NDABA SIBANDA - POEMS

A Pain She Paints With Poetry 
​

Sibanda is the author of Notes, Themes, Things And Other Things, The Gushungo Way, Sleeping Rivers, Love O’clock, The Dead Must Be Sobbing, Football of Fools, Cutting-edge Cache, Of the Saliva and the Tongue, When Inspiration Sings In Silence, The Way Forward, Sometimes Seasons Come With Unseasonal Harvests, As If They Minded:The Loudness Of Whispers, This Cannot Be Happening :Speaking Truth To Power, The Dangers  Of Child Marriages:Billions Of Dollars Lost In Earnings And Human Capital, The Ndaba Jamela and Collections and Poetry Pharmacy.  Sibanda's work has received Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. Some of his work has been translated into Serbian and German.

​he says a poem that shines a light
on her tenderness is a delight
she says a piece that pieces
together the intricacies
of their union
is a canyon
 
an ache she can`t dislodge 
is an infinite and unseen gorge
whose river patters, pours with passion
into her like a cloud that carries an abrasion 
she claims that there is sweet poetry in her pain
that drives her hurt heart to prance like a pounding rain

A Pretty Prodigy From Binga 
​

​she had been written
off by prophets of doom
who define and confine
one based on their whims
 
hailing from deep down
in Binga, rustic and poor,
the diviners of disasters
looked down upon her
 
but professors  professed
that her sharpness was
on a raised, rare podium,
an acuteness`s stadium, 
and her  accessories and
clothing were intuitions
  
on a rump, Ntombi cruised
and danced and devoured 
a feast of words, a fashion
show of figures and facts
 
a studious student studied
like a supermodel catwalking
to high acclaim on a walkway
of elegance and intelligence, 
her confidence conferred rays
of sunshine, polish and  poise
 
on the pages of assignments, 
exams and heavy cogitations,
she shamed scholarly schemes
and hypnotized her professors

People, Please Pour In Some Adoration and Awe 
​

​I cherish the magic of words that shows a reader
how I am in love with trees, sunsets and sunrises,  
poetry is my potent love and my labor of love,
yet people say poetry is one of the most
uncelebrated and underfunded artforms,
a pull-down poetry syndrome does not
in any way mean I am not enamoured
of poetry and its power and its role in life, 
for without poetry how would I sing, swim
in the ecstasy of the wild and nature?  
for without poetry how would I hear
the voices of the deeps, brooks, birds?
how would I explore the landscapes,
the human condition, the weather
patterns, the finery, controversies
and complexities of life? 
poetry, I pardon humans,
I am here to bare realities
for, I think,  they err
on fostering fairness
as they fail to give
you what you merit!  
 
lovely, lively, fathomable, fun poetry,
please pave way for the perfect pour
of my thoughts, blood and emotions
so that I may not long to escape
the insanity that rules and marks
your words ,world and wisdom
and call them a misplaced family
for in your oddness and boldness
is my safety, soundness and sanity,
and where I see the world through
the prism of probe and preparation,
products that baptize me with visions  
and hence it`s my superb, stable family! 
 
please profound, philosophical poetry 
bond me with your voltage and verve,
protect me with your prime punch-
your profundity, power and precision,  
bond me in a bold and intense fashion   
as I savor each page of your digest and devour
each word ,each sound, each line and each stanza,
allow me to unwrap your splendor which empowers me
to capture all the magic and wonder of your ageless urgings,
let me seize my hot and much-loved cup of Ethiopian tea
and nestle under a comfy blanket and be transported afar!
 

​Face-to-face With A Faceless Face
 

​the sun had rolled and retired
into the cheerful cuddle of its mom,
giving way to a dense dusk to dance,
and nocturnal creatures to creep,
shamble and sing their silly songs,
 
late, she was stomping and singing
in a bid to give herself a false sense
of fearlessness, freeness and fun,
a hunch herded her to turn around
and take an abrupt look, and Lord!
  
there was something unfamiliar
about the fast fellow’s familiarity,
she couldn’t figure out who he was,
but his gaiety appeared like a sight
her eyes were used to slapping on,
 
but who is he? what is he up to?
is he rushing to catch up with me?
would he not harm me? would he say
hi? would he propose to me? would
he accept a direct or diplomatic snub?
 
there was an air of awkwardness,
quickness and foreignness about him
that made her hair to stand on end:
who is this long-limbed loose rover?
look at his robotic speed, his lankiness!
 
if only I had a cheetah`s legs that are longer
and leaner than those of other cats .. .then
I would lift them off the ground and cross them
underneath my body while abounding along!
If a were a horse I would lengthen my stride
 
and transition from a careful ,cute canter
to a  faraway, flying and fierce gallop,  
if a hole could just heave up and swallow
me up, if I had left home earlier…if…
if that man had just left me alone…
 
she lamented, labored,  reflected;
pondered, prayed as she purred;  
was he an alien with a faceless face?
the shadowy lanky loner paced
past her quaking frame without
 
as much as a care or a sound
along a fine forested footpath,
as a result a mammoth mass
of gathered firewood fell off
her flighty flummoxed head!      
 
 

The Thighs Of a Tortoise 
​

​Thoko was looking for foreign
currency to make a  payment,
 an international transaction  
highlighting the scantiness
of forex, her father indicated
that it was the sight of none
but the thighs of a tortoise