Of ReGimes, ReRUNs and the Month of my birth!


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During this grey month of winter . Mountains  are  covered  in this grayish tint  of mist over their heads, while grasses  dance  along   to the sweet  bitter cold whistling  winter winds. Dry leaves  sing along  with a descending tenor  as their fall off winter shriveled trees . The wind is cold.  Birds are usually quiet this time of the year, they sing  only when the golden tinge of the winter -tired appear on either of the two horizons. I was born in  this month – the month of bitterness , violence and numbness.  In this month  the Soweto died in  a reckless  killing by the apartheid regime. What a fuss , horrible. Yes we live to  forgive – with   memories  haunting  peasant iron-hoe skulls – We celebrate the DAY OF AFRICAN CHILD.

In the year of the blood ballot   . In my country  , a country once the   honey hive and the breadbasket  of the African Continent. Blood flooded villages , death rained our valleys , tears dripped the aged  and wrinkled of the war tired  poor patriots- CODE named the Re-RUN- JUNE 27 2008. Those who were perceived as reckless voters were chopped off their not-voting good hands. Grief engulfed the land whose belly is pregnant with uranium  , gold , diamond , emerald and copper. The masses are hungry , tired of abuse and corruption- MADNESS!

I was born  in this sweet -bitter month  – June . My mother remember that the night  of my coming to this earth . It was raining , it was after a brutal pungwe , after vanamukoma varova vatengesi namatanda, vanamukoma vamboimba. After  a dinner  of village goat meat , lashes and songs- What a PARADOX!. Bullets shelled that night  resonating with claps of thunder. As war rained , winter rain rained. A Life was born – a booming voice, charcoal black veil, a tight fist clutching  talents , hopes , dreams  , words – WORDS.

I feel to  recollect some of the poems  i shared some years i go.



Dear commissar
my poetry is
political baboons puffing wind of vendetta
splashes of sweet flowing buttock valleys of pay less city labourers
rough crackling red clay of sanctions smashing poverty corrupted face of my village
presidential t shirt tearing across bellies of street hustlers
mute bitter laughter of political forests after the falling of political lemon trees

Dear commissar
my poetry is
foot signatures of struggle mothers and green horns
bewitched by one party state cocaine
new slogan hustlers boozing promises after herbal tea of change rhetoric
street nostrils dripping stink and garbage
tears chiseling rocky breasts of mothers who lost wombs
in the charcoal of recount

Dear commissar
my poetry is
rhythm of peasant drums dancing the new gimmick
political jugglers eating voter drumsticks after another ballot loot.


harare tonight you sleep a full sleep, may be
after a sunset of a nationalist and democrat table talk
cactus and roses blooming together
your sunshine eaten by rough talk and hate verbs
pavements designed by banana peels and potholes extended from
robot less highways
that beggar still linger around the freedom corner/julius nyerere avenue
the blind woman grioting around liberation street/herbert chitepo

Bulawayo your sacredness is bound
by bones of mzilikhazi and breath of lobengula
place of killing , dissidents and innocents
died when bullet wind swept your nights
tell me how many times you coughed blood
a place of kings , Ntabazinduna

your intestines pregnant with gold ,copper , iron and more
heart of the nation
where soils heave with wealth
crocodiles depleted your dignity
leopards stole the color of your rhythm
flex your muscles and claim your heartbeat

Masvingo Ezimbabwe
great zimbabwe,pride robbed
changamire and mutapa turning their in magic stones
inflation eroded your pride
corruption rode your back
blood corroded your dignity
cry for a ceremonial cleansing
land of sacred , land of rituals
land of silence

mist of inyanga sneeze glee and laughter in your back
while chimani mani cough out threats and thoughts
lungs of marange choking with diamonds
corrupted fields
defamed wealth
here in the land of the east , i see
the scarred face of the sun
chopped breasts of the moon
villagers tired of toyi toyi
patriots damned by hunger
peasants freezing in propaganda
revolutions eating kindergartens
butcheries of human flesh
winter elections erected poverty.

i see uniform less children trudging through
winter corridors, barefooted
you are colder than joburg,though emotions
boiled during elections
cockroaches breeding other cockroaches in
once midlands hotel
emptiness , hunger ,cold and thoughts
city of progress , rewrite your progress

death threatened even the dead and their shadows
when struggle returned back to war
on the road again fighting enemies of the state their sons
perfume of human flesh roasting in charcoal of violence
March was cruel than april
this season was a parody of nazi hitler

i like how zambezi vomit fish
crocodiles eating rot and sun
hippos dancing the moonshine
zambia whispering copper in your ears
you are regaining your light.
let fabrics of madness bleach in acid of reason.


children will not go down with the sinking sun
sacrificed on altars of ambition
crucified buy forces of expediency
tear graffiti scrawling
on debris of their slums of poverty and hovels of crime
we are children born out of the hot sun of Sahara and burning sands of Kalahari

we belong to the semen and condom drunk streets of home
womb of our past explode with souls of martyrs and bones of freedomites choked by ropes of stigmatization
we are morphine -fuelled and marijuana
doped youngsters whose praise
and freedom is robbed by slogan fraudsters

we are dogs breakfasting
from cucumbers and feasting condoms for supper
children of pandemic genocided villages
slaves of sugar and blood
never fondled the breasts of freedom
licked the tears of our mothers
have no dignity to celebrate
we are souls blighted in sufferings
bring us nanobitas of democracy
not shigellas of autocracy.



