tired of african rubbish.

all gone,
lived through guns, smoke, graves.
glory turned grief in wake of grenades in Goma,
rosy petals turn yellow in pail hunger that eats out man's intestines,
shrugs them, leaving a stench of faeces filled with cholera Mugabe's villages.
questions become headlines in the place of gossip that is secret.

By Nkosie Sibanda
Did you vote?

If so show me your little finger,
that put an X to quel your hunger.
I see you are tired,thirsty,gone,
your ballot remains dry pale and yellow,
with that X you made it live to stand up and be counted.

Did you vote?
Guilt will haunt you for keeping it inside,
until results are out where will you hide?
it will be conscience against will,
actions agaist thoughts,
illusions against reality.
It will be a time when realty courts imagiantion.
A time of reflection.
No tractors engineless,
maize without a grinding mill,
Tell your granny to let go,dump trecherous beings that made you not to vote.
Show them,those bloody liars,who murdered Jon's father at Shangani.
show them your little finger,
tell them in their eyes:'you are fools'

WELCOME TO MY BLOG

life does not come as a surpriseyou come as a surprise.
the welcome you get from your parents is the surprise,
the surprise you bring is is a surprise to you and those caught in the dark of your coming
Saying welcome, is saying EUREKA!
If you are new to a place, a person,
you are more than welcome and they are more than satsfied to say welcomefor a reason,
to say welcome for nothing is treason as it means welcome to every evil and good in this place.