Scribbles

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

                                                          br.pinterest.com/explore/turbantes-africanos-946853069773/ The thought of losing you to another, The thought of giving you up to the next in line, That I cannot stand, That blow I cannot survive, So I want you badly. You and what you make me feel, Your beauty and that accompanying wit, Is the only sense this world makes, Is the only truth there is of what “alive” really is, So I want you badly. I need you like breath, you are my breath, I need you like trees do roots; you are my footing, Nothing fills my life with color like you do, Nothing paints my life this bright as you, So I want you badly. You and what you make me feel, Your beauty and that accompanying wit, Is the only sense this world makes, Is the only truth there is of what “alive” really is, So I want you badly. The thought of losing you to another, The thought of giving you up to the next in line, That I ca

                                                Picture Credit: Google Death sits everywhere, Waiting, in anything it lurks, All things have its claws, To choke blue life's veins, at will, Death is a lace in life's dress! Gerry Sikazwe

                                                                Pictures: Google  Little birds sing,  Old negro spirituals.  Around the harbour,  These tunes they echo;  To cement the hearts,  To dry seas in eyes,  Of men,  women,  To brew liquor of hate,  In boys and girls growing.  Little birds echo tunes,  Before our strong brothers,  Before our pride, virgin sisters,  Before our fathers and mothers,  Are dragged by their necks;  As we do bulls when they plough,  Smitten like we treat thieves of corn,  Dragged as our cows for slaughter,  Into a mammoth ark, ark to slavery.  Little birds cry,  They shed tears with us,  Their hearts like ours,  In great agony beat,  In deep pain bleed, asking,  How surely can a man,  Sell off his kind for whiskey,  How dare he, for rum,  His brother's sister offer,  Banishing the greatest hunters,  For mere rusty hunting guns,  Our brothers, sisters,  All just for funn

Wake up sleeping lion, Your place is not with hyenas, Yours is to cause terror and feed on finest flesh, Leave bone licking and crushing to them that are slothful, Take your throne and thereon roar. . Stand up and get work done, Neither idleness nor sleepiness is your portion, You must begin making bricks, with which to build your obese future, Let them that are lazy, thatch their tomorrows with fairy dreams, Take your place and pioneer civilization. . Flap your wings eagle, You are not a chicken nor are you a duck, Loft heights where fashioned for your exploitation, Forsake the dusty ground to them that are afraid of heights, Take your throne and thereon soar. . Start what has never been started before, The status quo has no effect on you, You don’t follow trends, you set them; that’s who you are, Limitations are for them that think within the box, not you who has no box, Take your place and steer the world. Gerry Sikazwe Model: Angelina Shamz Picture: Xan

This world you see will never see you again, This world you see, will only meet the likes of you, Your charm many have had it but not as you do, Your thoughtfulness could run in your lineage, but not as matchless as yours, You are one in infinity existences, You are an eclipse, live like one. The say beauty has long been around since life got invented, They say genius is as old in us as time to the universe, But you are uniquely adorned with beauty of dreams, But you’re gifted with wits of stars which awe us, You are beyond what the world sees, You are an eclipse, demand then regard imbued in gold. You are a natural phenomenon that occurs only once, You a dazzling meteor that runs across the sky just once, Do not then settle for second place or substandard dues, Do not embrace mediocrity or anything like it, You are irreplaceable, the only there is, You are an eclipse, always remember that of yourself. This world you see wi

She stands clear and fair, Shining with emptiness of scribbles, Wanting ink her skin to taint, She stands still unwritten on, bare. . Her body shows she yearns words, On her to be sewn, How she would love them to be permanent, On her eternally written. . She stands clear and fair, Shining with emptiness of scribbles, Wanting ink her skin to taint, She stands still unwritten on, bare. Gerry Sikazwe . Poem Style: Gerry Picture: Google (Author Unknown)

 Beauty untainted, so divinely laid,  Pleasing to the eyes; most fortunate to have a gaze,  Unique, beyond all what lead lines ever drew or feather scribbles ever said,  Beauty untainted, so divinely laid,  Soaked in sticky hypnotizing charms, hearts to always raid,  Sophisticatedly quizzical, as if glopping through a darkened maze,  Beauty untainted, so divinely laid,  Pleasing to the eyes; most fortunate to have a gaze.  Gerry Sikazwe  Model: Angelina Shamz  Picture By: Xander (Vantage Point)