Mbizo ChirashaImage may contain: one or more people is  a  Creative Communities Expert, Opinion maker/ Contributing Writer/Columnist{World Pulse/www.worldpulse.com/mbizo chirasha,Bulawayo 24 news.com/www.bulawayo24.com/mbizochirasha}, Blogging Publisher/Writer/Editor, an internationally acclaimed Performance poet, Creative /Literary Projects Specialist, Mbizo Chirasha is the Resident Coordinator of 100 Thousand Poets for Change-Global in Zimbabwe. He is also the Advisory Council Member of ShunguNaMutitima International Film Festival in Zambia, an Advocate of Girl Child Voices and Literacy Development .He is the Founder and Projects Curator of a multiple Community, Literary, and Grassroots Projects including Girl Child Creativity Project, Girl Child Voices Fiesta, Urban Colleges Writers Prize, and Young Writers Caravan. Mbizo Chirasha has worked with NGOS and other institutions as an Interventionist [using creative arts as models of community education, information dissemination and dialogue].The interventions include HIV/AIDS Branding Project [Social Family Health Namibia 2009 – 2010], HIV/AIDs Nutrition Project [Catholic Relief Services 2006] , Arts for Drought Mitigation[Swedish Cooperative Centre2006] He is widely published in more than Hundred Journals, Magazines, and Anthologies around the world. He Co-edited Silent Voices Tribute to Achebe Poetry Anthology , Nigeria and the Breaking Silence Poetry anthology,Ghana.His Poetry collections include Good Morning President ,Diaspora Publishers , 2011 , United Kingdom and Whispering Woes of Ganges and Zambezi,Cyberwit Press ,India ,2010. He was the Poet-in-Residence from 2001-2004 for the Iranian embassy/UN Dialogue among Civilizations Project; Focal Poet for the United Nations Information Centre from 2001-2008; Convener/Event Consultant This Africa Poetry Night 2004 – 2006; Official Performance Poet Zimbabwe International Travel Expo in 2007; Poet in Residence of the International Conference of African Culture and Development/ ICACD 2009; and Official Poet Sadc Poetry Festival, Namibia 2009.In 2010 Chirasha was invited as an Official Poet in Residence of ISOLA Conference in Kenya. In 2003 Mbizo Chirasha was a Special Young Literary Arts Delegate of Zimbabwe International Book Fair to the Goteborg International Book Fair in Sweden. He performed at Sida/African Pavilion, Nordic African Institute and Swedish Writers Union. In 2006 was invited to be the only Poet /Artist in Residence at Atelier Art School in Alexandra Egypt. In 2009 was a Special participating Delegate representing Zebra Publishing House at the UNESCO Photo –Novel Writing Project in Tanzania, Mbizo Chirasha also work as a Performing Poet for Educational, Diplomatic, International, National, Media and Cooperate organizations .He also works as a Proof Reader/Editor , Poet /Writer in Residences for Institutions , Media Relations Strategist for projects, GirlChildVoices /Talent Advocate, Literacy Development Activist and Creative/Literary Projects Advisor/Specialist. Credentials Member – Zimbabwe Writers Association Member- Creative Writing Group Zimbabwe Member of the Jury- International Images Film Festival Resident Coordinator- 100 Thousand Poets for Change Global Contributor – Stellenbosch University Literary Project/Slip net Member /Contributor- World Pulse Graduate- Chitaqua Reading Project/US Embassy ,Certified social media practitioner-Young Nation/ US Embassy, Prize winner Aids out of Africa Project- United States, Founder- Creative/Literary and Girl child Projects Producer/Curator- Girl child Voices Fiesta Member/Mentor- Writers International Zimbabwe, Mentor- Zim talent Hunt, Former Volunteer Poet in Residence- United States Embassy, Harare.

The Diary of Tsopotsa!


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MiomboPenImage may contain: one or more people– One of these days . It rained , it later sobered. rain stopped.  i mean it later stopped , Yes i mean.  I was  in  my home library   reading  , relaxing  and reading, i mean  the day was simple  though  gray  and uninviting. She called me  , she  had  arrived  in Zimbabwe , Harare the previous . She wanted to talk to me ,  no romance here . no. She was given my  name  by  some artists , she was told of  my hardworking , my spirit of creativity , my respect  to  women kind. IT IS TRUE    I was brought up by   a women .

Tsitsi came to Zimbabwe   during the rain season  , i forgot the date , i was broke , i was  depressed , Zimbabwe was broke . My energy was smoked out , yes i was   tired of the country  i was born .  Tsitsi called . We met  at  Mug and Bean . She was anticipating  a selfish , proud  and stupid  petit  -kleptomania . I arrived  at the venue , simple dressed , drenched  and wet . LIFE.

I didn’t  beg her . She bought  a black-label  Zimbabwean brand  beer , i gulped it with the hunger  of English , yes iam a village student  what do you expect? We   experienced , stole  and drank  traditional brew.  I drank the drags  . It was beautiful meeting . She told me of the wonderful project – Setseno Women Writers Mentor ship project for Africans and Zimbabweans .   Her best story on Amazon  DIARY OF THE USAH , her other  famous  story  Zebra crossings  which is featured on YouTube as a trailer. Wonderful digital marketing.

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I responded , i needed in my creative life , she needed  me in her professional life , it all became professional . THE SISTER is  inspiring . She is the inspiration of   young African girls and women . She discovered  her talent   during the greenness of her age. VERY VALID. We talked about my blogs , projects , gender issues  and life .

Tsitsi went back to London after few days  of  our rainy   , soddy  and wonderful . She  called . We started working  together , digital working . She is still working hard and iam  working hard. I respect diehards.

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After few weeks Tsopotsa made it . She won a prize , not only a prize , i mean an international prize. She is  creatively empowered , industrial motivated  and mesmerizing . Yes i wrote about her achievement , achievements on this journal.

May  young African and global girls take a leaf  from this    health worker, this  nurse , this creative philanthropist , this writer , this mother , this human being  for the betterment of their creative filament.

To book lovers , book buyers  ,  story lovers , poets  , to  be partners and the global community . Please kindly  find Tsopotsa on facebook using https://www.facebook.com/tsi.tsop and  email Tsoposta mobileelaine@gmail.com .



Tsitsi TsopotsaImage result for tsitsi tsopotsa  is a force to reckon  in the literary arts industry and she has become an inspiration  to many . She dives into  romance , fable like  stories then dives back into comedy and satire. Her    most popular stories include the Diary of the USAH and The Zebra Crossings . These are all Zimbabwean stories  though they may differ in  time setting and even place setting. Tsitsi  has become a global  writer/ storyteller  who tells the Zimbabwean story in  the global arena. Tsopotsa has proved  that she  is truly a creative force   by winning a prestigious  award  late 2016  with BAWR for her story ,Diary of the USAH. The mesmerizing author  has been featured in several blogs , sites and  airwaves .Her profiles have been published  in various websites and newspapers. The Writer , Social Entrepreneur , Cultural Activist and Creative Artist ENJOYS  both African and International recognition. Her endevours can be tapped by the growing generations of Young writers. She is following up the footsteps of FEMRITE , WRITIVISM, STORYMOJA    and other Organisations  through her  strong  , creative and artistic voluntary mentor ship organisation Setseno which is also a publishing  organisation.  Underneath is   the record , files , posts and mentions  of the good and inspiring writings / works of Tsopotsa past and present.

