Celebration of tears: a poem


We were running among the trees before they first came
Swimming in the water before their first fleet,
Dancing in red soils with heat beating down on our backs before they first came

Tied a noose around our necks, they did
Stole from us, poisoned, they did
Then they decided we were not human

We were hunting game among the bushlands before they came
Swimming, on foot, the wind at out feet
Dancing on the waves, drums beating like heart rhythms, thought us insane

Killed us for greed, they did
Took our children from us, they did
Fed us hate, preaching a God of love

Now we hold on to yesterday’s pain, we are lame
Broken by the ills of another man’s heart
The wounds fester, we are crippled, unable to succeed in their world

Raped our women, they did
Took even burial grounds, they did
Broke our backs and hearts, they did

Now they expect that I rejoice
On the day of their fleets landing, unaware
Of the strings of bitterness, they just don’t care, why should I?

Finally admitted us human, they did
Admitting their wrongs, they did
Said sorry and tried to make amends, they have

But is it really amends if they refuse to acknowledge our lands
Still celebrate that which breaks our hearts?
Can unity exist where wounds still exist, razors cutting?

Maybe in me choosing to forgive, healing can start
For me, my children, the next generation,
Telling them the stories of our past like old.

Teach them forgiveness, I will
Teach them to never be oppressors, I have
Taught them the power of hope.

 

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Pictures of You


With you I am a poet, author, artist,
Regardless of who sees what I pen out or
Sketch to paper or who hears what I whisper to the wind…
Without you, I’m a writer with writer’s block.

Words lose their magic, my love for poetry dies,
My imagination fades, I cease to
Enjoy turning pages to enjoy others’ art.
I am unable to create pieces of art that

Leave me inspired, wondering how
That happened, where the words came from or
Where pictures came from or where the simplest of flowers took its form.
Unable to enjoy the company of your creation,

I die and wither like a beautiful rose
Deserted in a desert of my choosing. Unless
I can enjoy the rays of your Son
And draw or paint pictures of you, I am no artist

Written 11/01/2014- 12/01/2014 (about midnight)

You is home to me


If I could pretend I was not you, I would
Pretend your blood did not flow in my veins. I could
Walk away, if we were not moulded on the same cloud.

If your mother was not mine, I might
Have peace and not want to keep up this fight
For your freedom; for light!

If your child was not my child, embedded
In the depths of my skin, our hearts blended
Into one; hope never ended,

If I had never walked with you,
I could pretend I never felt your dew,
On scared feet, walked through.

We are one, bonded beyond words;
Beyond fears and heart ache, our history links
Us, I can’t forget river banks,

Joyful children, family and friends written
In blood stains that I can never erase, if beaten
Out of me. Home I am smitten

With you and all you could be
Even in strife beauty unfulfilled is all I see!
Zambia, you is home to me.

written November 12th 2013

Migrants got talent 2013


I recently entered a competition called Migrants got talent (MGT), which is held every year in Perth, Western Australia. Made it to the top 3 and this is the poem that got me to the top 3.

It’s a poem about a woman who I spent a lot of my life with. She was a beautiful woman. She was a daughter, sister, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother and friend. As MGT finale was a just a couple of weeks after her death, and a day before mother’s day, I decided the poem would be a great tribute to the woman who was Bwalya Nelson Nyirenda. Her death has been the hardest experience this far.

The poem I performed in the top 3 is this one

The volume is low because had to do it without a mic so if you put the volume up, should be able to hear.

As for the competition, the lovely Miss Ruth Kulaisi won the competition and I believe everyone who took part enjoyed it a lot and we made new friends and it was a place where different people where helping each other out and trying to make sure the other person’s act worked. It was just a lovely experience, with lovely people and I learnt a lot and my confidence levels just went North. I was humbled, and made more aware of this gift that I have been given. It truly is a gift because for me Poetry isn’t something I learnt or can force out of myself. I’m realising more and more that I can touch people with this gift in ways I never thought possible and God can be glorified through it. It is not something to use to make myself feel better than others or make others feel less but it should lift people to where they can be.

I never thought I would ever be on a stage performing poetry and yet here I am. Nothing that day went according to plan! gets you to a point where you laugh despite the chaos! and possibly in spite of it…lol…it was fun! I managed to leave out one line in each poem and the performances weren’t as good as I would have liked but people were moved and it was a great improvement from my first poetry slam. I got to stand on a stage with people with massive voices, great dancing ability and kindness beyond measure and got leadership training. It  was beautiful…Really beautiful.

