Zimbabwe frightened you
Zimbabwe frightened you,
Zimbabwe where we could be alone
and in a way I felt at home.
The dark black faces,
the savagery, hunger
and wretched poverty
were more than you could take.
You panicked thinking
that the unruly young teenagers
and so-called war veterans
would not just drive
the farmers away,
but were sharpening
their Panga-blades
even for white tourists.
Everywhere you looked,
you saw death, destruction
and black rule taking its toll
and the ever hungry
begging people
was like a prophecy
of what in the future
may be waiting for us
at home.
Visiting the places
we had dreamed of,
the Zimbabwe ruins,
Mana pools, Kariba lake
and the Victoria falls
was like a nightmare to you.
Even the African art carvings
of people and animals
and rural paintings
of the Ndebele people
hardly caught your eye
and you would rather die
than stay a day longer.
African dancers screaming
around a fire
and dancing like shadows
on the beat
of ancient drums
drove the fear home,
so that you wanted to get into the car.
[References: To Minette, of whom there is just memories. You Hated Spain by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Consolation
How great it is not to be going
to Zimbabwe this summer
not having to go through
a packed border post,
the ruins that’s left of her cities,
or visiting friends on their farms,
since they have all being driven away.
No need to hunt for petrol
from fuel station to fuel station,
no need to find your way
through a crowd of hungry children
and no need to feel guilty
because you have food
and a car and a place called home.
There’s no Victoria falls here,
no Zimbabwe ruins built from rock,
no Kariba lake to live in a boat on,
no great Zambezi to white river raft on
and no need to be afraid
because you are white.
How much better to take the familiar highway
past Durban down to Margate
or to go somewhere on the South coast
and not to study outdated maps
of the unknown to find a place
called Mana pools
on a dirt track
in the middle of the veldt.
How much better to eat in great
familiar restaurants,
that does not charge in US dollars
and to holiday
right next to the big blue ocean
and to tan on a choice of beaches.
Robert Mugabe can have his whole damn country,
even if he’s not the chosen leader
as long as he keeps
his population there,
but everywhere I look
there’s Zimbabwean aliens appearing
out of the blue
and even on a lovely beach
a Zimbabwean girl
swims in panties and a bra
or walks without any.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Human Blood Is Shed For Power
Human blood is shed for power in the African Sun
In Zimbabwe the only law is by the gun
Robert Mugabe now Africa's greatest despot an old man in years
Has turned his Country into a Land of oppression, hunger, Bloodshed and tears
A so called freedom fighter behind his so called military he cower
The awful crimes some do commit for to hang on to power
Arguably Africa's worst living despot where many despots are
For to hang on to power Mugabe has gone far too far
Most poor people in Zimbabwe do not have God on their side
By a power hungry octogenarian their lives have been destroyed
No fool like an old fool some are known to say
With Robert Mugabe it sure is that way
Despite his education he is not a wise man
He has not learned from life in his lengthy life span.
poem by Francis Duggan
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angola the African dream
Angola, the African Dream.
A box of photos, black & white and amber, under the old woman’s
bed, tell of young faces and success. Cars drive up and down
an avenue called Liberty. Angola, even the most humble state
functionary had a black servant. And the white people were deaf
to the dark voices of independence.
The Portuguese settlers had been promised a land of plenty, and
the local people would be their willing serfs. Foreign legion soldiers
helped them flee the wrath of the exploited. Back in Portugal again,
dipping their hands in manual work, the African dream was over.
Photos never tell a story it’s a blank canvas made up of shadows
and the unspoken. Memories will be sweet and often untrue.
People who had to return back to poverty, will insist they brought
civilization to Angola, especially now that the avenue of Liberty,
in Luanda, is potholed.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Zimbabwe Rose
She brought such colour to our town her and her flowery clothes
With her dark and wavy curling hair the dark Zimbabwe rose
Her smile lit up the dullest day the warmth in her hello
And she will make many new friends where ever she will go.
A young woman in her early twenties her beauty I recall
And I a male of average height beside her did seem small
Yet she was not conceited and she was free of guile
And how her white teeth glittered each time that she did smile.