Tsitsi lost her mother in April  2017. May you rest in PEACE MaTsopotsa.

This article is compiled , authored and published by Mbizo Chirasha , a poet ,  a word press publisher ,  Writer , Columnist   and a Creative Communities Expert  from Zimbabwe   . Email the publishing project  at mbizotheblackpoet@gmail.com.

Send our comments  , likes and Follow us on the journal site .




Letter to Selfless Comrade and other Comrades!- A dedication to Andreas Wieland by Mbizo Chirasha


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Image result for a scribbled  envelope with  respect to germanyDedicated Andreas Weiland and global poets , writers and organizations.


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I learnt that  in life many PEOPLE smile and laugh with you , when the sky is blue and  the sun is shining. And  when thick  and pitch dark shadows creep  to announce the setting sun in your life for example  and when  darkness   rage  against the light of your  life ,their wide smiles  fade and their  friendly giggles sink into oblivion. Such is life! I have since learnt a lot in this life, our life, and our lives are sinked in experiences both of negative and positive nature.

Brother Selfless this is my Letter to you.

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You are a special brother Selfless Comrade. You are advanced in age but your time is not yet up and your ocean is not yet full.        We still need   your utmost commitment, your humble service to others, your wisdom, your teachings and mentorship. God will keep you for a long time. Despite our differences in climates, ages, economies, education and talents. You never minded   much of my pestering   .You embraced me as a brother during all times .You are  an all weather friend. You met me in the time i needed  others most. You are God sent. You met me at cross roads, you heard my story, you owned my story, and you told my story. My story became your story, It is your story. Iam touched with   your commitment. You guided me and whispered advice in the ears of my mind. You gave me the understanding of the heart and you taught me to listen to my heart ,my mind and my soul in anything i do.

Many people ran away from me including those i share the rising sun and its setting with. Even those that I watched the drama of the moon and the soap opera f seasons with, they vanished out of my life. Some wished me dead. Some laughed out their lungs. Some gave  me fake smiles and faking concern.

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Despite all and distance apart from each other, you stood by my side. Am quite touched and iam short of words. You are selfless and great man. You rocked, you deserve the Germany, the African ,the Zimbabwe and the Global Nobel.

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My committed, self less brother you spend sleepiness nights for my sake . You understand the value of talent, of creative enterprise, the importance of poetry to the masses of this world. I didn’t know out there that i got powerful friends, committed poets and selfless colleagues, who are dedicated to the duty of saving others, knowing no colour ,race   and political orientation. I concluded that African writers, poets and our organisations should learn from this your gesture and experience.

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I am just a humble- rude tough made rural cultivated peasant,  a pen whiz kid who never expected   to impact the world and his country through  crude verse and tough metaphor.  I have  become to understand that Poetry is the soul of the masses; Poetry is the heartbeat of the villages. it is the rhythm of the  streets though it stinks rottenness  in corridors of the elite, it roasts  fat cats and autocrats in pans of  satire.

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Its cold out here but you made it a little warm through your commitment and selflessness.

Brother Andreas you taught me how to weave the life gift of giving and sharing, of companionship. You taught me to do things with right motive, the right emotion, the right fulfilment and the right passion.

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Many today got the wind of my threatening condition. I am a victim of the truth and justice , Send  my greetings  to concerned ,true and loving people around the world- Professor  in Aachen Germany and her family , Researchers in Enger Germany ,in Mexico ,in Glasgow,Slovakia,UAK,Savana Africa, Tropical Africa, America ,Texas, the Latina, Sweden , Norway ,Greece,brasil ,PortugaL,SA,Zambia , Zimbabwe . Mr Pan Global icon-This is my letter to you. I can’t thank you to the fullest. I think this is my first way to thank you.  I thank you from this my exile, away from the land that buried and still carry the remnants of my umbilical cord, away from the laughter of Shungunamutitima,away from the roaring Zambezi, away from the hustle and bustle of fellow vendors, away from the smell of cow dung and sting of wood smoke that shaped my dreams and the art of my poetry- the smell of fresh cow dung.

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I say to you Andreeas Wieland. I met a brother, a father, a committed poet, advisor in you. The counsel of your words and your wisdom will be carried in the depth of  my marrow forever.

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Thumbs up to you  COMRADES AROUND THE GLOBE WHO HEARD THE VIBE AND LEANED BY ME, to brother  Sendoo OF MONGOLIA , Fernandez,  sister Zoe,to PEN GERMANY , to Professors in Aachen  and the family ,to Slovakia, to PEN INTERNATIONAL ,TO PEN SOUTH AFRICA, to Tsitsi TSOPOTSA,TO ALBERT MUTEBA – Zambian Filmmaker, To Cde FREEMAN CHARI, Roende Watt  for hospitality ,Care and security in Modest suburbs of SouTH AFRICA, to Promise Sangweni , to Tylot Chirasha,Cathrine Magodo Mtukwa ,to  Cde ShoesLambada for ZHPR,to Chido Musasiwa and Muzondo ,EricTsabola for accomodating  me in hard times in Zimbabwe and Robert Tapfunaeyi for adv ise and company, Chirikure  for standing by young poets in Zimbabwe , Bhanditi for advise and Daves Guzha for the shoulder during tenure of  self projects at Theatre in the Park.

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Yours with Sincerity.


Mbizo Ratsauka Chirasha- the Citizen ,Poet of the People ,the BLACKPOETAA

Meet the Citizens Poet- Mbizo Chirasha!


