LUNGS.

by Kevin Chimuka

When last did you shed tears?
No. When last did you cry for yourself?
When the world turned against you
No one offered you any help.
Your heart crumbled under the pressure
As your soul shrieked in pain.
Did anyone hear you crying?
Was it all in vain?

Have you ever felt like you were drowning,
Yet couldn’t shed a single tear?
All the pain and despair would grow inside you
And you knew not, how to make it disappear
Long days, trying to reach for air
Cold nights, praying for the release
Itching, scratching inside your head.
All you wish for is some peace.

Ever felt like you were dying?
Winter doesn’t feel as cold as it should.
A rare smile, the only sign of life
Avoiding it as much as you could
Living is a result of birth
Being alive is a state of being
You’re born into this world
But you felt, you could never be

When last did I cry for myself?

 

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This Love.

“Will you give me your life
When I risk losing mine?
Will you die a million times
As long as I’m fine?”
The bond of souls,
Our interlocking fingers.
Your presence devoid
But the memories linger

“Do I leave or do I stay?”
Cet amour n’a pas été apprécié

Shadows in a cold room,
This strange world keeps you distant.
Yet the wounds bleed for you.
My skin craves you at every instant.
Your touch doesn’t feel the same
Lips don’t remember my name
Eyes look at me with shame
I feel like I’m to blame

“Am I enough? Show me the way!”
Cet amour n’etait pas recompensé

Is love all that can fill your cup?
Are tears worthy, if I don’t have enough?
When I run out, will you be there,
To show that even you do care?
Do you like the smell of rain,
Beauty of grey clouds,
Dancing of violent waves,
And loving without a sound?

“Does he love me? Have I gone astray?”
Cet amour a été miné
Cet Amant….

Want to get in touch with the author of this poem? His name is Kevin, and you’ll find him on Twitter. Click here

This Flag.

A piece of me, a piece of you.

A piece of every one of us.

Pieces needed to build something bigger than all of us.

Sacrifice.

Necessary sacrifice.

A sacrifice that will take each of us from our comfort zones.

Comfort zones that vary in size & matter.

Comfort zones we can’t afford any longer.

The motherland is crying out.

Crying out to a new generation.

A new breed.

‘Help me and I’ll help you’, she says.

‘Save me and I’ll save you’.

We can not do without her.

She can not do without us.

As we wear the coat of many colors that she lovingly wove.

A coat that our fathers and their dirty hands have begun looking at with contempt.

The very same coat they once lovingly wore.

The coat of many colors.

The promise of a better tomorrow.

The promise of restoration.

The promise of what was.

The promise of what can be.

Let that promise spur us on.

We the future.

We the recipients of a tainted legacy.

Tainted by hands that reflect the rot.

It is up to you.

It is up to me.

With this coat of many colors, I pledge allegiance to my motherland.

I commit to the quest for a better tomorrow.

I give myself. To my country.

To the future of my children.

To my sisters and brothers.

To restoring the pride of Zimbabwe.

To this beautiful coat of many colors.

This Flag.

GIVE THEM CAKE.

By Danai Chirawu

The Yellowman with teeth the colour of the sun and hair glistening like polished gold stood in front of the masses, at that time he was unsure of what to tell his little people. The little people were different sizes of small with voices so big and uvulas so pink and bruised. You could distinctly notice such finer details because of the way they spread their teeth apart, yelling from the soul of their lungs in unison like it was the chorus of a popular song. He could hear their pleas and did not understand why they were constantly on their knees. ‘Are they not hungry,’ he wondered as he watched their little feet stomp the much too dusty pavement; well at least it used to be a pavement. Yellowman in his yellow suit and red cane demanded that they be silent before he delivered his much anticipated message. At this point his head was reeling from all the introspection and mind searching. He felt like he was in a game of hangman and all letters were wrong- why could he not form a cognitive statement, he wondered. ‘It must have been that long flight clogging my brain pipe; they ought to put bigger beds on the plane,’ he thought a little too loudly. The fact that he stood in front of the people with no valid answer to their questions boggled his usually brilliant mind, surely there was something those engines in that noggin could churn up to silence that irritating song. Mid thought another question landed on his brain, he wondered why they all sang the same song. Why did they sing the same song?