The Autumn weather here for her too cold she missed the warm sunshine
And for her home in Africa Zimbabwe's rose did pine
She went back to her Homeland we miss her happy face
And the Town now without her seems much a duller place.
She missed her family and friends and her Homeland far away
And the weather far too cold for her so here she did not stay
She brought such colour to our Town her and her flowery clothes
And we who knew her miss her so the dark Zimbabwe Rose.
poem by Francis Duggan
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African Identity Is Lost
Thank you South Africa Thank you
Today I don’t know why should I cal myself an African
South Africa I am afraid
I don’t know why you have killed people of Zimbabwe
You have exposed this mother land
It is like what Hitler was doing to the Jews
Why, Why, Why? ? ?
Yesterday we were depending on Zimbabwe for liberation struggle.
We had no fighting machines, no residences and no identity
Robert Mugabe Sacrificed all of his power, just because he wanted to see South Africa out of its previous crisis
With the lapse of 15 years?
Why don’t you look at United State of America?
United State has truly become a Model Liberal Country
Its President is a black person
It is a mixture of different people – none of which we have ever had such South African Tragic Killings
Today I am telling te whole world that I am so embarrassed
Ladies and Gentlemen: South Africa is a Xenophobic Country
If you think to pay a visit for study there: please take another option
I had never think that a person can be boiled with fire for no reason but Xenophobia
I wish you a very bad lucky
Perhaps God can give you a Tsunami over your bad reputation
South Africa does not only needs to apologize to Zimbabweans
It needs to apologies to the whole world
It needs to apologies to the whole Africa country
It need to apologies to God himself
It need to apologies to itself for having lost consciousness
I want to warn South Africa with one thing
Fire is not the end of the world
It is not to terminate the Zimbabweans by burning them alive
God has always been there before the fire
I remember when the King ordered fire to kill three men in the bible
God came out to be a shield
Just like he protect people from the lions he can be an answer to what South Africans have done to Zimbabweans
It is like there is absolutely nothing happened to all over the country
Nobody is feeling the sense of pity about these people
They are being treated as the dead dogs
Eve the policies who were there to mediate seem to smile, during event.
The religious groups who are always regarded as holy have not even gathered to express words of regret not only to Zimbabweans but to God himself.
I don’t know which country I can run to
Because I can hear the anger of Gods –talking to me
I wish I can fly away because the pain that South Africa will feel is more that the fire
I am not talking about a joke, I am talking about god
Africa what you have done is to challenge the Lord himself
Since God is able to protect a person that people are playing with
What about those South African who have decided to kill people the image of God himself.
I don’t know: but I think it will be better to be at Zimbabwean Starvation that to be at tragic South Africa
Don’t you remember what happened when people steal the covenant of God at Middle East Countries?
I am yours and you are not mine
No we are not the same
I am not xenophobic
I believe the extended hand is more blessed with receiving hand
I reconcile the process of giving the poor Zimbabwean the food they deserve
No I am an African; It won’t be Africa to me to kill another African
I cannot stop thinking about this
I have several friends and collogues that are coming from Zimbabwe
I am shame of myself
I don’t know what kind of friendship I have with them if my Brothers are killing them
I don’t know whether I will see the in future because of these continuous killings
Thank you South Africa thank you
I did not realize that you have lost the covenant of God
I don’t know whether you are prepared for God’s reaction
poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
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Mama Zimbabwe
Mme Zimbabwe (seSotho word for Mother)
You were the overflowing Breadbasket of Africa
The Curvatious, tall and proud daughter of Africa
Until Mzilakazi sold you to Britain for mere bag of beads and Sugar
And they took you away
You weeped as your Children....
As your children suffered under the oppresing rule of those colonial demons
But as your children fed from the suculant breast of Mama Africa, The Queen of african soil
Thier strength grew and so did thier fight for freedom
And in 1980 you saw a promising Dawn despite the bloodshed that spread
What went Wrong Mme Zimbabwe, you lie mute?
