Scribbles

Life is a dry sponge, very thirsty for water, So when we sleep, we do so to soak her, We lie with eyes closed from the happenings of this world, That maybe pleasant scenes we would mold. We can't see any hope with our eyes open, So now we close them, endeavoring a beautiful future to envision, Reality is too thorny, our souls ever bleed, Our hearts cry tearfully each day for comfort, our only need. Most say we are merely lazy, afraid of what exists, Others claim our souls are of frightened slaves, with unsharpened fists, But truth is we are broken, we are tired of being spank by the cold, We crave so much for strength, the Sun's shine to forever behold. So next time you see me smiling asleep, Dare not draw me out of the deep, Because then in there I will be painting sweet and kind memories, Memories of relieving peace, the only comfort there is. Gerry Sikazwe

 If the sky was a blanket,  Then it could be one held invisibly,   Fastened tightly in midair,  And Earth would be the bed,   On which witty dreamers lay,  Dancing with beautiful shadows,  Pacing to and fro the ends of the world,  In close stance shaking,   Wriggling their wine-bottled waists,  To tunes of old, tunes of ancient Egypt,  To rhythms of first day Africa,   Before music was molested and lost its purity,  To Gypsy melodies,   When music still had its head proudly swung,   Left and right with no reservations.  If the sky was a blanket,  And Earth, the bed on which dreamers slept,  Life would certainly be a massive dream dreamt by all,  It would be nothing existent,  But merely a masterpiece,   A Mona Lisa of sleeping minds,  Just a beautiful thought. Gerry Sikazwe

How neatly my wife sleeps, I should like to sleep like her. She must be dreaming of me, I must long to see her dreams; Her breathe so smooth, Her turnings so soft, She must be using hydraulics, For her to turn without struggles. Her lips once again so tempting, But I do not want to disturb her, In her dreams she Takes care of all our dreams; She solves our day long problems. Through her eye lids I long to read all her eyes, And join her in her dreams. Moffat Mbuzi (Zambian)

Here is my dream, Of waltzing wishes, Of laughing, merry thoughts, Here it is warm and shiny. Here it is, my dream, A picture, in which life green is captured, It is a dream, in which tunes unplayed lurk, In which songs unsung, freely stream as waters in a river. Here is my dream, That one I formed last night, when all were asleep and night was calm, It is a dream, a dream of glittering stars, of glowing skies, Of a moon bright, what a greyish pearl! Here is a dream, a scream of my mind, It is a dream of life, with muscular wings freely flying, It is a dream, that one I had last night, Last night when all in nature's bosom lay, Last night when all snoring, slept hard and long. Gerry Sikazwe

Life is a dry sponge, very thirst for water, So when we sleep, we do so to soak her, We lie with eyes closed from the happenings of this world, That maybe pleasant scenes we would mold. We can't see any hope with our eyes open, So now we close them, endeavoring a beautiful future to envision, Reality is too thorny, our souls ever bleed, Our hearts cry tearfully each day for comfort, our only need. Most say we are merely lazy, afraid of what exists, Others claim our souls are of frightened slaves, with unsharpened fists, But truth is we are broken, we are tired of being warmed by the cold, We crave so much for strength, the Sun's shine to forever behold. So next time you see me smiling asleep, Dare not draw me out of the deep, Because then in there I will be painting memories sweet on my mind, Memories of relieving peace, the only comfort I find.