It was amusing how this once timid little colony had somehow united in this unwelcome ensemble, chanting for hours like slaves in a cotton field leaving echoes bouncing off all corners of the village. Their piercing voices left an unbearable ring in your ear as if each note was taking turns to play the eardrum. Never has there been a more unwelcome sensation, but after all Yellowman had endured worse. He had dodged grenades and slept while hanging in trees to give these tone deaf people their land back. An old foe called Giant had once usurped the throne but he too could not escape the wrath of the red cane. Years later Yellowman could still hear the screams of the little people perishing under the wrath of the Giant and years later he still made sure they would not forget. Yellowman unfastened his top button while trying to gather the little idea that had crawled in his head; he didn’t want his tight shirt to defer the thoughts travelling from his brain to his lips. It would be a few minutes before he could deliver this lukewarm message because of the amount of time it took to calm the masses down. He wiped his forehead with the handkerchief that was peeking from his left trouser pocked and began…

‘My people will never be a colony again!’ he bellowed, and before he could finish his much too calculated speech the little people with their little voices and their miniature bodies started to sing. He, with the confusion of a new born lamb adjusted his microphone as if to ward off the deafening noise and attempted to further his speech. ‘My peopl—e shall never be…’ and once more like a pack of rabid wolves, the little people started to sing. He looked around for aid and all he received were weak shrugs and forced claps from his entourage. He held on to the pulpit as his legs were giving out and managed to gather his composure just in time for his partner to walk up to him and whisper softly in his ear. She with lips coated in diamonds and a head dress that sparkled like an open chest of pirate treasure held on to his fading body and began to speak. ‘IF THEY DON’T HAVE BREAD; GIVE THEM CAKE.’

Follow Danai on Twitter by clicking here

 

Love Me Not.

Do not love me

I won’t bring you any good

I will prey on your soul

Whilst you on your knees

Praying for me

 

Do not love me

I will leave you nursing wounds

In the break of dawn

When I try to catch the morning light

Simply because I won’t let you be my sunshine

 

Do not love me

Sweetheart I won’t belong

My heart doesn’t belong to me either

It made a home in a place I no longer visit

And hasn’t returned since

 

Do not love me

I might love you but

The truth is I won’t love you right

I will cheat on you with memories of him

So love me not

Review: Meyniak: The Werther Effect.

I Hope You Kill Yourself.

It’s been a minute since I listened to any new Zimbabwean rap. That has changed recently, as there has been a little movement on the scene, with Alpha Centauri rebooting his Centauri Saturdays drops and a few other moves. One of my favourite drops is the one I’m reviewing now. Meyniak’s “The Werther Effect”.

Cover Art for Single

Firstly, the beat!

I love the beat on this tune. It’s the type of beat that resonates with me, especially at a time when everything is 808s and too much mumbling on beats. While I enjoy listening to Future Hendrix just as much as the next guy, I’m a big fan of beats that don’t take precedence over, y’know, rapping. So I’m glad Meyniak went for this beat. Question is, was it the right choice? Well, yes. It was, because Meyniak can rap, and can do so quite well!

So, what’s The Werther Effect anyway?

While I’d like to claim I had a clue what this was, I really had no idea what Meyniak was on about with the title of this track. A quick Google search (and a glance at the helpful material he sent through to the blog) gave me the info I needed. Simply put:

“A spike of emulation suicides after a widely publicized suicide is known as the Werther effect, following Goethe’s novel The Sorrows of Young Werther. The well-known suicide serves as a model, in the absence of protective factors, for the next suicide.” – Wikipedia. (Don’t do your college assignments with this as a source. Please I beg you).

Interesting. That quick search gave me the context I needed to give Meyniak’s raps the appropriate degree of attention. It’s certainly an interesting topic for a tune, and one that deserves more treatment, especially from an African perspective. We treat suicide and depression like they’re the reserves of demonic presences. This is obviously untrue, and I’m glad someone from Zimbabwe’s rap scene decided to discuss it in his own way.

Meyniak does away with intensive rhyming and patterns on this one, instead opting for simple, meaningful and accessible lyrics and a flow that sits well with the beat. There are no insane quotables here, and the flow and lyrics match the melancholic tone of the tune as a whole. If the idea was to deliver a sombre look at the psyche of someone going through depression and the thoughts that fill up one’s head at that point, then Meyniak has achieved his goal.

It’s also well-produced. This isn’t usual.

