Hated and Loved

(A Sex Worker's Dirge)
In the harsh glare of the day’s light,
Like a leper you shun me,
Like a curse,
Openly you revile me,
Sneering and mocking.
Yet when sunlight fades,
Your secret desires are unleashed,
And you seek me like cool water
In a summer afternoon.
(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010.

War Hero

Battered and worn out

Like an old tire,

You came back

A soldier returning from war,

Half-crazed,

A ghost-like creature,

Haunted by blood spilled

Haunted by the terrors of battle

No trumpet sound for your glory,

But poverty awaiting you

While to the national cake,
Your erstwhile comrades help themselves!

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

My Sunshine

I am not alone.

When all the faces I know,

Into a hazy blur,
Seamlessly merge,

Up I look and see you,

Your beautiful crystal clear,
Like a summer day,

Your smile like sunshine in the rain.

In the dreary winter of my life,

You're the fire that
That warms the chill in me.

In a world simmering hatred,

You are love.

In my confusion,

You are clarity.

In the discord around me,

You are rhythm.

(c) Phillip Chidavaenzi, 2010.

Beauty

The perishable beauty of women,

In my pursuits I seek not,

Such beauty as grandma had in her youth,

But lost in the wash of time

The beauty my heart seeks,

Knows not the ravages of time,

But defies the test of time,

The incorruptible shining through the eyes

Of so innocent a child,

The love flooding the heart of a woman

Bereft of striking looks,

Whom the world frowns upon like an old man

Annoyed by the silly chatter of prostitutes

The beauty I seek is from within,

Beauty that shines from a heart that loves.
(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

The City Man

In the night,
You came to me,

When the city lights,
Dazzled me,

A simple girl,
from the village in the east,

A rustic girl,
from the highlands

New in the big city,
Away from home,

In the ways of the city,
Not wise.

Into my eager,
Receptive heart,
From your lips,
Words fell like pearls, 

Like the diamonds,
From my home.

By your pregnant wallet,
I was blinded,

Like waste paper,
Money you rolled out

The ground in me welcomed your seed,

But when the fruit sprouted,

You were not there anymore,

I just stood there alone,

Holding the baby and broken shards of my heart.
(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

Marijuana Peddlers

They have no skyscraper offices,
Neither a backyard factory
All day long,
Watchful like cats
Expectant like fishermen,
The women stand
In that backstreet,
Which smells of death
From all walks of life,
To them,
Men and women are drawn,
As if bewitched,
For just a tiny twist
of khaki paper,
To spiral them endlessly,
To worlds unexplored,
For a drag
Of intoxicating bliss,
At nightfall,
In that streets,
Where a boy was shot dead,
Another knifed to death,
Like little drug barons,
They count the dollars.
(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

Harvest Time

Quietly I slip into the spirit,

And I see millions upon millions,

Stretched out before me like the sea.

For as far as my eye can see

They are like sheep without a shepherd,

Lost,

Gone astray,

Each to his own way.

I hear a voice like a trumpet,

From heaven reverberating,

Echoing on and on,

The fields are vast,

The fields are ripe

Where are the labourers?

Where are my mighty men and women

Whose hearts burn for souls?

For harvest time is here.

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010
All rights reserved.

Agreement

Plastic smiles,

Firm strong handshakes exchanged,

Over a thousand corpses

Like a dislocated door hinge,

Agreement fails to hold.

Bloodstained papers too slippery

Mother Zimbabwe travails

Like a woman in labour

Birthing a stillborn.

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

All rights reserved.

Don't Define Me

You look at me,
And you think you see me?
These tattered rags,

Don’t define me –

You see me delve into bins,
And you think that's who I am?
A scavenger?
No, you're wrong

Because I live in the street
You think I am a street kid?
I didn't choose this life,
Like a bird I would fly away
If only I had the wings...

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010
All rights reserved.

Pawn's Song

Just a ‘scud’ shef,
And like a scud missile,
Out of their comfort zone,
We’ll bomb them.

For just a pack of cigarettes,
Like trapped mice,
We’ll smoke them out of their safety.

Just a crate of beer boss
Is all it takes,
For us to be stone drunk,
So that out of politics,
We’ll stone them.

For just some marijuana comrade,
To make our consciences dead,
And the dead bodies
We’ll deliver to your doorstep.

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010
All rights reserved.

Hunger for Home

I long for my home,
To smell the sweet scent of wild flowers,
Not the putrid stench of industrial smoke,
Smoke belching out of Harare’s stomach.