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Your Morning Glory in Solidarity with Moto Republik!by Mbizo Chirasha


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From Mbizo-This was a quick morning glory  written to be in solidarity with the threatened MotoRepublik for being critic of the state,  the state fears movements who reflect on issues for the best communities .The state now attack critics of any form. I will always write , what is right is might ,what is might is right. Excuse the grammar  this blogged is rushed for the better of the  masses  and the international community to know what is happening in Zimbabwe. Moto Republik was founded by social justice activist and Poet Cde Fatso aka Sam Munro and Outspoken a brilliant poet  with other African/Zimbabwean changemakers through media ,poetry,theatre and other artistic methods. The hub assisted the success of many young people in cash stripped and employment shambled Zimbabwe. Lets all be in solidarity with MotoRepublik and its leadership, Contact Mbizo Chirasha mbizotheblackpoet@gmail.com , www.facebook.com/mbizochirasha , www.twitter.com/mbizochirasha





bad people, traitors are ones who finished diamond money 15 billion while the people of marange are in abject poverty, traitors are people who sit in parliament for allowances and banquets, while the city is choked with moral decadence and disease, traitors are people who build mansions in the name of richness , while our mothers who voted for them are  eating berries in villages, traitors are the people who sing the revolutionary and socialistic rhetoric, while they beat and roast the same socialistic,revolutionatistic voters in furnaces of violence and pans of capitalism, traitors are those who teargas vendors who are trying to survive and send children to schools , pay rationed water and loadshedded power, traitors are ones who  took Itai Dzamara , traitors are the one who refused Bhanditi to perform his satiric plays at parliament, traitors are ones who preach peace and unity while they sacrifice the rights of people in tribal ,regional factionalism, traitors are the ones who buy expensive jewelry , while binga is leaving in fear of mounting malaria and cholera, traitors are the ones who demonize potential political leaders because of their individualistic,egostic and autocratic , selfish ambitions. Traitors are the ones who have failed the plight of the poor farmers by scraping tobacco prices on them, traitors are the ones who crumbled parastatals  through corruption- Railways , Roads, FOOD Industry and Universities, traitors are the ones who just want artists ,poets and writers as praise singers than being the voice of voiceless, Traitors are ones who do not want to license the media , for media democracy and diversity, traitors are the ones who thrive on the blood and the frustration of young people , talented artists , vocal contributors in fear of being exposed, traitors are the ones who rush to voters when it is ballot rush season and sing nothing but empty wind, traitors are ones who sleep , fart and concentrate on whatsapp in parliament while others discuss progress, traitors are ones who killed in 2007 , 2005 , 2009, 2013, Traitors are not patriots .Patriots are us poets , writers , Motorepubliks , who are fighting for social justice, political sanity , corrupt free Zimbabwe, moral best country, Iam a better patriot than traitors who leave their people going to die in diaspora running away from their misdirection, traitors are the ones who make country cashless while we got diamond , gold , elephants , rich soil ,platinum, rivers , attractions , women ,strong youth ,professors , doctors ,thinkers. Traitors must be taken to church .Please prophets kindly pray for the Traitors and covert them to good morals. Iam patriot iam telling the traitors the best thing through satire , metaphor and paradox, traitors are the ones persecuting true revolutionary cadres , who  suffered the brunt of bringing the nations to fat cats and corrupt zealots who now enjoy the creme dela-creme of the national cake while heroes breakfast gossip, factions, empty tea and feasted upon by bedbugs , salmonella and tuberculosis, while true heroes and heroines are thrown to the peripheries and edges of national neglect. Poets rise up for your and take stand, change and transform this traited land into a better world

About Moto Republik

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It is a co-creation space where you can work collaboratively to sharpen your craft, and produce the big new ideas. The creative hub consists of a rooftop garden members’ canteen, co-working space for creatives, office space for your start-up organisations working in media/arts/youth activism, a training and workshop space, and office space for Magamba Network staff.The hub is located in a funky shipment container unit and renovated property in the Greater Avenues area down the road from Travel Plaza. You have to see it yourself to believe it! The ‘Moto’ in Moto Republik stands for the flames of creativity; while the ‘Republik’ shows that it is a vibrant and inter-dependent community.

As one of Moto Republik’s founding board members, Fungai Tichawangana, put it: “Moto Republik will be that place where sparks can come together and ignite big fires of creativity, not just to entertain audiences, but to challenge and provoke them too.”If you are working on a big idea, if you want to have significant social impact using the creative industries as your thrust then THIS SPACE IS FOR YOU.

Moto Republik offers flexible membership packages ranging from basic services in the Casual package at $15 per month to the more professional and serious Moto Native package which is all inclusive and offered at $100 per month. In between we have the Creative package and the Hub Connect packages which vary in pricing between $50 and $75/month. Other amenities range from getting a business address, permanent workstation or hot desk depending on your needs, discounts on a range of items including printing and copying, coffee and eats from the rooftop members’ canteen, member-exclusive rates for venue rentals, event access and more. Membership is now open, and all sign-ups are done directly on the Moto Republik website, so let us know if you’re interested in membership so we can start allotting workstations. It is first come first serve for those who fit the creative profile, so spread the word not to delay in signing up!

Moto Republik creative hub is brought to you by Magamba Network which has a track record for pioneering in creative development having birthed and built the fastest growing music and arts festival in Zimbabwe, Shoko Festival; producing Zambezi News which has become internationally recognised as a leading satire show on the continent; hosting some of Harare’s leading events in hip hop, spoken word and comedy; and of course our foundation-laying work of training young citizen journalists and running Kalabash as a leading youth opinion website.

Once we’re up and running, come through to see what all the buzz is about and join the creative revolution in Harare…It’s gonna be fun!

Aluta Continua!Viva Magamba , Viva Moto ,Viva Shoko!

DEaR MOtHeR and Other POeMs! by Mbizo Chirasha.


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Mbizo Chirasha – the International Womens Day with his carefully selected poems .

Dream of Rain

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This is the land that fed our dreams
Wind suffocated in the yellow smoke of wheat
Our fields’ crimson red and clouds gray with millet sheaves
Pans hissing with oil baking bread
Gleaming thighs of  our days sweating under the rain season sun that bloomed,
The flamboyant flowers
Weeds of hunger already been exiled



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Raised through the bowls of sweat in millet acres
Through the forests of bullets shells and wounded earth
Guyana is not the mist of forgotten and tired centuries
It is the petal whose scent perfumed the stink of revolutions.
Exiled pauper.


Patriot of home in the squalor of my exile
Pauper who brewed the revolution and never drink from the gourd of freedom
In this exile, power is the game of bullet than the ballot
We built water tanks  but we still buy water
Peasants have no cassava to feed babies but helicopters to fly them to propaganda stations.