I will post details for anyone interested in taking part in the next one whenever that will be. For anyone interested in helping out the Metropolitan Migrants Resource Centre or If you are a migrant living in Western Australia, feel free to visit their website at http://www.mmrcwa.org.au/ and check out what they are up to and whatever help they could offer or you could offer the community.

The Pangaea Prize


Just thought I would tell you guys about a poetry competition that is open on the Poet’s billow website. Anyone around the world can enter and you stand a chance to win a $100 and an interview to be featured on the website. You also stand to have one of your poems (if you win) nominated for a pushcart prize, among other things.

If you are considering making money out of writing or just want to start putting your poetry out there, this could be something to consider. Finalists will also get feedback on their poems so that’s something to consider because it gives you the chance to improve on your skills.

There is a $10 entry fee for each set of up to seven poems. For all other details visit http://thepoetsbillow.org/poetry-awards/the-pangaea-prize/ . The site seems genuine and I’m a regular visitor but please check for yourself before entering as I do not want be held accountable for any thing that might arise if you do decide to enter.

undefiled


There’s a girl, a lot like myself…not much different from any other girl.
She’s never known what it feels like to be pure, to be untouched. She’s been used her whole life by those who should have known better…Those who claimed to love her
She is scared, broken and unable to love…
Christ has saved her but she finds herself struggling with the same demons of the past. She can’t let go.
The thought of trusting any man is just impossible; to love him would be weakness. She can’t bring herself to lie with a man she loves, one she’s married to because it just seems wrong somehow…
If only she was clean, pure, untouched, undefiled…

There’s another girl, lost and pregnant.
She thought it wouldn’t happen to her.
Oh God what is she to do? It was just one time and now she’s paying the price.
She’s only in high school, her parents will kill her. She has nowhere to turn!
She’s given them reason to throw her out…what will she do? She was right after all! “You’re a naughty girl!” she would say
She decides to have an abortion…better that than having to face that witch of a woman…better than proving her right!
As she walks out of the clinic…she wishes she could undo what she had done…but she can’t! the baby is gone…she feels cold inside…empty
They said it was just tissue…not yet alive but she knows it’s more
“it’s moving,” she had heard the nurse say. Her baby is gone
“you’ve already proven her right!!!” she hears a voice say, “you’re naughty even without the baby to prove it! You are defiled, unclean…”
She wishes she were untouched

There’s another girl, she’s a mother.
People ask, “How come? Isn’t it wrong in Christianity to have a baby before you’re married???”
they question her beliefs, they question the existence of her God.
She proclaims Christ and yet is bound by sex. She can’t bring herself to be with anyone, and yet she touches herself. She knows it’s wrong and yet she can’t seem to stop.
She can’t stand men. She’s been hurt to many times to know…to many times to let go…
She met a man, who’s just lovely and knows he’s not like the rest.
She’s been abused and has herself abused.
She is unworthy of him just as she is unworthy of Christ
oh how she wishes she were clean, pure, a virgin,
“Untouched”

There’s a girl, she sees her friends, one after the other, falling prey to the culture around them.
She decides to join in…
They Party like the world, dress like the world and make sure they are in Church on sunday
they sleep around, always making sure they use contraception
they look down on the unwed mother…they gossip about the one caught in the arms of the married man
They pretend that’s not them. Testing forbidden treasures, ,one, two, three, four, playing with toys and all, It’s just experimenting…No one need know, forgetting that “there are no secrets in life.
They are fooling everyone including themselves. And yet Christ knows…he sees them just like the others. Just like those they look down on
They might just be worse off because remorse does not touch them
They are unclean, untouched, defiled

There’s a girl, she introduces her friend to the party scene…tells her friend lies…handing her over to the lion himself.
She sees her friend going astray but only gossips…She doesn’t want to be judgmental, after all, Christ said “judge not!”
her friend is taken by the world…her Masters voice she no longer hears. Yet she has her legs still crossed and that’s all that matters right???
Both are unclean and defiled…touched

There’s another girl,
She dresses just right…nothing vulgar, decent.
She’s in the house of worship every service
she gives her tithe, serves, says her prayers, refrains from forbidden foods, does what is required of her…the whole deal. She sometimes thinks bad thoughts and occasionally lies…but it’s nothing serious…you can’t do everything the holy book says….
She follows the law of God
She sees girls throwing their lives away and sleeping around, living like the world and thinks she’s better than them. She thinks, she is clean, undefiled, untouched.
She doesn’t share Christ because they are unworthy of Him.
She forgets that she like them, like all humanity is  unclean, not untouched, defiled…that it is Christ who cleanses us.

letting go of the invaluable


I have been writing poetry for as far back as I can remember. I’ve used it mostly to process my thoughts and my emotions. Generally I can’t write unless under high emotions. I look over the pieces I’ve written and majority of them have been written under despair…In the moments of my life when I felt lost and had no way of getting out. Some have been in anger and grief, some at a point where I just let go, very few in a state of joy, love or peace.

