Monday, November 15, 2010



In the life we led,
We were fed,
Not with our pockets fat.
We used to feast,
Three meals at least,
The better,
To rejoice forever,
It’s gone-
We mourn.
Tummies filled with air
We do nothing but stare.
With hunger and starvation as substitutes,
We are turned into filthy destitutes,
Dreams are shattered
Lives are battered,
We remember the heyday,
Sigh and able to say,
A great time well spent,
But it was back then.

Friday, November 12, 2010



Night draws closer with end day
Where they take over in hunt of prey
Night birds-exhausted they fly not
Parroting, they cry not
Smile a lot, squeaking,
Chattering, glittering
When the lights are more than dim-dark
When we the dogs that bark
Behind bars, try our luck
Not with our catapults loose
Misled is our target we miss,
In agony, them gliding, we can’t resist
Starring, like queens, but we as kings
Of unmeasured wit, defiant
Amused not of their deviance
To wander while others pray, misled
Skinny, blindfolded and lost
For hunger not to satisfy
Rotten flesh, disabled to gratify
Integrity-sweltering, for night birds of prey?
We long for fleshy birds of day.
                                                               By Tatenda Mhlanga



Were we stripped naked?

To find, them, unshaken,

Laughing in crude fashion.

No boulder, of strength, to cushion,

For I thought out of hand they budged,

To intercept a grudge-they won.

Then reminisce not on my shady history

Yesterday, No, the looming mystery

Tomorrow, falling off the cursed fig tree.

When balancing on rotten branches made me free

To air-scratched and bruised,

Battered and clustered, embarrassed.

Having to find myself less flattered

By his ego, less set to offer

Nothing fresh, only penniless.

Shamefaced, ignoring his own follies

Of trolleys full of lies,

On which platter, silver or gold?

To make such blatant pledges bold

Naked against all odds

Shaken, composure unfound.

Surviving only to tell stories untold

With trumpets of shame….to make the sound.

Tatenda Mhlanga

Monday, November 8, 2010



They were Men, who rang the bell,

Strong in nature, so volatile, one could tell.

There were Men who ran the cells

One could not resist; in their hands we fell

No doubt the truth is, we were now in hell

It’s the metropolitan advice they had to repel,

But remember it was our inheritance, they had to sell.

Once again, they were the Men, who ran our lives,

So charismatic and dangerous, like the bee hives.

They were ready to snatch our wives,

And when we would retort, we met cattle hides.

In terms of litigation our voices were placed on the sidelines

With tears in our eyes, we looked into the skies.

Could at least one Man listen to our cries?

They were the Men who held the knife and the yam.

With nobody’s business, they would drink rum,

Whilst we, the toilers, would have some,

Not rejoicing, but in memorium.

Some would think of the surviving day,

But as for now it was the coveted price we had to pay.

Tatenda W Mhlanga

Friday, November 5, 2010



My edging strength,

To take away anyone’s breath,

Has power over kings and lords,

They seek refuge to me as of old

Using right hand robbed men,

Human haired to make me inhuman,

But with peace and order that survive,

Kingdoms and domains revive

Coupled with traditions and religious patterns,

To be thrown in rubbish pits.

I scrolled in ink, scribed on sheets

Somehow abandoned, in archives,

Would come off the blue alive,

To the rescue for walls about to tumble and fall

And to the joy of my ears, I hear their call

But with a patronizing soul,

My offer at stake they take

They’ve no other choice to make,

Underlining my status, a mere document on show

Do not be perplexed, I am the Law.