You lie hopeless and your bruised soul evidence of abuse
The very same children who fought for your emancipation now corrupt, split, spit and kill the very essence of you
However even though your frail Body falls defeated
And you are now the laughing stock of the World
In your eyes i see resiliant strength
Your scent strongly of approaching freedom
And you smile continues to seduce me into loving you, Zimbabwe
poem by Wanelisa Albert
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Dreams of Africa
There are days I dream of Africa
and my life as a child there
where running through the wild bush
was a joy beyond compare
Never a thought was given
to the animals who may be close
I loved them all and a big baboon
was one that I loved most
I travelled to the great Zimbabwe ruins
and walked within their walls
Thinking how it must have been
for people who were tall
I've stood in the rainforest's at Victoria Falls
one of the most magnificent sites to see
And the memory still makes me sad
for what has come to be
Bodies dead and suffering
murders cruel and wrong
people starving from prices so high
all sing the freedom song
Yes I miss good old Rhodesia
and Africa as a child
I miss seeing nature at it's best
free to roam the wild
I pray that one day very soon
life will start to come good
and God will shine his precious light
the way I know he should
poem by Janice M Pickett
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I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
from Pretoria station
and there are people about me
and we are all caught
in a own world
with destiny on which everything depends
and cornfields flash by
and the bus roars on past some ruins.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and the road winds like a snake,
teenagers are listening to music
in a own world
and I am going to Vryburg to collect a car,
I see a man with wild bushy hair
and there are people about me
who click together
and we drive through the main street of a town,
teenagers are listening to music
and everyone tells something of his or her hurt,
even the younger generation.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and a young girl looks somewhat desperate
with innocent beauty
and we drive through the main street of a town,
and she gets scared and more scared
without any intimidation
and there are people about me
on whom family wait in Vryburg
and she is going to her parent’s home
with innocent beauty,
and she prays to have a life again
and wears plain clothes.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and there are people about me
and she is pregnant and can call nowhere home
and we are all caught
and she is going to her parent’s home
with destiny on which everything depends.
poem by Gert Strydom
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FEEL AGAIN - Song Lyrics
Passing by my eyes
Are people living lives
They flow before my gaze
Just like the memories
In my mind
I watch them from
My hiding place
In shadows so
To hide my face
And as they pass
The memories flash
Of how it felt to feel that way
And home…
I long for home…
Where is my home…
Please take me home…
Home…
Please take me home…
Where is my home…
I long for home…
I watch the people
Not because
I wanna be their friend
I watch them not
Because I hope to know
Them in the end
I simply watch
And ask myself
Why do I feel this way
How did I get here
Can I hope
To feel again someday
To feel the feelings
That they feel…
To hope, to love, to cry
To fall and feel the pain
Or rise in triumph to the sky
And home…
I long for home…
Where is my home…
Please take me home…
Home…
Please take me home…
Where is my home…
I long for home…
All I have are memories
Of the times
When things were good
Memories of the days
Of when I felt
The way I should
Memories now that
Flow before the view
Inside my mind
Just as the passing people
Flow before my open eyes
Oh God! How can I be
Like them
Is there a way to
Start again
I know there is
I know its there
I’ll find it
I don’t ****ing care
What I have to go through
What I lose and what I lack
I know my heart
Can feel again
If I can only
Find my way back
Home…
I’m going home…
This is my home…
It feels like home…
Home…
This feels like home…
This feels like home…
This feels like home…
Home…
This feels like home…
This feels like home…
This feels like home…
I’m finally home
…Jeff Bresee
poem by Jeff Bresee
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African Boy
I am a young African boy
A unique individual with my own personal inspiration
Which is the golden key to build my future.
With a mind confused
I can still reach politely to others.
With a heart that's has been destroyed
I can still feel and care for others.
With pain that has cut deep down in my heart
I can still fell sympathy for others. with all that is in me I can still overcome those situations.
I can be a person I am
The one whose heart is filled with joy and passion.
I am a young African boy.
I'm proud of my black badged African skin.
I am an African
Not because I was born here
But because my heart beats with Africa.
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa.
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa.
