Scribbles

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

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