I yearn for my home,
Where my neighbour is my kinsman,
Rather than Harare,
Where my neighbour is a stranger,
Hidden behind a fortress called ‘durawall’. 

 

I crave for my home,
Where untainted girls smell of fresh flowers,
Not Harare,
Where easy girls smell of rotten eggs
 

I hanker for my home,
Where every bean that falls to the ground,
In love we share,
Rather than Harare,
Where the 'gospel' of one man for himself,
And God for us all,
Is proclaimed by self–righteous preachers.
(c) P. Chidavaenzi,
2010 All rights reserved.

What Happened to Him?

He walks about like a grasshopper
Black like charcoal,
Smeared with grease,
Carrying a sack with odds and ends
All his treasured possessions in this world
He was a genius in school some say,
A jealous aunt with a brood of failures,
Bewitched him,
Now he staggers about,
His soul buried in the dirt and the grime
He was a youth militias others say,
Killing and terrorising the innocent,
His hands drip with blood,
And the spirits of those he killed,
Now ride on his back,
Like a witch on a hyena's back.

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

Because You Loved Me

You could have said no,
But because You loved me,
You said yes!
 
Unlovable as I was,
The sinner that I was,
You said yes to humiliation.
 
And the rage of the devil,
Wrapped up 
In the iron-clad might of Rome
You confronted with dignity.
 
Tortured and brutalized,
Just to make me free
You wouldn't turn back.
 
Like taut barbed wire,
The whips tore through your flesh
Ripping off pieces of tender flesh
Only so that I would have life,
You said yes.
 
Your Father turned His back on You,
But You wouldn't turn back,
Even as you cried out from deep within:
'My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?'
 
Thank you Jesus,
You said yes for you loved me...
(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

Ode to My Father

This poem was written in honour of my father, Frank Chidavaenzi Tauringana, whom we lost on January 25, 2010.

You were a priceless gift to us

From your loins
Into the world,
You issued us

From your fathers,
To our children,

You were but a link in the chain.

For so many years,

Of the sweat of your brow,
We did partake.

In the wilderness you walked with us,

Everyday you embraced us

At your passing,
The world remained silent,

But in a treasure trove,
Your memories,
We still carry.

From your purposeful life,

Traversing nearly six decades,

So many priceless lessons we draw.

Like a colossus,
Our world you did bestride.

A flame that burnt bright,

Our way,
In moments of darkness,
You did light.

Your family and countrymen,
To your dying day,
You did serve well.

Today we weep for sorrow.

Today we cry for agony.

Our hearts are so broken,

Our spirits have been shattered,

For you’re gone too soon.

The moments we shared,
Forever and ever,
Indeed,
We will cherish.
In eternal peace

May your dear soul rest.

You’re forever our hero.

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

The Queue

in your body,

Without spot, 
without wrinkle,
I saw promise.

An exquisite body,
Fit for a goddess.

Of pleasures untold,
A treasure trove.

Touch me, 
Touch me,

Cried out in ecstacy,
Those succulent breasts.

Follow me, 
Follow me,

Sann out with joy,
Those mountain buttocks,

Like ripe water melons,
Swinging in free-play.

Like a flood 
Passion overwhelmed me,

Raging like a summer veld fire.

The way through your thighs,
Was no narrow path,

But a grave wide open,

The road that to destruction,
Leads.

And as I lie 
In this hospital bed,

Of the many men,
In your queue,

I am just one,
Counting the days,

The calendar pages,
Tearing off.
 
(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

The Little Boy

Dirty and scruffy,

He looks anything,
But a scare-crow.

In his oversized tattered rags,

To his starved wiry frame, 
Hanging

The pungent stench
Of a rubbish heap,

Off he gives.

Clad in designer suits,

Hippopotamus-looking,
Double-chin men

Walk past,
Unbothered,

To some important meeting,
Off they rush,

To discuss matters of state,

How to clear the streets of 'vermin'.

Women,
Fat like the lazy cows of Bashan,

About to fall off their stilettos,
Walk past.

Away from the boy's empty gaze,
They look,

Empty hands,
Out to them stretched,
They ignore,

Off they rush,

Lest they be late
For praise and worship.

(c) P.Chidavaenzi, 2010

Blood Stains

Like grotesque paintings,

The inspired work of a genius

Gone stark raving mad,

They splatter public walls - 'Vote Me'

Screaming red

The colour of human blood,

Shed on the altar of political expediency

Blood that cries out for vengeance,

The corpses now a staircase 

To the pinnacle of power.

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010