When Africa weeps for her children
My chicks are stained with tears.
When Africa honor her elders
My head is bowed with respect.
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer.
Africa my home
Africa my land
Land of peace
Land of my forefathers
Land of my birth
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing.
poem by Elvis Fout
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Night of the long knives
People now believe that if
somebody like Eugene Terreblance
could be killed so cruelly
it awaits every white person
and that black folks are itching
to rob, to chop to pieces
and to dishonour whites
and to rape women
and that the government propagates it.
It is thought that farms and houses
will be stolen with force
in the same way as in Zimbabwe
and many people now want to leave
and go to other countries
to escape poverty
and avoid being forced
into a squatters’ settlements.
l’Envoi
Friends and loved ones of mine
want to escape the night of the long knives
that they get out of the writings
of visionary Van Rensburg
but still the One that could save at Blood river
walks on my side.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Seasons of Zimbabwe
The country newly-born, we were younger still
Jacaranda blossoms paved the stone under our feet
We drank the bittersweet coffee of the Chipinge hills
By the roadside in the glow of Independence
As we explored the central park's every hidden corner
The miniature Victoria Falls, the botanical treasures
And the open-air soapstone sculpture displays
You told me tipsy tales of Mzilikazi
We rode the flying bus down to the old Zimbabwe
And walked among the peaceful ruined walls
As peacocks strolled insoucient in the gardens
We climbed the fortress to view the rolling plains
The corn was white and tall the month we married
In an improvised bare office filled with laughter
Animals graced the hills above our reception
Music drifted to the border with Botswana
We made love in the wedding suite, high above the city
Embelished by the gentle blues of Cape China
With joy I entered you as your husband
And sunrise filled our window with its glory
Today we're not so young, Zimbabwe is much older
Its splendour is revisiting its ruins
In Namibia's childhood you were lost, your sweetness
Is held only by the warm earth of Mochudi now.
For we have all been claimed by our addictions
The richest topsoil worn down into powder
Dreams of liberation have been stolen
And seasons of young love are past their flower.
poem by Frank Bana
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I saw men and women bowing down (in answer to Musaemura Zimunya)
I saw men and women bowing down,
prostrating themselves around red hot fires
in front of the ancestral spirits
and they begged to worship stone,
believing a peculiar bird statue
to have power in its silence,
to be older, greater and more wise
than Moses, even the Lord Jesus Christ
and they were begging demons
to walk among them,
and begged for fire to flow
out of that dragon
and for the fury to come
but rock stayed only rock,
a silent lifeless dead thing
and the cities constructed by the white man
was faltering and pestilence
and poverty covered the land
while stolen farms went to ruin
and death followed every new moon.
[References: Climbers, Zimbabwe and The Stone Speaks by Musaemura Zimunya.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Where No Bells Toll
There is a wood
where we played as children
and bluebells grow
When you came home
after seeing the rape of Zimbabwe
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the killing fields of Iraq
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the poppy fields of Afghanistan
we picked bluebells
When you came home
telling of monks beaten in Tibet
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the line of fire on the Gaza Strip
it was in a coffin
There is a wood
where history plays tricks on us
and bluebells grow
poem by Roger Taber
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An African experience (in reply to Agostinho Neto)
That night it looked as if
the whole of the horizon was ablaze,
men were beating the fire throwing huge shadows
waving with arms outstretched
with the acrid smell of burning palms trees
filling the night air
and the fire was still spreading.
A row of Bailundu were carrying their possessions
were already fleeing, running away
as if they could outrun the blaze,
chased on by a strong wind
the kind of thing setting the hearts,
the minds of men alight,
taking possession of everything
and raising fear in non-believers
of party politics of freedom
by force, by the barrel of the gun
and even the coloured girl
reddening her face, using rouge
smiling at the mirror
felt the prickles of fear
going up and down her spine
thinking that maybe she wasn’t black enough
but let the though go
as her lovely body had proofed enough
its value up to now
and the sleepless man, thinking about eating utensils,
the care of his whole family
got out of bed and watched the horizon,
the red sky anxiously, afraid that the fire
was going to consume his house
and he wanted nothing but peace
but the far off shots of blazing guns
drawing closer, of mortar bombs exploding
and rocket shells hitting destroying,
had him in a frenzy of fear
and the silhouettes coming from the horizon
wasn’t of people killing fire, or dancing to the music
of marimbas,
it was the signs of a vicious civil war
coming nearer and nearer
with a consuming blaze
and soon the whole country
would be on fire,
burning from shore to shore
in a destructive war
that would leave its people shattered
in poverty and with starvation,
with legs shot off by landmines.