This year has been sort of a change for me. My writing has been more balanced, less sad; I guess a reflection of my state of mind. I have written so much since July and today have to admit that I think I will never see those writings again. I saw them last a month ago, tucked in between the covers of my notebook that I misplaced together with my bible.  To be honest I’m not really all that bothered about losing my bible, not because it’s not important to me but because the notebook contained my quiet time with God; Notes about what I got from reading my bible. Poems I wrote from gems I found in the bible. Poems about loss, poems about love. I can’t get those back. I can get a new bible, and yes, I will have to get acquainted with it but I can’t get those pieces of writing back…Not happy at all but trying to hold on and hope I will find them is just shaking my walk and because of that I have to finally say goodbye…Time to let go of the idol and get acquainted with a new bible, get a new notebook and get back to writing.

Faith


This is another repost of one of my old facebook posts. It was posted way back in May last year.

“bravery is not the absence of fear”, NOR is positivity the ignoring of circumstances, feelings, horrors of the age. Bravery is getting up each morning in spite of and despite the feelings and pain and fear and living life to the full. possitivity is proclaiming God’s promises despite it all and looking at the circumstances and seeing beyond to what lies ahead because of God. It admits how bad things are but doesn’t stop there…look beyond! Both require FAITH 

I forgive you


You walk in and I freeze,
I don’t want to be here.
At five you’re the witch in my nightmare,
The demon I feared, My tormentor
A mere man

I discover that I’m the girl in the shebeen
And you’re my Zamdela!
Finally making sense
The tears that never graced my cheeks,
Finally flow,
Realisation hits!
Worse still, eleven and I understand exactly

Can’t push you to the back of mind anymore
Your face is etched in my mind’s eye
Your frame towering over me like a cloud
Threatening to bring devastation.
I can’t push you to the back of the room even if I tried.

Rather fear gripping me,
I cover my face,
Wasn’t meant to look.
I hear your voice.
‘Cover your eyes’ was your request.
But I understand more than you think…

There’s something wrong with this set up…
I’m gripped with fear,
Yet what follows is a blank!
What follows? And what follows,
I hope to know
But like a rain coat as the nimbus finally gave way to the storm,
The blanket kept the memories out.

My world, crushing down at the realisation
Yet has been broken from the day you strayed
No matter how much I don’t remember,
A part of me still knows that the storm hit.
Just have to look at the broken walls of my soul to know Katrina hit with a vengeance,
For what crime I’ll never know.

Besides,
The rain coat never went down to my toes…Did it?
I’ve carried your sin, guilt and shame and made it my own
Ever since…ever since you strayed I’ve ached and screamed
And no one had eyes wide enough to see
And even after they knew, they let you in.

No wonder
I cried myself to sleep for so long…
In the dark where I could hide…
So no one could see, the pain you caused.
I wanted to be strong, but all I was lost.
Felt expected.
Your deed, somehow never mattered…

No one saw your shame on me,
The fear in my eyes.
No one heard, even though I could,
My heart threaten to break my sternum open and bleed, like it always has.
God forgot too…right?

Hurt and lost you left me,
You, I loved and respected,
You denied me my childhood,
You denied me who I was.

The truth I do not know…
But the lies I cannot separate.
The sound of your voice still imprisons me,
Filled with lies and the truth only you know…
The truth that you replaced with lies…
Another kind of truth…that leaves me with nowhere to turn

Tell me …give me back what you can never replace.
That which you have stolen that I can never reposes.
Give me my heart’s desire…
To know that which I never knew and yet did know.
To know that which I forgot you took.

The confusion, so great
The sanity you deny me so important.
Destined for success,
Formed by One greater than this
I know I will be fine.
Because God saw you and I before the foundations of the earth.
He saw your error and my pain and He saw the destruction that Cut through…
That Kat threw,
That you threw.

The day you strayed,
opened the door for Satan’s work.
But like foundation and destiny colliding, He won it for me.
I will cry no more…
You poses me no more…
You imprison me no more…
I forgive you!