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EDWARD DZONZE
Nacionalidad:
Zimbabwe
E-mail:
Biografia

EDWARD DZONZE

CONSUL HARARE TOWN AREA 2- EDWARD DZONZE  is a Zimbabwean born writer ,30.He is the author of Many Truths Told Once, (RoyaltyPublishingUSA,2014) ,Wisdom Speaks (RoyaltyPublishingUSA,2015) both being online editions .Dzonze who is the co-editor of the Zimbolucious poetry series is also the author of Breakfast with Marechera (2018, Diaspora PublishersUK). Dzonze have published more than 60 poems on poetry websites and journals. He lives in Harare with his wife and two children

EDWARD DZONZE

Cónsul de HARARE zona 2-EDWARD DZONZE es un escritor Zimbabuano nacido en Zimbabwe, 30. él es el autor de muchas verdades contada una vez, (RoyaltyPublishingUSA, 2014), la sabiduría habla (RoyaltyPublishingUSA, 2015) ambas ediciones en línea. Dzonze que es el co-editor de la serie de poesía Zimbolucious es también el autor de desayuno con Marechera (2018, diáspora PublishersUK). Dzonze ha publicado más de 60 poemas en sitios web de poesía y revistas. Vive en Harare con su esposa y sus dos hijos

 

THE LIVING  AND THE SOAR SONG


Today we drink tears
in the cold embrace of a tragedy
Every tattooed descendant of Nehanda is soaked in tears
Breakfast, lunch and supper is not certain for my brethren in Chimanimani
At the expedient behest of Idai, the unwelcome
who made himself welcome on the unsespecting patches of home ,
They drank and gulped bouts that sank them beyond the land of the living
There is no remaining grain of hope in their grannaries
to feed the survivors after a traumatizing wrestle with a cyclone that left them naked
And if you think the clothes you give as relief aid will clothe them from nakedness
You are looking at the wrong picture of nakedness
Their only shield from psychological trauma is our perception
They lost the serenity that defined their livelihoods
to a a ragging storm, a cyclone....
A cyclone that became known to us as Idai

I call unto you again Nehanda
Pardon my misdemeanour around this, i got your number saved as MEDIUM on my contact list
Say it to the African gods,
the very breast that suckles trees and crops for our sustenance
Is dripping vernom, spitting out ceaselessly
to choke the living in their quest for a fresh breath
This land is flooded with tears of mourners
but we cant standby and watch our actions drown the hope in the face of survivors
Those who survived to live again
Today we share these tears as a narration of what befell our brethren and kins in Chipinge
The wrath of fate delivered in excess, the damage too much a wound for the human mind as to the skin
Yet we found it written as foreword that the living can only rise to dance when fate sings a verse for us

Where was Noah to listen to Idai
prophesying the madness and evil intent of the cyclone
Dead bodies thrown around like teddy bears to provoke the pain of the humane heart
Villages stripped of the serenity that made them home to our acceptance of the same
Everything about life distorted, except the hope that lives after the tragedy
For time will tell a new tale to explain the graves
Today we share these tears to confront the providence of fate ànd subdue the pain to live again
The wrath of fate delivered in excess, the damage too much a wound for the humane heart as well the skin to bear
Today we drink tears from the cold embrace of a tragedy as libation to the African gods
Watching from the spiritual realms,
fate singing a soar song for us all to taste and dance to
For yours is a land soaked in tears today, take the picture to the African gods Neh

 

FUCK THE CAPTION

When barbarity calls
The black brothers serve brutality in place of bread
Our tears for barbeque, yell all you like there is no harm with just a little music
Red blood , red wine whats the difference really in the face of this barbarity calling
They take what their guns can deliver
Barbarity calls them to war
They call a brother foe to justify a fired bullet
Black brothers exchanging bitter words and viscious bullets to give the world an episode of war...
I wonder what the black in them will say when confronted with a poetry verse to rise to just one question;
Whats the war about?

Blood oozing from the vein of political madness
Bullets and bombs sent to deliver the misplaced wrath
Killing the brother you verily know because war knows no brother but enermy
Brothers are not the same when clad in the vile of politicized madness
Its a civil war,a war among one black
Black brothers exchanging bitter words and viscious bombs to give the world an episode of war
From the wars, heroes walk out with military honors and decorations
Their children becoming masters at their fathers game
Because they were told only our skin calls us brothers
Guns are not brothers, they were told to kill before you get killed
Africa is a shaping grave in their hands
At the end of their political reign we count graves for their achievement
Where lies Africa in the civility of called wars
Where lies our common serenity in the context of civil wars
There is no civility in wars...

Shame this madness brewing Africa before you become the shame
Too much blood undermines our human worth
These "Civil Wars" are evil
Cant you see how they fail to honor our being
Guns got no eyes, but we should see the madness
What more can you expect the gun to show you other than bloodshed
I am to you what you are to me because the two of us spells a being; Africa
Cant you see how we collectively spell stupidity when we bow to the call of gun
Fuck the caption coming to justify the madness
Civil wars is a measure of human barbarity

 

THE IRONY OF FREEDOM

The wounds on my black skin
are taking forever long to heal,
Pardon me if i have the wrong prescription ;
Is humanity not the pill to these ailments,
For how long shall we pay the medical bill in blood installments?
The missionaries came with a burning light
That failed to illuminate the dark world only their eyes saw in Africa
Rather but sparked wars that sparked the mineral loot from dear motherland

We housed the missionaries
and their hidden mission in our hospitable villages
They built bigger church buildings
that rendered the African traditional religion a quixotic nuisance in the eyes of many who fell in love with their hymns
And they built a system that took us for hostages in our own turf
The "dark continent " became even darker
Only what made it dark was the disguised spark
And said of the African skin
the black you spell cannot bring any spark to the darkness we see
The darkness as seen, I mean the darkness that never was
We fought for our black freedom ,
They broke the chain but remained with the key

They make us pay
for every piece of freedom that comes our way
We owe them nothing but they own the ways
Even this hard won independence did not come to stay...
They have got specified sanctions to punctuate us as subjects in their political brackets
Yesterday they took my father for a slave ,
Owned and sold him in a locked cage
Selling my tormented father in chains
To buy themselves material gains in plenty
With their political might
They take away the light to insurmountable heights
and if you are looking for fragments of truth on the polished surface,
It remains forever dark in the mind

They sing both the verse and the chorus
and task us to the dancing
That is why the wounds on my African face are taking forever long to heal
We continue to say it in poetry verses
but they are quick to turn over to the next page
Silence the lines as quixotic, the poet's tongue as toxic
Its not like i am condoning that which they condemn
Rather i am condemning that which they have become
The human gods of our humane world
Their haven is an earth size calico painted with human blood
The wind that blows their flag blows the flags of the world
Its Amen and Amen to their shout of Hallelujah
Their judicial whip is justified in their own dictates,
Its essence and imminence resonates with us
We cheer it when the preach from their altar
Alas! They dont even mean it
Evrbdy regrets when they execute what they almost preached

 

 

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