving slivers
Sleeping so still that you are put in a mortuary
Where reasoning is erased by obituary
In a daze you body view escalating price tag
Silently weeping for the hierarchy think you are mad

Without a dime, life is a sham
All dreams lost, oh what a shame
Graduates but educated fools
Hopes flushed away like stools
Slowly squished life away
Sneaky in a hideous way
Blood being fermented
Leaving souls demented
There is no jury
Everyone is full of fury
Paranoia the only comforter
The parent being the perpetrator
Economy turning into venom
As breathing, being broke very common
Tormented alive
Slowly seeped away life
Full throttle force to the brain
Leaving mess and stench of maim
Taking solace in a comma
Never to wake up, you are a goner.

KHAN

SADIQULLAH KHAN is a gifted poet of immense insights and creativity. Writing on a range of subjects his themes are social, spiritual and politically aware. Looking the domains of day to day living, delving deep into the sufferings and joys he seems to be the voice of dispossessed and the vast majority of poor he passionately identifies, yet his art touches the high mark of existential writing, unique in style and composition, he appears to lead his own genre. He belongs to Wana, South Waziristan in Pakistan
COLLECTIVE ASSAULT
You hurled the first stone, – collective assualt,
You the alma-mater, – enlightened –
But you hurled the first stone
You who the dagger stuffed up sleeve
Who with bloodied cuff – with bone-
Saw, – delimbed, – who the soul
Crush, – ungend, you who for a race
A name, – subconscious bias –
Whose prejudice, – phobic, – hatred –
Out of fear, your caged dark conscience
Your prison of vaulted unconsciousness
For that is intelligent – thought over,
You hurled the first stone
Towards human, or halo of human,
With holy cause, you in collective assault –
Whilst you did, all else watched
You while the first stone hurled.

NUNGARI.jpg

NUNGARI KABUTU WILFRED is a budding poet from the great land of Kenya. Her verses are pregnant with both hope and emotion .Most of her poems are a quest for women freedom and empowerment. She is tired of patriarchal domination in all circles of humanity from reproductive health to politics. Kenya is growing into haven.
SUFFOCATING

so today curiosity killed me,
the anguish of languishing in absolute scarcity,
the adverse demise of infinite resources.
They are taking the air I breathe too.

I am suffocating from the rakishness,
Deficient of sleep from the overbearing rip offs,
they hunt me day and night scooping the little I have,
so today my smile is thin, my laughter more crooked.

In the dark of the night beneath the thin worn out ceiling,
Still wondering how the blood flows in their veins yet,
As they sit on those leather highly sponged seats in Parliament, Planning yet again how they will take the leftovers.

I rummaged through my worn out bag this morning,
After a sleepless starved night, for at least a forgotten coin,
My face twists at the lack, and so I have to walk a mile to work,
So today curiosity killed me, I wanted to know how they do it.

So I came with a borrowed suit at your quarters, Governor.
To seek a job, a graduate gardener, I wanted to see if my vote buys it, Thought I would get a generosity cup but cruelty slapped me at your gates, chased off like a dog, so today my dignity and pride was ripped off too.

vanessa.jpg
VANESSA KALUKWETE is a young Zimbabwean poet and short story writer who has been a ghost writer for a year . Her educational background in psychology has given her a wide base from which she explores as well as approaches her vast topics. Her pieces mainly tackle on social ills and providing an entertaining read.

THESE OLD “BOYS”

They hinge on their mental virginity,
Like bees they swarm around them
As they seek to devour refugee in their innocence

Their eyes are like that of chameleons,
Scanning in an orbit for what can lure their appetites and machines, They drool at them like tortoises, maneuvering like tortoises, Splashing mud everywhere and too careful not to get dirty,
They devour their caged hearts by cushioning them,
They corrupt their taste buds with flirtatious speech,
Massaging their souls with electrifying looks
In they dive to their death day
A life of splendor ,
Germinating an irresistible bond
WITH THESE OLD BOYS.

WAISON.jpg
WILSON TINOTENDA WAISON A poet, flash fiction writer as well as an Editor of Deem.lit.org. An ardent follower of revolutionary campaign “THE ZIMBABWE WE WANT” .Also a blogger @ http://www.deemliteratureor¬ganisation.wordpress¬.com . A human right activist as well as a protestant poet. The founding member of Ghetto Diaries Culture Splash – http://www.ghettodiaries.wo-rdpress.com
DELUSIONS

Amnesia, we have grown to acknowledge the

Absurd canvas splash painted by the elites and
November turned our Black Christmas craft
Sadly we been ill-treated alike bees after its
Sweet nectar we were poised betwixt crowns

About the proficient past and tatty retention
All disapprove the deeds by the elites in plays
No longer felt acclaimed to the first republican
Spawn swell his pockets yet too I get a penny
Secret services he sort to call his corrupt deed

Amend, we no longer long to chant Nehanda’s
Aspirations from her grave,dust as haile spin
Now the paper gut to wet in drips of honesty
Spin the coin topflip and let virtues reign over
Spirited vices the brothers has been cementing

African pride be blaze in the freedom touch too
Again the glorious House of stones be mazed…
Nhamodzenyika’s gallery be torned into shreds
Santa to bring forth fruits of liberty, equality
Savages of a lifetime to be apprehended in slab