Haiti, Haiti ,Haiti

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Sorrow stole the heart of the land
Lungs of the east suffocating
South heaving with heavy smell of sweat
The west drunk with blood
The north intoxicated in tears
Death whispered terror in the marrow of this land
And the land became death, lungs of the earth heaved with,
Death of the beloved
Deathly wings flapping down green bushes, love eaten by darkness
Babies buried themselves, mothers went way smiling love
Seekers of divine run buzzing in bee-hive collective
Singing eulogies and laments in this perspective

Haiti Haiti Haiti

Don’t go to bed, with tears in your tender heart
And sweat of grief on your thighs
Darkness is swallowed by light
Energized sun springing eastwards
Heaven smiling to souls that went unwilling
Crimeless generation, when nature call even kings whimper.
Fire does not burn one bush, every time
I will sing you a song, a
Eulogy, crimeless generation

Haiti, Haiti, Haiti

Drink cups of hope with delight
Drink mugs of peace with hope
Light the candle lights, listening to silent freedom coming
Whispering moments of redemption

Haiti, crimeless generation

I am on your lap, from somberness to the day when laughter laugh again
To the dawn when flowers bloom again
Smiles triumph shadows

Haiti, Haiti, Haiti

Rise and see the smiling sun.


Dear Mother

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I am the womb aborted in the Baghdadis of grenades
I am a fetus suffocating in the mist of politricks
I am the archaeology that you can study for your Ph.D.
I am the cemetery of unused minds
I am the tomb of spent bullet shells
I am the tombstone without inscriptions of the dead history
I can nibble poverty roasting my brothers and sisters

Mother Africa, your back is breaking under the burden of ancient humiliation
You fought deadly battles even in the absence of man
You are the victim of darkness
See grime and dust for juvenile feeding
Grenades for infant toys
Listen to the cries and fight of struggles
To the song of the wind
To the sufferers who fed on grain despair
To the discord
Of second class citizens

Dear mother bring the flowers that I enjoy the sweetness of the revolution before sunset
Deny to rust in silence
Deny to dance in ignorance
Children of mother Africa, let us mouldy share from one plate
Of oneness
Contemplate history and see into the future, let us not read history, let’s
Make history
Prepare for the odyssey of pan-African progress
Prepare for the dance offering so waited and germinate the seeds of African renaissance
The seeds of black flowers.

ChILdReN of xEnOpHoBiA and OtherPoEms!


, , , , ,

My BeAt- The signature of my verse is paradox , boiling in sharp political irony,baked in pans  of indignation while roast  in furnances of metaphor. Allusion and symbolism  dance together  with allegory  and paradox in my verse.I salute all who  hearts beat  with verse and the rhythm of word.Our words make our voices , our voices shape our broken world. Contact the poet at mbizotheblackpoet@gmail.com,Twitter-https://twitter.com/mbizoblackpoet,Facebook-https://www.facebook.com/mbizo.chirasha

Enjoy the the honey , the sting , bitterness and sweetness!

EXCLUSIVE: Nigerian living in S/Africa reveals the truth about Xenophobic attacks, lists reasons for assault