[Reference: African poetry by Agostinho Neto]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I went to Zimbabwe. I know how white people feel in America now; relaxed! Cause when I heard the police car I knew they weren't coming after me!
quote by Richard Pryor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't think we will ever go the way of Zimbabwe, but people are concerned.
quote by Helen Suzman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stay At Home
Outside these, four walls lies, anarchy babe
Unnatural acts and sights abound
Glass glaring, eyes staring, young pairing, maybe
What does the world care if Im not around
Cos, I think Id rather stay at home
With people I know
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know
The bright lights, are like traps, for the unwary
You need a guard just to walk at night
Fights flaring, bombs scaring, pants tearing, maybe
How can you say it will be alright
And, I think Id rather stay at home
And my face not show
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Cos, I think Id rather stay at home
Where cold winds dont blow
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Outside these, four shores lie, countries of strangers
They have water that you shouldnt drink
Bad driving, crime thriving, lifes full of dangers
Its not that Im frightened to walk on the brink.
But I think Id rather stay at home
With people I know
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Think Id rather stay at home
Where the bad guys never go, they never go
Stay at home
With people you know, people you know
Think Id rather stay at home
Where the pimples never show, they never show
Stay at home
Stay at home
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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African Spirit
Unfortunately, I will not stop,
Across Africa, I will travel with this African face,
My African pride,
And my African story.
I saw your face in Zimbabwe;
Then I saw it again in South Africa.
You smiled at me in Malawi,
Why were you surprise to see me again in Angola?
I carry the African song,
Listen to soulful rhythems from within.
I have an African heart,
With lots of love and pain, it won't part.
Your African face smiles at me with inspiration,
Across Africa and the world, give me an ear;
I speak an African language.
Someday you will know my love,
Someday you will sing my song,
Someday you will hold my heart;
Someday you will cry the same tears in my eyes.
Someday you will relieve my pain,
One day you will understand me.
Someday you will join my fight an we'll make Africa our pride.
poem by Peter Phiri
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Kilimanjaro
KILIMANJARO
Kilimanjaro
Only supporting post of Tanzania
Found in Tanzania
Strongest bridge of Africa to Heaven
Eyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
An extension worker of GOD
Doing development with the people
Building self reliance
Coordinator of Natural peace and justice
Kiboooo The senator
Immediate solutions for these confusions are needed
Verbal wars amongst leaders
Conflicts and wars in Africa
Poverty and HIV/AIDS in Malawi
Tanzania and entire Africa obey and respect you
For your highest peak is covered by clouds
Kilima the mountain
You remind me of something
You remind me of Zimbabwe
Stone house built without mortar by strong men of Zimbabwe
You remind me of pyramids in Egypt
Designed and constructed by Egyptian engineers
Kilima the mountain-Njaro the whiteness
You remind me of Nelson Mandela
Living testimony of this generation and generations to come
Kilimanjaro you are the white mountain in the world
Freedom comes from the spotted rocks seen on your snowfields
You remind me of Natural Resources
The most beautiful compass inna de warm heart of Africa
You are the leg of GOD IN Africa
Kicking out enemies of Africa
African continent is dismantled like a treadle pump
Lest any root of bitterness many may become defiled
I know you are not a profane but the blessed
That you can fight against all these neo-colonialism
For you are an extension worker of God
You have power to restore human rights
Because the bright day of Africa is in the hands of young Africans
And the bright day of the whole world is in the hands of young wise ghetto boyz
poem by Pitilosi Mdala
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