Suzawaka Phiri

Suzawaka Phiri Poems

Her beauty knows no quietness
It is noisy and knows loudness.
Her beauty knows no humbleness
It only knows boastfulness.

There is a place that he knows,
He calls it, Paradise.

There is only one thing this place knows,

Grandma had a child
And she named her Shade.

No one had a darker skin

Do not forget your promise, don't go without me
How shall I enjoy the sunrise? Don't go without me.
If what we share is way deeper than Tanganyika,
My love, don't compromise, don't go without me.

Before you tell every soul we existed
Kindly share the times before we existed.
Our mouths are shut, Elizabeth is gone
Barotse, what's there to show we existed?


There is no water in the lake or river.
And there's no liquid in the cup or jar.

There is neither light nor darkness.

Without the light,
The moon's beauty
Is invisible.

Tonight I grace the face of the sun!
How beautiful is the moon!

Jehovah has gifted me with a star,

Nothing amazes me like your big buttocks,
Petunia, you truly have terrific buttocks.

Before you, not even elephants can boast,

Dear pen slumber no more
There is now a song in my soul.

Dear pen ready yourself to explore

I wrote down my dreams
I wrote down all my goals
When money visited my pockets
I became a man who forgets.

My Muse please be kind
And influence my mind.
I know you're not blind
Influence my mind

The star skinned Queen,
Beautiful and timeless.
The star skinned Queen,
She is a book,

You should not forget, I'm all yours.
Fill me, I'm all set, I'm all yours.

Set me on fire love, let me burn,

I once read a poem,
Annabel Lee.

It was at the bridge


I have loved and given my all
Now there is no love in my soul.

They say stars shine in the dark,

A soft knock on my door
Troubled my tired and sleepy soul.
This happened in Sweet November
This knock scared me like thunder.

Whatever I saw, I wrote.
Whatever I felt, I wrote.
Whatever I sniffed, I wrote.
Whenever Or whatever I touched,


Am in love once again
Ready to endure the pain once again
For in the end I know I will gain
What I believe in is not in vain

I searched every sea
For the one loved by me
I searched every forest
Night and day without rest

Suzawaka Phiri Biography

It was not a man who placed a curse on him nor was it a woman. It was not the water he drank nor the river where he bathed his body that was cursed. It was not the hut in which he slept nor the pot he used to prepare his food that was cursed. It was not the stars nor the sun that was cursed. The gods chose to place a curse on his destiny. It was the gods that cursed him. He remembered the day it happened, the day he was cursed. The day he wandered aimlessly in a place his ancestors told him not to enter. He found himself in a shrine of the old forsaken gods. He found cassava and sweet water. His stomach was empty and continuously asking for food. Uninvited and unwelcomed, Suzawaka chose to eat the food and drink the water. When Suzawaka had his full, a voice from the shrine spoke, 'Who ate the food meant for the gods? Who drank the waters meant for the gods? Whose feet found themselves in the shrine of the gods? ' Suzawaka was quiet. He had no words coming out of his mouth, afraid, his heart began beating fast and his body was trembling. The questions were harder than the heart of the Mubanga tree. 'It was I! ' Suzawaka finally answered in a very uneasy tone. 'To the one who ate the food meant for the gods uninvited, he shall be cursed to tell the tales of the gods. To the one who drank the water meant for the gods uninvited, he shall be cursed to sit under the Mutaba tree for the rest of his life. To the one whose feet entered the shrine, he shall be a Leper.' From that day, Suzawaka has not left the tree nor has he ceased telling the tales of the gods. The curse was a blessing, a blessing that was a curse. There was sweetness in bitterness and bitterness in sweetness. Thus he became a tale telling teller.)

The Best Poem Of Suzawaka Phiri

Her Beauty Is Noisy

Her beauty knows no quietness
It is noisy and knows loudness.
Her beauty knows no humbleness
It only knows boastfulness.
Her beauty brags
While beating its chest
'Am more beautiful than
Then the golden sun.
Am more beautiful than
The full moon.'
Yet her beauty is just a cover
Of the ugliness that's under.
Her beauty is the grave,
Ugliness is the corpse.

Suzawaka Phiri Comments

Suzawaka Phiri Quotes

The mind of a tale writer is simply the gods cooking pot where the gods cook tales and poems under the Mutaba tree.

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