Blue Lemons

iam the earth pregnant with poetic skulls and skeletons of prose

dawn of my poem strip nights naked

iam the nudity of truth and the rhythm of birth

with my heart dressed in pain

bring me the poetic grapes

and the metaphoric lemons

my mind is hanging like tobacco leaves

bring me the skeleton of my passion

and rhythm of my poetic license

i see killers praying for silence and peace

i see the bleaching faith of my country

hope floating in detergents of propaganda

purple buttocks of morning sitting over fire and enduring faith

i hear the grief of slogan lashes and propaganda

sjmboks in the night of the ballot

i am you and me

my poetry is a menu of provocation

and imagination, as dove of words coo-, in the dawn

in my mental trees

iam the nudity of truth

and the rhythm of birth

i itch the syphilis of sunshine city

and the hepatitis of the city of skulls

blue lemons, black , white , brown ,yellow poem


Black Oranges

Xenophobia my son

i hear a murmur in the streets

a babble of adjoining markets

your conscience itching with guiltiness like

genital leprosy

your wide eyes are cups where tears

never fall

when they fall the storm wash down bullet drains

and garbage cities

come nomzano with your whisper to drown,

blood scent stinking the rainbow altar

darfur ,petals of blood spreading ,

perfume of death choking slum nostrils

slums laden with acrid smell of mud and

debri smelling like fresh dung heaps

fear scrawling like lizards on Darfur skin

kibera ,i see you scratching your mind like ragged linen

smelling the breath of slums and diesel fumes

the smoke puffing out through ghetto ruins is the fire dousing the

emblem of the state

belly of Zambezi ache with crocodile and fish

villages piled like heaps of potatoes against the flank

of eastern hills

farmlands dripping golden dripping dew

sunshine choking with vulgar mornings

dawns yawning with vendetta filled redemption songs

drums of freedom sounding fainter and fainter , blowing away in the wind

when streets rub their sleep out of their eyes

villagers scratch painful living from the

infertile patches of sand on this earth whose lungs

heave with copper and veins bleeding gold

ghetto buttocks sit over poverty,kalinga-linga

corruption eating breakfast with ministers,kabulonga

with shrill cries of children breaking against city walls

shire river tonight your voice rustled dry , like the scratching of old silk

Politicians grow everywhere like weeds

land of ngwazi,yesterday crocodiles breakfasted on flesh

owls and birds sang with designated protocol

ngwazi your cough drowned laughters and prayers

your breath silenced rivers and jungles


the belief and gift of my poetry

sweat wine poured to absent , long forgotten gods and goddesses

soft kiss spent on golden virgins before they aged into toothless grannies

the rhythm of samora

heartbeat of chimurenga

drumbeat of chissano

today mornings blight in corruption

a social anorexia

Abuja guns eat you more than disease

I loved you before you absorbed poverty as sponge

soaking out water

before rats chewed your roof

before you conceived men with borrowed names and totems

ghost of abacha guzzling drums of blood and gallons of oil

wiwa chasing shadows of babangida past delta of treasures

Buganda cruelty is a natural weapon of a dictator

poor lives buried under rubbles of autocracy

pregnant mothers with eyes gouged out by bullets , pushing their guts

back into their bellies


a roar of old trucks

a whine of motor cycles

a rumble of dead engines

America frying its fingers in oil pans of your kitchen

where Europe fry , America roast

Angola , if you cough , America catch a fever

angola quench my parched lungs with a spoon of oil

i see the naked thighs of your desert hills

Barotseland Setswana

a servant positioned with trust

American green bloomed your desert shrubs

your loyalty is sold to she who offers the next meal

Barotseland of seretse


your lips burnt brown with exposure of rough diet

you are muffled voice , cursed and drowned into deep silence

the smell of aged incense and stale coffee

a tune piped by the shepherd on moutainside,only

to be half heard by and quickly forgotten by villagers


the anthill of black seed

coast blessed with gold

once a young girl full of sap and strength

once perfumed with richness and sacredness

you shared your salt and sweat fro freedom

today you a like a woman who sleep with a pillow

between her legs anticipating a miracle of man

coast of ivory

i see faces tight as skin of drum in moonlight

ivory coast, once the smoke and smell of human excitement

tonight bullet burrow into your belly like rats into sacks

of Thai rice

you are the broken pot we patch to put on shelf again.

flesh of children roasting in your belly , Darfur


Children of Xenophobia


Children eating bullets and firecrackers

Beggars of smile and laughter

Silent corpses sleeping away fertile dreams

Povo chanting new nude wretched slogans

Overstayed exiles eating beetroot and African potato

Abortions and condoms batteries charging  the lives of nannies and maids

Children of barefoot afternoons and uncondomized nights

Sweat chiselling the rock of your endurance

The heart of Soweto, Harare ,Darfur , Bamako still beating like drums

Violence fumigating peace from this earth.


Kalinga- linga

A daughter of revolution fed on rich political  nutrition

With a smile bandaging scars of the streets and falsehood by political demons

Fingers burnt in pseudo democratic pans of the West, what a political humor

I see you smelling love through the thick dew of corruption and robots

True heroes and heroines swallowed up  in the deep silence of chingwere and uzambwera

[Cemeteries of the poor]

Leopold hill shadows faking dances  to the throbbing rhythms of vumbuza drums

Kalinga- linga- your rising sun will soon spread the beauty of its fingers in the skies of Afrika

Forty years after dawn

We burnt drums and exiled the drummers

Still holding cows for other villagers to milk

Undergarments of the banks stink like garbage

State plans still dressed in torn overalls of the parliament

Forty years after dawn

Bullet speak louder than ballot

Forty years after dawn we discovered no totem of truth

And flowers of freedom never bloom

Forty years after dawn

Blood smells more toxic than pesticides in the lungs of the cities and nostrils of the villages


Diary of the Povo

Another whistle from election fervent fathers

Another ululation from slogan drugged mothers

In chimoio we roasted bullets like mealie cobs for breakfast

In  nyadzonia we boiled grenades like cassava for lunch meals

In magagao we munched parcel bombs like tropical fruit

In gorongoza, we  learnt totems of war and syndromes of propaganda

Today, our ears are deaf with sediments of slogans

We are the povo

Identity Apples

I am a fat skeleton, resurrecting
From the sad memories of dada
And dark mysteries of animism
I am
I bleed hope
I drip the honey of fortune
Makerere; think tank of Africa
I dance with you wakimbizi dance

I am Tanganyika
I smell and fester with the smoke of African genesis
I am the beginning
Kilimanjaro; the anthill of rituals

I am the smile of Africa
My glee erase the deception of sadness
My tooth bling freedom
I am myself, I am Gambia

When others seep with bullets stuck in their stomachs
I sneeze copper spoons from my mouth every dawn
I am the Colombia of Africa

I am the Cinderella of Africa
Where mediums feast with the ghost of Kamuzu in Mulange trees
Here spirits walk naked and free
I am the land of sensations
I am the land of reactions
Coughing forex blues
I still smell the scent of Nehanda’s breath
I am African renaissance blooming
I stink the soot of Chimurenga
I am the mute laughter of Njelele hills

I am Soweto
Swallowed by Kwaito and gong
I am a decade of wrong and gong
I am the blister of freedom vomited from the belly of apartheid
I see the dawn of the coming sun in Madiba’s eyebrows

I am Abuja
Blast furnace of corruption
Nigeria, the Jerusalem of noblemen, priests, professors and prophets

I am Guinea, i bling with African floridirization

I am blessed with many tongues
My thighs washed by
river Nile
I am the mystery of pyramids
I am the graffiti of Nefertiti
I am the rich breast of Nzinga

I am Switzerland of Africa
The rhythm of Kalahari sunset
The rhyme of Sahara, yapping, yelping
I am Damara, I am Herero, I am Nama, I am lozi, I am Vambo

I am bitterness, I am sweetness
I am Liberia

I am king kongo
Mobutu roasted my diamonds into the stink of deep brown blisters
Frying daughters in corruption microwaves
Souls swallowed by the beat of
Ndombolo and the wind of Rhumba
I am the Paris of Africa
I see my wounds

I am rhythm of beauty
I am Congo
I am Bantu
I am Jola
I am

I sing of you
I sing Thixo
I sing of Ogun
I sing of God
I sing of Tshaka
I sing of Jesus

I sing of children
of Garangaja and
Whose sun is dozing in the mist of poverty
I am the ghost of Mombasa
I am the virginity of Nyanza

I am scarlet face of Mandinga
I am cherry lips of Buganda

Come Sankara, come Wagadugu
I am Msiri of Garangadze kingdom
My heart beats under rhythm of words and dance
I am the dead in the trees blowing with wind,
I can not be deleted by civilization.
I am not Kaffir, I am not Khoisun

I am the sun breaking from the villages of the east with great inspiration of revolutions
Its fingers caressing the bloom of hibiscus


