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Welcome!
Scribbles of a root is a platform where words and voices; echoes of desire, virtue and life are ranted out.
If you love life, if you are of a wandering mind, if you enjoy seeing life in more than one vantage point,  if you like daring facts and beliefs. Then aboard this train, come right on in and interact with voices I echo.

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A Gem Of Black Soil

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Hear her speak, Its flames of wild fire burning sweet sensations down your ears, Imbued in wisdom and traditions of our ancestors, Clothed in enchantment of the blue sky.  Of her bewitching build none competes, Not the texture of the sun’s rays or that of petals of roses, Fairly not even the phenomenal tombs of pharaohs with all their might, It is just uniquely sophisticated. Talk of her character, Beautiful and heavenly, As the display of shiny pearls which populate the skies at night, As the glow on one’s face ignited by genuine happiness. She is a splendid gem, A woman of Africa, Of beauty kneaded from black earth A woman to adore!. Gerry Sikazwe Model: Angelina Shamz Picture Credit: Lobe Musonda
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Shadows (POEM)

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Are they scorched souls of men, Are they the evil part of every breathing man, Shadows, what are they? Are they demons loosed from hell beneath to haunt us, Are they angels in dark skins to walk with us, Shadows, what are you? Are they guides, sent to us, from our fallen ancestors, Are they spirits of the dead, or the unborn looking for bodies to posses, Shadows, what are they? Shadows, Either small or huge, Teach us always in light to walk, And show us that selflessness is a lane possible to walk in. They are nothing than truest friends, Shadows, our own.
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Who Will Marry Musuma?

- Who Will Marry Musuma?- Who will marry you Musuma? With beauty of the morning sun, Eyes of a twinkling sky, Touch as soft as clouds, Musuma, who will marry you? Who is worth your value? A woman that gods plan, from our village at night to steal, A woman who is wrestled for by our village's strongest warriors. Who is fit to espouse you? Who will marry our beauty, Musuma? For now her head slowly greys, For now her skin gradually loses its softness, And she soon approaches barrenness. Who will marry you, pride of our village? I fear, your beauty might become your mock, I fear, a spinster you would age, I pray, old and unwedded you do not die. What a shame is there anyone befitting of your beauty O daughter of Shula, the great Hunter?
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