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"My Painful Poetry"
by Mbizo Chirasha
2007-07-12 11:42:32
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My painful poetry
Its rhymes are of the poverty stripped widows in Liberia.
Its symbols are of the slain cops freezing on the mortuary slabs of Gambia
Its imagery is of freedom succumbing within bomb cry in Nigeria

Its sound is of poverty shriveled breasts of mothers in Eritrea
Its surprise is of hunger tortured children in Ethiopia
Its echo is of war caused orphans digging for fortunes and future in rubbish dumps of

My painful poetry
Its connotations are of the weeping of ethnic tribes in Libya
Its voice is of groaning stomachs of banks in Namibia
Its tragedy is of sewage pipes gushing out disgusting contents in the streets of Zambia
Its metaphors are machetes slicing wombs in the valleys of Kataga
Its similes are of blood stained walls of sufferance in Tanzania
Its alliterations are of genocides and atrocities in Rwandan corridors
Its resonance is of butchers and slaughters in Burundan drives

My painful poetry
Its beat is of apartheid explosions in South Africa
Its allegory is of the crying of the Povo in Zimbabwe
Its satire is of the inking of villages in Mozambique
Its irony is barter exchange of diamond and riles in Angola
Its epitaph is the dying of the cultures in Algeria
My painful poetry is painful and never beautiful.

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Paparella2007-07-12 12:43:20
The poem above reminds me of a comment by Robert Frost: poetry begins with a lump in the throat. Indeed. But there will be no lump in the throat and there will be no pen on paper without the ability to see poetry all around. That ability is the difference between good and bad poetry.

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