Golgotha episode 911

Ballot defecating shadows of hunger over

poverty creased napkins of my mind

Slums farting anopheles into the gutters of my blood

Long departed hunters urinated bullets into iron uterus of

war tired peasants

giving birth to atomic bombs

and suckling grenades

media wizards imbibing propaganda salami

and slogan pizza

hunger mandraxed rabbis licking fingers after chalk dust noon meals

i am a word dynamite fumigating corrupt economic bedbugs

sucking out the fertility of our sunshine

clouds of hungry bellies rumble with formulae

sunrise with virus graffiti scribbled on its forehead

moonrise with roaches corrupting its eczema eaten breasts

bread buttered with tustiville blood ,sanguages cheesed with

Darfur wounds

gore dripping diamonds auctioned for flesh guzzling guns

brown teethed nights grazing green mealies before fingers

of dawn caress vendetta wounded minds

unrepentant Ngo bishops pimping vulnerables for fat cheque books,gong and bling

greenback laureates double crossing peacecrats and warcrats in donor shebbens

economic whores dipping their sperm-ducts in diplomatic brothels

paparazzi gutters vomiting garbage of spray painted columns

slogan dogs parodying Hiroshima farce and bag dad comedy

greenhorns licking leftovers of propaganda braai packs after ballot arithmetic

undersized zealots fitting political g-strings in springs of delimitation

political morons mastering propaganda syllabus in their gimmick-

tired memories.

i am a poetic chlorine puritising political mental conveyor belts

from the crude oil of corruption

i am a metaphoric lotion peeling off eczema of the decade election hepatitis

sTomAchs bElonG to the StAtE !and other Poems by Mbizo Chirasha.


, , ,

From the Poet– The Poems seek to address and reflect matters that affect Africa today  in both socio-political and moral fabric. These poems will be included in one of the poetry collection to be  published by a Zimbabwean Publisher in 2017. This is just a teaser to the reader and also the poems exhibit  the  hard truth that  the world is in  and it is the role of a poet to sing  the ills   and state of  nations  through political metaphor and revolutionary paradox. I would like to invite positive and constructive comments on the  literary body of work. Contact Poet  Mbizo Chirasha at mbizotheblackpoet@gmail.com ,@mbizoblackpoet,https://www.facebook.com/mbizo.chirasha,https://www.linkedin.com/in/mbizo-chirasha-9ba48a42?trk=hp-identity-name,https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mbizo_Chirasha.


Image result for images of African ghettos

Drums blowing sorrows of our past

Beating the rhythm of our present sorrows

Sorrows dangling in canopies of savanna

Sorrows eating garlic and arv for supper

Sorrows doped with wiki leaks and cheap slogan

Sorrows burning in the dead of the village smoke

Sorrows strapped in the backs of burden.

Cassava republics

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Child of lost sperm in sunsets of political masturbation


Deadline of our revolutions


Constipated stomach ,disease ravaged, bloodless dozing  monk.


Culture lost in the dust of Saxon lexicon and gutter slang


Drunk and dreamless generation.


Cervical blister of the unfinished revolution fungi.


Corruption polonium deforming elders into political hoodlums


Lodge of secessionists and human guillotines.

Lost Cities

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In the acoustics of the revolution

Hit songs of true and false comrades

Demons and crocodiles climb up political ladders.

Media gossip down pours, propaganda and myth worship.

Ballot fart and ideological fornication exalted

Political slogan decaying them to toothlessness.

Bleached skins and minds, globalisation making their sick blood

pigment. Ignorance served in pubs, churches and cinemas

Ribs cracked by gonorrhea humor.

Dawn of Sunset

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Islamophobia and Christianophobia drank the york of our time

Socialism, liberalism and regionalism many other isms made rags

of us. Slaves to bitterness from imported political and religion attitudes.

The sleep laden minds of Zambezi lost in the in the thicket of ballot arithmetic.

Minds swollen by songs whose tunes crevice granite boulders of unending chumurenga.


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Mandela,the summer sun that rose through  rubbles of our winter

Gadafi and Sadamu making shadufs and pyramids

…….another spring

Obama and Osama pulling rich political carrot in Segorong

Robin Island slept golden nightmares and charcoal dreams,

Soweto virgins cracking their under feet in the long walk to freedom

Faces carrying the burden of  freedom and anthems.

Kisangani and other virgins

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Azania, you sing silent mbaqanga in your sleep


Your children eating apartheid tripe and samp

I see the wild fire of Somaliland that everyone sees and

pretend to be blind. Let Samora’s spoken word caress

wounded palms  of Mozambique.

I hear drumbeats of hope coming from Tumbuktu.

Kisingani your weeping silence reaches the throne of God.

Nyangani you cry silent dreams in your sleep, of children

harvesting paradoxes of history and metaphors of identity.

Stomachs belong to the state!

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Kalanda , we are raised through the smoke and stink  of dumping sites,

In dusty broken streets of dingy shanties

Chilling culture of poverty whipping our backs and slapping our scarred faces

Kalanda , we passed through rough fingers of the state

Purity of sisters corrupted by bowls of spaghetti in district light cafes

Kalanda, their smiles plant want than wheat on our doorsteps.

Mbizo Chirasha/https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mbizo_Chirasha is an internationally published poet , editor/blogging publisher.He is the Resident Coordinator of the 100 Thousand Poets for Change in Zimbabwe/www.100tpc.org/harare. Mbizo Chirasha is the Resident Curator of Women Scream International Poetry Festival  for Zimbabwe and Zambia/www.womenscream.blogspot.com. He is the  Inaugural events organizer for Wikipedia and WikiLoves Africa Project in Zimbabwe.The poet is the Co-Editor of  the multilingual  african poetry collection published  in Germany/http://www.street-voice.de/SV7/SVissue7.html. Mbizo is the Founder of the GirlchildCreativity Project and the Urban Colleges Writers Prize/www.girlchildcreativity.blogspot.com.He intiated two active global  blog journals-https://personalitiesofinspiration.wordpress.com/,https://miombopublishing.wordpress.com/. The Poet  boast of  his poetry  being published in every country  around the globe.

The Mosquitoes country Classics!

We ARE to shape the thoughts of our generations through progressive mass of art and creativity.The Pen is mightier than the sword.

Mbizo Chirasha

MyPenImage result for pictures  a  black pen – Dear Reader this  blog journal  you are about  to  read .It is a mix bag of my tough experience  as i escaped  from my home of birth into  an unknown concrete jungle  as much  as supported by one of my new poem  which is  carrying the title of this blog-journal.This blog-journal  gives my raw scary story in full  as much as an extract from the  short essays   that am putting together as the book of my life.The Pen  is  mightier than  the sword . What is  right is might and what is might is right.

Image may contain: 2 people, people sitting and indoorAN extract from  the poem .[ I will not silence the sun ,I will silence  the gun}.

