Mapete makobvu
Mapete matete
Mapete mapenyu
Mapete avete
Mapete pakati peCarpet
Mapete mukati me Cup yeTea
Mapete muCupboard
Bete paTable
Mapete mupoto yemaVegetable
Mapete iTrouble
Mapete MaRebel
Kupinda muBachi rema Honorable
Kagumbo musadza , Kabapiro mundiro
Tunhoko muDrawer rinogara ndiro
Pamadziro maSpider ndiwo maSuper hero
AnoTrapper mapete asi Work Done Equals Zero
Because mapete iHobho , iGozha, iPlenty
Ishura saBhoki anotsenga maDandy
There is something about
Harare in spring that reminds me
Of my mother
Harare in spring is...Bellisma
She is fresh and regal
The smile of her Jacaranda bloom
Flirts with hope and new beginnings
Carrying the scent of promise
She tells yesterday’s barrenness
To take flight
At quarter past October
She wears the scarlet lipstick of flamboyance
Bold, daring
Enticing to the sojourners,
She wraps them in her charm
sends them home enthralled
Yet to me her resident
She shuts her door right in my face
So many people come to me and admire how successful I seem. To them I have it all figured out but do I? They ask if I have done it before, is it inborn, or was I trained. How come I do it so well. So I asked the question. Are you watching me thinking that I know what I am doing, do you feel as though I have it all figured? So I came up with a conversation, some people call it a poem:
Lest we forget, lest we ever forget,
That within us soldiers lay,
Lest we ever have the propensity to forget so easily our history
That wars were waged on this land to secure a better destiny for us.
Lest we ever forget that we are Lucky like Dube
To have the liberty not to worship human kind and be slaves in our own land,
Lest we cloud our eyes, not to see the dance of liberty
John Mauluka captured with his lens, and chain ourselves with mediocre prophecies
Lest we ever forget because some media field has fractionally tried
You don’t define me
You can’t stall me
You don’t decide my worth
You can’t condemn me
You don’t confine me
You can’t try me
You don’t faze me
You can’t break me
You don’t frustrate me
You can’t impoverish me
You don’t school me
You can’t silence me
You don’t fool me
You can’t deny me
I’m Beauty
I’m Progress
I’m Precious
I’m Innocent
I’m Freedom
I’m Hope
I’m Patience
I’m Perseverance
I’m Faith
I’m Fortune
I’m Wisdom
I’m Outspoken
I’m Cynic
I’m Truth.
I did, I did not
I knew a woman once
But I did not know her.
I wish to be like the baobab branch
That breathes in the nothingness of the air.
That twists and turns
To the melody of the night before.
To truly flow,
To be
While listening
Embracing that tune in my head.
Embracing the tremors inside,
Wishing to truly breathe.
-One breathe, two breaths-
The last few months in Zimbabwe has seen the launch of two Tech Hubs, namely Hypercube and Muzinda Umuzi. To be pedantic Muzinda Umuzi is not a tech hub per se but maybe more of an entrepreneurship hub as it supports any business idea that shows potential rather than those purely in the tech space. Hubs are the latest tech fashion statement. Every African country has one. For example, Kenya has iHub (and others mind you), CCHub in Nigeria, Hivecolab in Uganda and BongoHive in Zambia.
We live in a world where people pass mathematics but fail life
Ungodly life formulas got the people faithless
Able to calculate square roots
But failing to understand that Jesus is the root of life.
This irony of what people can and cannot calculate
Led me to think that'
Lucifer must have got chased out of heaven cos he failed mathematics
I mean look at it from this perspective
Its like the melody of truth is fading
While the rhythm of decadence is violently progressing
Economic notes and political tones silently controlling states
Pitching wars violent echoes from destructive walls
The music from the worlds boom box
Meaning this world is a system of musical existence
Let Zimbabwe be Zimbabwe again
Let her flame-lilies come to full bloom
And sway in the sun
O, how Zimbabwe staggers, like an unrepentant drunk! How her face is stained from douches gone awry!
All her people pant and sigh; with their souls twisted inward for all they know is bitterness.
Their dreams have been reduced to seeking bread with tears on their cheeks; there is none to comfort them from their toil.
