Scribbles

                                                                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 a...

                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

Yesterday, It was easy to love you; To sooth your heart, With words from my tongue, To set ablaze your face, By mere smiles and laughter. Not today, not any more. Yesterday, It was easy to love you. Not now when you've changed, Not today when another woman you've become. Now when shamelessly, you wear someone else's skin, And learned ways of the unwise. Yesterday, It was easy to love you, For then you were pure, void of any stain; Natural with beauty of the dawning Sun, Not today, not anymore For you're no longer a shine apple in my eyes, You've lost your sparkle. Yesterday, It was easy to love you; To shelter and protect you, To embrace and caress you, To forgive and start afresh with you, But not anymore. You gave up on yourself and us, Its a fix to love you, now. Gerry Sikazwe

 The first day we met, the first time you saw me I was young, a baby  The first time I saw you, the first day I met you I was shy, my lady  I remember forming my first poem later,  It was about you, about how much I didn't understand who you where  I don't remember its full contents, but it was lovely  I must have lost and forgot it along the path to youth somewhere.  The first time I witnessed your beauty, was when you were just from waking up, in the morning  You looked beautiful even with your hair untidy, face wrinkled, with your smile dim and your whole body marked by the reed mat you previously laid on,  Your beauty pulled me toward you as gravity to the ground and within me was left no more energy to fight your claws.  So each day before you awoke, I would awake and outside sit to wish you a good day,  I would ensure that my day is fully spent on seeing  you off as you travelled to the west, ...