Kondwani Simwaba Poems

Despite the Pain
He stormed out of her room, with a heavy heart and a flat face; his eyes red, nearing tears and void of any glow, all the while contemplating would be solutions and striding at a very steady pace; even though he was too proud to look behind, he hoped she would follow him, no wonder he walked slow; at every blink of his eyes, he couldn't help but wish after him she would chase; except disappointment did nothing but hastened his strides and increased the flow.
He got to his room with thoughts of only wanting to sleep; he couldn't help but think, thinking about the many things on his mind that he could have said to her; like how he thought she looked amazing in her make up or how he wanted to tell her about his current problems; how he really needed a hug and to kiss her; how he thought about how he could just apologize already for whatever just so they could return to the smiles and laughter, he wanted to tell her about how funny he thought her dog looked after undergoing a haircut; I swear he only wanted to laugh with her; but he couldn't, see they were at loggerheads, moods swinging like loose pendulums, oscillating their argument and only tempers gaining momentum; he couldn't speak out, he had to leave.
He sat on his bed, pensively thinking as he let his tears go; ‘just quit already' were the words he heard; he had worked really had to just let something as beautiful as this go; he needed her, she needed him, they needed each other despite the thin lines having not been read; he loved her dearly & prayed to God she loved him too, but he already knew so, he wiped his tears and just slept…
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Remember the old times
There will be times that change these times; times, that will challenge these times, times when youths with fancy watches cannot tell when it's their time, time; these times will come with time, time unlike these times of socializing only on social media yet reality regards us anti-social, time; times like the times of the old that when I was there, then I was really there not these times that when I am here then I am actually there, times; there will be times, times that will cleanse these times, times; that will make us realize who we really are, Africans! Are we really in our actions? We haven't embraced our melanin.
Times, there were times, times when we really connected with each other, times; time is the healer of all wounds, so why do we still hold on to our slavery mentality? Times; I miss those times, times when my people shouted Cha Cha Cha! Because we cannot live like we cannot see what is happening; the News is propagated by propaganda, the same propaganda that propagated the Genocide in Rwanda, cuz who needs firefighters when man's not hot?
There will be times that change these times; times, that will challenge these times, times when youths with fancy watches cannot tell when it's their time to be heard; Talent, must never be dead because we are but young leaders to live in cowardice and misplaced identities, so if you do not know who you are in these times, then I suggest that you visit the old times…
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Respect our women
I hear them cry; tears forming lakes of sorrow, it's still amazing how these men don't ever drown in them; I can see their fears; another woman is talking about rape, afraid of walking alone; I swear it's way beyond the subject of dress code the way inside these perverts wanna peer; but then again, is it really?
Tell me, don't you feel guilty; the way every man's name has now been dragged through the mud because of your actions? Do you ever just sit and ponder what your words might have done to these women; steady breaking their hearts, I swear such actions can never be divine, we need to coach these lads to respect our women more; substitute the woman hurting and envision your mother in that same position you place them and tell me, does it turn you on now? When these women all turn feminist and launch campaigns calling all men trash because of your garbage…
I hear them scream; their voices hitting the high notes, never safe despite their clothes having tight knots; I can feel their pain; blood oozing profusely from their eyes, nothing but sodium chloride in the pores of their skins; hearts palpitating uncontrollably at the grotesque thought of you actions, can I apologize for these men?
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There's beauty in your scars
She had wounds, deeper than the narrow stream that flows into the mighty Zambezi river; Her scars, often made people mistake her for an atlas if only they could see her itinerary; She had marks that made her face look like a rainbow, a collage of pain it's no wonder her tears were stubborn; her heart could not be distinguished from a punching bag from the many times it was pounded upon by the vicissitudes of fate; her story,a tale that transcends mere rhetoric because there's more than meets the eye; her smile,the umbrella that covers all her tears; her make up, the inexplicable mask that clots her sorrows from oozing; I swear her wounds run deeper than Usain Bolt racing underwater...
Her knees to the groun,fingers folded and a head tilted towards the heavens; she petitioned God; stormed Him with questions like why she had to endure such misery at the expense of joy; little did she know that the heavens did hearken u to her plea and sent forth an Angel; she fell in love at forst glance; a man willing to do chores for her, so on his very first job, using nothing but the word; he swept her off her feet but ironically he landed first with his knee amd asked for her hand; in his proposal he said; 'I am the lamb that was slaughtered at the alter that yoir transgressions may be forgot, I am the one that was crucified that you may be saved, I am the magician that defeated desth for you. ' She smiled, because at his touch byvones became bygones; I mean who wouldn't if it is Jesus, yoi fell in love with?
#ForAgness
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No Greater King
At the night of the Passover he said; one of you will betray me, to this day my knees still tremble; because if I knew my would be killer he'd be dead before me you see, all the power within me I'd assemble. Questions linger in my head, what type of a king lays down his life for people that may never even accept him? It baffles me you see…
Dragged to his crucifixion; without even a fair trial,
Nothing even closer to a conviction; but he was still subjected to exile.
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This place, is my home…
I know of a place where heroes came to rest;
A place blessed with endless but exploited natural resources,
I know of a place filled with a great many mineral resources;
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See you in a fortnight!
Before he leaves, he looks in her eyes and promises her forever; she smiles with teary eyes and says, "I will wait for you."
He hugs her tighter than his belt ever does him, a kiss on her forehead and a whisper in her ears "I Love you, " she chuckles in return.
Time freezes; the sun stands still with not a cloud in sight, dusk is fast approaching infact.
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What were we?
We were hope under the sun, we gave light to the moon to shine in the night;
We were the Crescent that the stars looked upto for hope,
We were beauty unfathomable, ofcourse we were dope.
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Stone Cold Killer
Violins play, softly and tenderly; I grab my pen to scribble something cleverly, in a moment or two I begin to mutilate words like tearing books at a library; abusing every rhyme, assaulting every syllable and annihilating every punctuation; the irony is that I am a lawyer and thus I fully fathom the repercussions of murder but I kill them anyway, these words have never known life in my presence; a stone cold killer I am, filled with nothing but abhorrence and yet, I remain unapologetic; I could never lift a finger against fellow man. Sometimes, so I kill these words instead; the meaning will always be misread, so long as the hidden message is unread.

Check! I am the serial killer they told you to beware of, in my presence every protective sheathe wares off, I am the lexicographer withno fixed address, a mystery living in care of, wordsmiths dare off; no pen lord can touch me even with a pair of, gloves impair, so; I am the nightmare of, every person that claims poetry is theirs so, dare me not because I was born for this, poetry's my only bliss even the initials of my name spell KiSS; I am the protagonist of every urban legend told, the star in every dreamer's book yet to unfold; the shine in every golden dream pawned, unlikeRumpelstiltskin, I am the truth to every yarns spawned but when these poets fire canons at me, I am the blue ticks, the Eminem that wins even when he never responds.
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BLISS
I am staring at a piece of paper, with every intention to write;
Except, I have not a thing nor thought in sight nor mind.
I have a great many such nights;
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