Tatenda Mhlanga

Wednesday, November 3, 2010



I would have, could have, for you
Take a postured picture of you
But now it doesn’t sound
For woman you are worth every pound
Reality is what I seek; now I have found
For the soft and creamy
The bold and sometimes flimsy
Minds, I can’t distance myself with me
When I long to be loved
Stay calm, and be hugged
Become warm and in thy sensation be sucked
Be rubbed; be tight with ecstasy and all might
When by light I wake up in my lovers arms
And with a cup of coffee there she comes
Thy beauty crippling, soul-taking my bones
Loosing the taste of thy liquor, watching you
Those loopy curves-
Then will you not take me with you
On the wings of thy eagle and fly-----------
Tatenda W Mhlanga

Saturday, October 30, 2010



Thrust in haste,
With agony in the face,
Are the Heroes that here lie.
Attacked by merciless flies,
Found in ditches, trenches and forests,
Sometimes in open air,
In lands that are clearly bare.
From a distance one can tell,
Especially, the chorus comments, the nasty smell.
There after, they are left to dry on their own,
With time changing in colour from their usual brown,
As beetles and ants invade the remains,
Of these gallants, our forgotten Heroes. 
Tatenda W Mhlanga


Monday, October 25, 2010



I wonder what are we still doing.
Or where we keep on going
With these partial approaches,
But I hope we may treat this with less reproaches.
In this friendship I will keep on recording.
Some called us friends, are we not?
With this sense of mutual understanding we’ve got?
Haven’t you stood by me when
To play dirty tricks or you have said I may be caught.
Having this friendship in mind I write this note.
I have often forgotten you off my mind in dream
A kind of reflection that is grim.
Having this rhetoric: getting you back I shall wean
Your heart and if we remain bonded we’ll still keep
Our friendship, intact like David’s sheep.
Close to you, I think I have remained,
Hating you I thought I had restrained,
All in the name of preserving this thing cemented,
But have you ever wondered if we’re still protected.
If that is so, lets wear the cap of liberty we’ll be destined.
To you the one I call a friend, I’m stuck,
Nothing may succeed in destroying or destruct,
Our mission to be bound together, a push to construct
A relationship that will never get struck
Even by slanders, misunderstandings or distrust.
I wonder if this creates shades of meaning.
I intend for all us, keeping
This kind of a Game in shape-making
The record for the greatest friendship still surviving.
Have this in mind; I will wait for this destiny.
                                                                                                By Tatenda Mhlanga   



Indeed it has come a new day,
In appreciation, our morning devotions we have to say,
Looking ahead, not forgetting yesterday,
Ready to experiment the endless world as it lay.
A new day it has been, get set to re-lay.
In its uniqueness, lies the mystery,
In remembrance, its today in history.
We listen to the birds’ mastery
Singing in melody, mellifluous sounds; a great summary
Of a fresh start: remember, stop wondering.
The orbit is revolving showing the wonder of nature,
With dew clinging on plant leaves, in a fresh unique posture,
The majestic sun rising- a great feature,
Don’t forget it’s a new beginning of great measure.
One may wonder why so much praise?
In future, it may become a page to browse,
It paves way for new participation, a new rise.
As for the discovery age, it ignites a big phase,
Of remembrance and great memories not to erase.
Nevertheless it’s anew page,
In its course a cause to plan or gauge,
Targets on receiving new prospects that may emerge,
Given another chance are the toilers the poor; out of the Cage.
It’s a new beginning in that all people have to camouflage,
And come out to rejoice a new age.    
`                                                           Tatenda W Mhlanga



You should talk I think,
If you don’t you stink,
No communication no link
From the colourless wine bottle you shall not drink,
In the wilderness of self torment, you shall shrink
Its better to speak out, don’t give me a wink.
Speak out your mind,
Then receive answers of many kinds.
No doubt, relationships you shall find,
Quietness is the worst sanctuary to hide,
Inside yourself nothing to confide.
Come out. Utter something and push this coyness aside,
And in the peace of mind you will abide.
It’s not safe to die in torment,
Your predicament becomes everyone’s consent
In dialogue, there is less disaffection to ferment,
There are always mistakes to correct,
Even problems to confront,
And a relationship to cement.
                                         By Tatenda Mhlanga