GRANDEUR

Of illusory ideas are my thoughts on canvas
Painted from a distant realities… in isolation
All tinctures spread to portray a portal, way
Far fetched and impetuous mammary glands
I drank from, quenching these political ulcers

Guts inflamed from hunger pains, poverty to
Have liberated us to mere word mongers, too
Word guerrillas in hopes of freedom’s grand…
Tranquility is of the drum beat from Jikinya
Fusion of petty miseries and life claiming bills

Agony and humor blends in these dark rooms
And my paw acclaimed to the pains of my wit
With this writ seeker of the second republican
Foster’s attention. We no longer long to chant
Chaminuka’s glorious acts of the old day hours

Nor will I be gentle alike a noble hen eagle…..
To table my grief in sage. Alas avarice haste
Mold bitterness and I shalt Aloud bellow on
Changes from a mountain’s peak. I am weary
To acknowledge abrupt behavior from politics.

ngam.jpg

NGAM EMMANUEL BEYIA, Cameroonian born is poet, educationist, and an advocate of socio-political change. His writings address various issues and every reader is likely to find one that suits their interest. His works have been published in magazines and anthologies the world over. He has also received numerous awards of recognition
He studied in THE UNIVERSITY OF YAOUNDE 1, Cameroon, where he obtained BA in French and English. He then enrolled into Higher Teachers Training College, graduated with a bilingual diploma. Upon graduation has been teaching in local High schools in English speaking Cameroon.

MORIBUND KINGDOM

Spirit of corrupt autocracies
Reincarnates in frivolous,
Peevish politicians who infest
Land with countless political scandals
Transform republic into an personal estate
a cradle of monsters, narco- guerillas
ruled by negative stimuli and self-interest.
Can we call this a mayhem republic or should
we call as others do, bahamas …mmm l mean
banana republic ? sounds funny isn’t it?

Come and see a parliament crammed
with tired octogenarians in plenary
who strain behind looking glasses
sleep, clap, vote bills without questioning
yearning for rapid deliberations to sign checks
and bag home millions of tax payer’s cash
greed and incompetence the only legacies
they prepare to pass on to frustrated youths
Come and see a republic that confuses
between private ATM and public funds,
where the latter goes for personal gain
where Power oscillates like in a monarchy
or simply offered to the dumbest friend or driver
Come and see like in a comedy a republic
that curtails liberties to the minimum
exposing king’s inadequacies is taboo
Sycophants surround courts
they bite and blow, laud over
lavishly adorned velvet suits
covering nakedness of tyrants
See how they try to justify shamelessly
crimes of dictatorship and the impropriety
of misusing public funds and property
with tact and glibness of tongue they
nourish the masses with lies and intimidations
wanton arrests and incarcerations

Come and see a republic that forsters dystopias
breeds disciples of totalitarianism and
gurus of social Armageddon who excel
unwittingly in distracting populace
from their civic responsibilities
here wheels of progress are slowed
by tribalistic instincts and corruption,
oppression and discrimination
Cruelty and most abominably idiocy

Now the dictator is no longer at ease
he glances furtively to all directions
fishes rivals and daring truth speakers
clamps down on them with impunity
His heart trembles more because the
people have defeated fear of torture
His thugs unleash pain with sneerish relish
prey on women and young girls
put bullets on skulls of vibrant youth
who go to the streets to protest
tired of being nourished by lies and propaganda
They see their dreams thwarted by senile men
who connive to keep incumbent on throne
This is the illegally installed monarchy
where Common sense is valueless
ridiculous contortions of laws allowed
an acid dramatization of a moribund empire
at the verge of collapse with mounting heatwaves
for even ghost can’t quell spirit of a determined people.

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ABOUT BRAVE VOICES POETRY JOURNAL– It is the mouth piece of the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign where the protest , resistant and resilient voices provoke the Zimbabwean and African leadership to realize that their role is to serve the masses equally and fairy .It is a platform where Brave Voices and Solidarity Voices express the feelings , the emotions , the pains and suffering of the people through poetry and Flash fiction. Contact the Curator/EDITOR of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal Mbizo Chirasha at miombopublishing@gmail.com , post on MiomboPublishing Facebook Group or inbox the Curator on Messenger.

MBIZO9

EDITOR /CURATOR MBIZO CHIRASHA Recipient of PEN Deutschland Exiled Writer Grant (2017) Literary Arts Projects Curator, Writer in Residence, Blogs Publisher, Arts for Human Rights/Peace Activism Catalyst, Social Media Publicist and Internationally Anthologized Writer, 2017 African Partner of the International Human Rights Arts Festival Exiled in Africa Program in New York.2017 Grantee of the EU- Horn of Africa Defend Human Rights Defenders Protection Fund. Resident Curator of 100 Thousand Poets for Peace-Zimbabwe, Originator of Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Movement. African Contributor to the Table of Words Demer Press International Poetry anthology edited by Hannie Rouweler in Netherlands. Solidarity Member of Global Alliance for Politics and Arts. African Participant to the 2014-2020 World Poetry Almanac Anthologies series in Mongolia edited by Hadaa Sendoo. Co-Editor of German Africa Bilingual Collection with German International Translator Andreas Weiland in 2016 (http://www.street-voice.de/SV7/SVissue7.html).

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