- Wisdom Resides Therein - What elders speak in a shout or whisper, Heed. What elders echo in pen or thumb, Heed. What elders suggest in a sigh or a murmur, Heed. What elders rant in a nod or a wrinkled face, Heed. Gerry Sikazwe Painting By : David Myrriam

Winds may manage to erase our prints off the belly of the earth, Smiles we lit on faces of people may go off, Life may even pretend to have not birthed us, Dreams we molded to create better futures may be treated as trash, Then, when death has had devoured our lives. But now is the time, Now is the time to inscribe our names, Deep in the skin of the sky, Tattooing them so thickly that stars should envy, So that even when we pass, Those alive then may know that we too were here. Time and seasons will soon forget us, Even flowers in our gardens without us will go on, Friends and acquaintances we made alone will leave us to sleep, Gold and silver in our youth we picked will have new masters, Then, when death has had harvested our lives. But now is the time, Now is the time to inscribe our names, Deep in the skin of the sky, Tattooing them so thickly that stars should envy, So that even when we pass, Those alive then may know that we too

We do not abound in strength, We cannot boast to have muscles of Hercules, We are not gifted with terrifying physical build, But we order about the strong. We do not have confident voices as of Luther, We do not have words of Eisenhower, We surely cannot speak like Churchill, But we run the very world which their speeches once steered. We do not have fair looks, We are not with eyes that twinkle or glow, We do not have charm in our dress either, But we have beautiful minds, and that makes all the difference. We are creators, we are designers, We are nerds, with minds that see beyond this time, We are thinkers, we are dreamers, We are philosophers, with eyes that see beyond this time. Gerry Sikazwe Picture From: Google

There is a song that warms me There is a rhythm that tickles me. There is a poem that romances me, There is a portrait that is enslaving to me. There is a star that winks at me, only at me it seems, There is a breeze that serenades seductively to me, only to me it seems. Gerry Sikazwe Picture By: Vantage Point Model: Angelina Shamz

She is fearless, holds life by its neck, She is brave, with breath of volcanoes, She is schooled in modernity, unschooled of slaving traditions, She is just a bird free, freely soaring above male-chauvinism. She is a girl in boots. She is cunning, conforms the world to her standards, She is bright witted, outsmarts women-degrading testaments, She is judge and jury, never waits to be slapped, She is as swift as wind, that whistles her own triumphs unapologetically, She is a girl in boots. She is breath-takingly fair; roses do envy her skin, She is fearfully sculptured, a carving no sane eye would resist, She has no take in mediocrity, sophistication is her tune, She is a beauty; one that stars, as if poisoned with folly, uncontrollably stare, She is a girl in boots. She is purposeful, a key brush in the painting of the future, She is a hard-worker, and the survival of the world rests on her shoulders, She is not one to keep quiet, when movi

 Who can I tell that I'm an addict?  Addicted to self-annihilating acts,  That I'm torn from within, ever bleeding,  And darkness overshadows me that no light flickers at the close of the tunnel.  This burden is heavy for me to continually bear,  But who will care to listen to me?  Who will I tell that I'm an addict?  To acts, abominable and insulting to society,  Which defile all traditional and moral establishments,  Which stain the culture of our fathers and mothers,  A treason to our African values, our very ways of life.  But who will render their unjudgmental ears to my woe?  Who shall I tell that I'm an addict?  When certainly society will think me cursed of the gods!  When the Christendom will only see thousands of foul spirits in me,  When my tradition loving father, would rather slay me than accept me,  When even the woman who bore me, will want nothing to do with the shame of her womb.  Who will hear me, when my own

Question life, Seek answers to gaps not filled, Don't settle for chunks everyone else contently bags, Question life. What you know is a single star in the vast cosmos, It is not all you can be master of, You must learn more, do more, expect more, What you know is a single star on the vast cosmos. Inquire about all there is, Of course you will not get all facts, But from life you will surely milk pearls most, Inquire about all there is. Earth is merely a town alien, You are but catching a breath in it as you journey on, So capture as many memories, shadows to walk with, Earth is merely a town alien. Gerry Sikazwe

