Scribbles

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