Image may contain: 2 people

Iam a child of the rainbow and stone

The sun and the river feed my dreams

I am writing a letter to booze sodden political lizards  and sex sodden propaganda vultures

Whose smell still linger in…

View original post 905 more words

The Mosquitoes country Classics!


, , , ,

MyPenImage result for pictures  a  black pen – Dear Reader this  blog journal  you are about  to  read .It is a mix bag of my tough experience  as i escaped  from my home of birth into  an unknown concrete jungle  as much  as supported by one of my new poem  which is  carrying the title of this blog-journal.This blog-journal  gives my raw scary story in full  as much as an extract from the  short essays   that am putting together as the book of my life.The Pen  is  mightier than  the sword . What is  right is might and what is might is right.


Image may contain: 2 people, people sitting and indoor

AN extract from  the poem .[ I will not silence the sun ,I will silence  the gun}.

Image may contain: 2 people

Iam a child of the rainbow and stone

The sun and the river feed my dreams


I am writing a letter to booze sodden political lizards  and sex sodden propaganda vultures

Whose smell still linger in our summers

I will not silence the sun, i will silence the gun

I am writing a letter to nicotine burnt brothers and tears bleached mothers,

Holding on their sun burnt dreams,

I will not silence the sun; i want to silence the gun

I am writing a letter to  nights in drizzles of grief and dozing villages

I want to silence the gun, i will not silence the sun

I am writing a letter to the president about  hawkers economy  and

Festivals of motorcades sirens

freedom is the door to the next generation and it is a candlelight  in the bedroom of hope!

I am writing a letter to dissidents farting teargas and hatred in congo

Congo – my Nagasaki

Darfur my Hiroshima- fermenting coup d’états in breweries of war,pimping  the state for

hot bread and slogans

Dissidents plucking off the petals of the revolution, drinking the passion fruit of freedom

I want to silence the gun  , i will not silence the sun

I am writing  a letter  to msholozi, that  i will not silence the sun  , i will silence the gun

Madiba is no more, a heart break of Azania

The river that carried our smell and totems, the river that coursed with our past

Madiba the summer sun that melted into the hazy mountains, leaving behind

Children wetting the rainbow mat with stale urine, beer- coholics drunk with xenophobia

Hawkers vending guns for gain, Casanovas pimping freedom for slogan.

Black freedom toting fists for revenge,  i see people with stones heavy in their hearts,

Trembling in the delight of fading rain, dieting from gossip and fear,

In a country smitten by ego and arrogant ambition

A country that lost its character and everything, infected by moral dementia, drinking  from jars of sorrow every dawn


I will not silence the sun , i will silence the gun

I will not silence the drums, i want to silence sirens


I love America, i am writing a love letter to America

I will not silence the drums, i want to silence the wind

The wind that brought evils, evils lurking in the waters

I love America, i am writing a letter to the gods of America,

that  i hate chocolate coated bitter smiles


I am packing  a powerful poem for supper tasting   political carrot and potato

I will not silence the griots , i will  silence the republics

Mandela went with his oranges, we no longer enjoy the vitamin c,

Children suffer from the scurvy of freedom, a generation of condom and mobiles,

On this  earth is farting the unpleasant smell of corruption and joke


I will not silence the griots, i will silence the republics

See crocodiles dancing in rivers waiting for rain

China eating beries with monkeys in Serengeti,

Yeoville lulled to sleep by nigger hip-hop and Jamaica reggae

Africa drinking red wine in the sun of Washington, America walking barefoot in  diamond villages


Slums burning in sex and cigars, smoke of gossip choking nations sneezing burden, nations

coughing a heavy smoke of burning coal of corruption

Savana babies biting bullets in slums of freedom miscarriages and  revolutionary abortions

While Mothers recite hymns of death

Sister, freedom is a gift!

I will not silence the griots; i want to silence the republics

I want to silence the gun, i will not silence the sun

Image may contain: 1 person

Extract from the Essays the Book of my Life{ The Mosquitoes country classics}

Image may contain: 2 people

I did not surrender to  sleep . I perched myself  under a see through,aged  ,rag  like blanket.It stank of old urine ,syphilis ,stale sperm  and human sweat.Here my bed is the cold  ,aged , crackling and dust laden  floor of a dilapidated  ghetto .  The anopheles  is singing   in a threatening soprano, its infant dances to me , while crackling into a night  buzzing tenor,its male  partner- of the anopheles belches  and belches after  quenching its  dryness from my rude ,rich  ,tired blood coursing  in this alcohol tinted peasantry veins.This male then rumbles into  a  mind vibrating  baritone. I scratched the  guitar strings of  my itching  skin- producing scratches -the strings of my skin produce  a  very familiar  ,sweet ,bitter  musical  sound  like  in a whole night concert- the Mosquitoes Country Classics.  The vigil ended as the Kanyama cockerels burst into another   festival  of songs.The dark mass of shadows disappear and are replaced by a tired ,dozing  orange sun. Another day arrives abruptly.I am alone scratching the strings of  my skin .My fellow singers disappear into pools of stagnant  liquid outside waiting for another  all night festival of song  and  blood drinking  .


Mbizo Chirasha – is a  fast rising Zimbabwean Poet. Whosepoetry ,opinions ,essays,blogs and perfomances are without borders.His writings are now featured in more  than 5oo platforms around the globe.Hehas intiated projects ,managed events and he is a Resident Representative of many global projects in his country that include 100tpc.org ,the Women Scream International Poetry Festival.Mbizo Chirasha  was selected among delegates to Goteborg International BookFair by SIDAin Zimbabwe and Zimbabwe International Book Fair.He excelled in his performances ,talks and readings. Hehas worked  as a Poet in Residence for Embassies,Cultural networks ,global conferences , literary arts exchanges and local events. Mbizo Chirasha isthe Publisher /Author of the  https://personalitiesofinspiration.wordpress.com/ ,https://miombopublishing.wordpress.com/author/miombopublishing/,http://mbizotheblackpoet.blogspot.com/,https://mbizotheblackpoet.wordpress.com/,http://poetrychatroom.blogspot.com/,http://girlchildcreativity.blogspot.com/,https://climatediariesafrica.tumblr.com/. Chirasha is  also a Creative Communities Expert , Writer ,Literary Arts Curator and Creative Projects Consultant.

Supporting links-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mbizo_Chirasha





Email at mbizotheblackpoet@gmail.com