 Love is for the weak,  And wine for the strong.  I'm a valiant knighted warrior,  One who has no nature of frailty,  But what shall I be?  But what shall I do?  Now, that my heart a lass has plucked,  Now that she holds it deep in her hands.  Must I drink wine and so lose thoughts of her into tots?  Or must I just fall in love and weak forever be?  Love is for the weak,  But wine is for the strong. Gerald Sikazwe

Regret has long fingers cold, Which wrap around faces, To blind eyes sharp, To numb sight to reality. Regret is an aged widow, With husband long dead; After young men's hearts to pluck out, After breath of young men to snatch. Regret has claws, long and sharp, For inscribing fear into minds, Blocking sanity from giving its shine, Blocking hope on wings of winds from coming. Regret is a beastly creature, With eyes red, mad, and fangs tall, If let to linger, ruin it inflicts, If let to be reasoned with, death is inevitable. Gerry Sikazwe

Memories unwanted, Locked up behind steel gates, Memories scary, Enclosed, hidden inside a jar of stone. Tales crippled, Stuck on wheelchairs, Tales banished, Amidst others to walk. Fires hungry, Put to rest under water, Fires fuming, Poisoned with sleep in dark beds they lay. Secrets sleeping, Keep on dreaming soundly asleep, Secrets buried, There in your graves grey and never awaken. Gerald Sikazwe

Life sits still in its ship, And only when storms beat, Does disfigured its shape get, Life sits still, always, in its ship. Inside the ship's belly, life is confined, Detached from earthly toil and tears, Starved of earth's leisures and joys, Inside the ship's belly, growing, life is confined. Life sits still in its ship, Inside the ships belly, life is confined. Gerry Sikazwe

                Look at the images current winds paint, They are images of crippled dreams, Pictures of broken wishes, Paintings of a lifeless future; They are drawings which bid us to prepare our young for the fast arriving hostile times, To teach them all of secrets to longevity, To ready them for the quick coming dark days.                                For Earth is getting old, soon it will lack life, Its shadow is slowly like fog clearing away, Its soul is steadily making entrance to lands that exist below and beyond, Look, discern the time; it is now to fly away, far, For Earth is a burning candle, soon it will be there not. Gerry Sikazwe

These are cries of hearts crushed in pain, They are words of voices slain, Of faces that no longer resemble their original forms, A people, eternities ago, sold to anguish and despair. These are paintings colored by broken brushes, They are faint shadows of lost dreams misfortune daily lashes, Mere tales of brokenness, completely pitiful, Of a people, long ago, given away to agony and fearsome gloom. These are whispers of stitched smiles unheard They are sketched signs of crippled wishes unread, Ignored, About a people, such as us, years ago, offered to oppression. Gerry Sikazwe

While the night draws near, A hand of a painter is seen unclear, He paints the skies black, And creatively places glittering Fireflies there, He plants each fearfully, causing darkness to mute. This painter then sprinkles wet air, But even then his painting is not fair, So with a creators touch, he suspends in the sky a whitish-grey ball; Which in turn welcomes all beings in daylight rare, Thus his piece is completed, and finally exposed to all on earth. Gerry Sikazwe

In late nights, Bats, crickets whistle sweet tunes, In the presence of celestial lights, They all serenade their earthly tunes. While at sun ris'n, Other creatures orchestrate their songs, For no better reason, These present to Nature songs. Thunder in turn Beats its heavenly melodious drum; To announce to the earth, it’s time for rain, For Nature to grow green, to grow plump. Flowing streams, gashing waterfalls, Groans of pets, cries of the wild, This music, Nature attentively hears, These songs gift Nature with warmth, as does a smiling child. Gerry Sikazwe

I dreamed I stood in a studio And watched two sculptors there The clay used was a young child's mind And they fashioned it with care One was a teacher -the tools he used Were books, music and art. The other, a parent, worked with a guiding hand. And a gentle, loving heart. Day after day, the teacher toiled with touch That was deft and sure. While the parent laboured by his side And polished and smoothed it o'er And when at last their task was done. They were proud of what they had wrought. For the things they had moulded into the child Could neither be sold nor bought And each agreed they would have failed If each had worked alone For behind the teacher stood the school And behind the parent the home Author Unknown