While I’d like to say Zimbabwean artists put out consistently great-sounding work, they just don’t. The mixing is almost always off in favour of the beat, and there is almost always volume fluctuation. It’s weird and annoying, especially if it’s coming from someone who claims to be a full time rapper. I don’t know if rapping is Meyniak’s only hustle, but I will say that his tune shows that he cares about how he sounds. He’s one of a very small group (including the like of Simba Tagz, Kapital K, Alpha Centauri and ASAPH) who have figured out how to make music sound good on a wide variety of audio outputs. Most of the others just haven’t, sadly.

Okay so what’s the deal here? Good or Nah?

I like it! It won’t be a smash or anything because it isn’t jumpy hoppy music, but as at the time of writing, it has a decent (for Zimbabwean Hip Hop) amount of plays on SoundCloud. I enjoy mellow, pensive music, and this tune fits right into the Lens Blur African Hip Hop Playlist which we started a while ago, and has been growing slowly. Will it make it onto my playlist? Probably not, but that’s because I can’t stream it off of Google Play. Enjoyable tune!

There’s an E.P coming too.

I’m kind of interested in what Meyniak is doing. He has an E.P coming, that’s eerily titled “Suicidal Ideation: Ideation”, and slated for a May 2016 release. If, like me, you’re interested in that project, hit Meyniak’s e-mail, meyniakmusic@gmail.com. Otherwise, follow him on Twitter or Facebook.

Listen to Meyniak’s “The Werther Effect” below!

In Order to Love.

In order to love, you have to appreciate

a thing… a being… in it’s totality
You can’t pick a rose and leave its thorns
The thorns, a flaw? Hmm maybe
Intimidation to some; a sign to just admire from afar
Yet a dare to approach & embrace for those willing to learn how to handle with care
A rose- quick to captivate the eye
You almost miss the detail in what holds it together; Layers of petals clinging in protection of it’s core
Each petalled layer covering with purpose, only becoming void if bruised and of no use
Lesson: before you think of stripping away someone’s layers understand their purpose,
For they might just be what holds them together..

BE MY NEXT MISTAKE.

The product of way too much R&B and a random dare from a friend

 

I don’t quite know how to say this…

So I’ll get straight to the point.

I’m in search of my next mistake and

You happen to be my first choice

 

You see, this heart of mine has been whole

For way too long.

I need you in my life, baby.

I need me a good dose of ‘wrong’.

 

And you my dear, are the ultimate error.

Renowned for being a hell of a terror.

Driven women crazy – psychotic kind of mad.

I have decided that you are my kind of bad.

 

Call me crazy, call me mad

But like I said, I need a whole lot of bad,

A hell of  a lot of crazy,

Turned up, upside down, mean chaos all around.

 

I need you to mess me up,

Spin my world around then

*Bam* Bring it to the ground,

Shattered pieces everywhere,

Leave me in despair…

 

So darling. Love.

You’ve heard my case; I’ve said it all.

So will you take my hand as we

Jump off this ledge and fall

 

Into arguments & situations,

Disagreements of all kinds,

Dischord and chaos of the highest order,

Tears, screams and lies.

 

Heart ache.

Heart break.

More aches.

So, how about it?

Be my next mistake?

XXV on XXV.

android affair

solar powered to avoid charger connection
the bill to pass carnal surrender lost election
we get heated just for the applications to collapse
addictive mind games that lead to rehab and relapse
we share a distant connection more like blue tooth
stuck in a retro time space like a red phone booth
i just finished installing a current operating system
waiting for your slow reboot, water into a cistern
most times you’re receptive to touch, up to ten fingers
you just won’t reciprocate the unpleasant thought lingers
i enjoy the telekinesis, o! i love the handsfree
hates all the radiation, i guess naught comes free
my android, cyborg, let me teach you how to feel
when you decide to shutdown let me help you heal.

apples and pancakes

as a 9 year old kid i despised apples
i preferred the syrup from maples,
i’d drip it on a banana flavored pancake
then toss the apple into the bin by mistake
quiet an affinity for moral and tooth decay
dentists made me pallid like a wilted bouquet
on the eve of my twenty-two years i met eve
clasped an apple like a grenade and begged to live
so i didn’t drop it, but sunk my fangs in it instead
it went on to detonate inside my belly, i’m not dead
that’s the euphimism for it wasn’t detrimental
i had them everyday to enhance mood and mental
crepes and pancakes brought about the same effect
the passion behind making them helped me walk erect.

 

Follow Leeroy’s Twitter. We all should, really. It’s the clever thing to do. Click here to do just that. and please share these two poems out to your friends and their relatives.