Learnmore Edwin Zvada

Learnmore Edwin Zvada Poems

When a rainy day dies, together with a few unfortunate souls,
I ponder at the notion of painting a colorful picture to put up in the small room in which my body will rest someday
Its a picturesque vision of life or lack thereof that does seem to linger too long in my eyes,
Like a distant mirage...with the loneliness of a hog dying in labor
...

Her life is one big story of love
She just is a mirror on which I reflect on in all of my days
I gather, I still miss her more than I admit
When I cry; it's the pain, but I find not that tear
...

Perhaps not my overzealous foot
I cannot take you on my date tonight
You continue to add injury to my amorous impediment
I have gone from date to date
...

I wrote a song today
A song of color grey, dull and sad
An irregular composition, such as from a drunken minstrel's pipe organ
It didn't tell of the starry night or a cloudy form
...

When I depart from this doomed hovel
My eyes will no longer rest on the wall
Onto which your portrait hung
The smirk on your face unsavory like the rest of you
...

I have not the lines to describe the whim of a painter
fashioning a portrait of a kept woman,
nor have I saddled my gaze upon the seesawing
bosom, supple skin's dimpled rise, the rounds
...

Learnmore Edwin Zvada Biography

Learnmore Edwin Zvada is a Zimbabwean born poet who resides in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe.Some of his poems have appeared in online magazines, namely, Whispers, Dead Snakes, Tuck Magazine, The Literary Yard and Duane's PoeTree.2 of his poems have also featured in Zimbolicious Poetry Anthology, Volume 2. Apart from Learnmore is an ardent lover of photography and music.)

The Best Poem Of Learnmore Edwin Zvada

Loners Die Alone

When a rainy day dies, together with a few unfortunate souls,
I ponder at the notion of painting a colorful picture to put up in the small room in which my body will rest someday
Its a picturesque vision of life or lack thereof that does seem to linger too long in my eyes,
Like a distant mirage...with the loneliness of a hog dying in labor
But then I realize, I'm no painter and a few drawings I have in my studio are just but an illusion illustrated into a fading inartistic shade
Still my words die alone, without the back-patting of a bemused audience,
At that wretched distance upon which they forage
Still I walk the mile, forever tailing everything related to fame
And I realize, if fame belonged with me, I wouldn't take it to my grave
How violent fame is, how cruel are the paths toward its mansions and castles
I remain alone, without honor, except within verse and prose
The world smiles on them that know how to be seen,
How can I remain a part of this voice;
This, a covetous congregation that only seeks fortune upon fortune?
So I settle my soul on a quieter whim,
As I type away a few notes on a map to the closet that sometimes enshrouds my lines
I know that I'm to find my ticket to sanity someday and the funfair that exhibits cold poems like mine does promise such
Soon enough, I gather, the world with its agricultures will single me out as a weed
But that wont defuse my freewheeling
I rhyme like a winter song, my lyrics form like a mistresss desire for a man
My typing dances into gay letters that constantly rearrange into romantic phrases,
Syncing emotional words with a lullaby's undertones
Sleep catches up with me, finally: the everlasting slumber that ensnared mum,
And I too am to be a part of this shadow-chasing marathon
Loners die alone, washed up onto the shores of a solitary island where fame holds no sway

Learnmore Edwin Zvada Comments

Anotida 05 November 2021

Keep on beother

1 0 Reply
Terry Dawson 04 January 2016

Most intriguing poems, Learnmore, keep them coming!

1 0 Reply

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