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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