NDABA SIBANDA - POEMS

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.

 Love Is Lovelier Than Luxury ​

​His heart has taught Africa and the world
that love is lovelier than indulgence or gold.  
One who would rather give money to charity
than live a lavish lifestyle. Incredible maturity.      
He made a substantial donation to help build
a school in his home village. He’s kind and skilled.
He once gifted 300 Liverpool shirts to his home village.
He donated $693,000 to fund a hospital. What a privilege.
A rare, young philanthropist, a God-sent football megastar.    
Sadio Mane is an extraordinarily modest African superstar. 

Our Valiant Virtuoso Marches On  ​

​He is marvelous when it comes to issues of development.
He has been named the nation`s hottest footballer at the moment.
 
In the field of play he outshines, dazzles and dribbles past opponents.
An inspiration, through his foundation, he pays school fees for students.

A philanthropic star midfielder who dribbled past poverty to prosperity. 
A visionary, his academy is taking shape, it will propel others to immensity.
    
He plays as a central midfielder for English Premier League club Aston Villa 
and the Zimbabwe national team. He plays with charisma and is a solid pillar.

He was an Under-13 player for Njube Sundowns before joining Bulawayo’s Bosso.
Since he excels, if football were music, Marvelous Nakamba would be a valiant virtuoso

 Why They Called Her Ms. M

​She was a hungry,pushy and predatory kisser. 
She didn’t like flowing water. She just didn’t. 
Do you know who she was? Ms. M. Her name. 
She was fond of people who were too lazy 
to empty their  kids’ wading pools. Those
were her victims too. She also adored 
those who were too lazy to change
the water in their birdbaths.

She had no kind words 
for those who kept the grass well-trimmed. 
She resented them. She frowned at those 
who walked in wooded or lush areas 
while wearing long sleeves 
and trousers. How dare them! 
If ever one used an insect repellent, 
then one was Ms. M`s
downright antagonist!  

She fed on plant nectar 
and water. She was no innocent kisser, 
not at all. Ms. M was a maddening 
and toxic kisser. She kissed one
and left one writhing and reeling
from a stinging sensation.

Where did the kissing lady live? 
Well, she lived in grasslands 
close to areas where folks lived. 
Stagnant water was her much- 
loved breeding ground, 
her happy habitat. 


Together with her friends,
they gathered in storm drains,
they boogied in abandoned birdbaths, 
in blocked rain gutters, pools and ponds. 

Do you know what she did?
Well, Ms. M kissed Mr. Dube. 
How did she do it? She pierced 
Mr Dube`s skin and fed on his blood! 
Ms. M bit him, injecting her saliva 
into the old man`s body while 
draining off his blood. That 
was no romantic kiss too.

I think bloody Ms. M was a vampire. 
A bloodsucker. Mr. Dube felt the result 
of her sharp kiss: a revealing red puffy bump. 
Pain and itching held him hostage. Mr. Dube 
whined as the bump became itchier, larger , 
redder and stiffer. He developed body aches, 
a headache, and fever. Ms. M was unworried 
and unavailable to respond to questions 
on why her saliva carried bacteria, 
parasites and viruses.

Ms. M had left an itchy welt behind.
Bloody Ms. M! What a stinging sensation.
Squealed Mr. Dube seeking medical attention. 

The doctor talked about vaccinations
and medications. The specialist said
 '‘M stands for Mosquito. At home,
once bitten, treat mosquito bites
by washing them with soap 
and water or pain relievers
or other anti-itch 
medications”.     

Not In Recorded History ​

​Deadly droughts drained 
And bubbled because of 
A ferocious flash of furore  

Let loose were temperatures 
That made the world fierier 
Than at any time in noted history 

Seas acidifying, species on the brink  
Of death, the earth barked a bitter welcome  
To an unwelcoming upheaval of heat and hell

Who Is A Boy?

​you had better decoy 
a boy, I see a misnomer 
in all  this: stated a man
they sought to interview
for the position of office boy, 
however, he reminded the caller
that indeed he had applied for a job
as a 45 year-old man, not as a little boy! 

When I Was A Prevented Predator  ​

​ A body divided into two distinct parts,
The collum, right behind the head, it sits;
The head houses the eyes, antennae and mouthparts,  
The first part is the first body ring in a body with lots of rings,
The second part, the trunk, consists of several body rings; 
I spotted her wriggling around with her four body rings, 
The male had deposited a sperm packet on the ground,
The female millipede just picked it up and said: what a find! 
I moved closer, she veiled a chemical that made me unsound!  

Playing Hide & Seek With The Shadows ​

​when inebriation got the better of him 
he began to perform a series of pranks, 

he claimed to be standing on the beach, 
looking at the ocean, watching the surf,

he alleged that the waves were rising
and breaking on the shore, and that

he was ready to crash them , to ride
them with his startling surfboard! 

as a claimant he crowed that his sport
of riding a wave towards the shore

saw him stand on one swaying leg
or lie ,play a guitar on a surfboard!    

as an observer of optical illusions 
of foes in the distance, he reeled 

away, yelling for help, a harbour,
tickled shadows gave him a good run,

he attempted at climbing the nearest tree,
the shrub gave his stoned sweat a stumbling gaffe  

Poet Laureate Consultant Of Mthwakazi
​

​I had shrunk in the noises of a slighting silence,
However, when the King of Mthwakazi appeared, 
he pointed at the sun and its rays regally poured on me
like a shower, and I started to feel home and honored;
He also pointed at a cute clock and an array of chiefs.
.
There was a constellation of stars, like local
footballers, movie directors, socialites ,authors,
educators and motivators. There was a galaxy of
award-winning actors, sportspersons and journalists.
 I saw icons and great thinkers. What remarkable talents!
 
There was a throng of human rightists, a bench of
uncaptured judges, a flock of religious folks and culturists. 
There was a diaspora of people who worked and lived
in South Africa, Botswana, Namibia, Australia , US, UK,
New Zealand and several different parts of the world. 
 
There was a regiment of activists, there was a swarm
of feminists and legislators. There was a troop of soldiers
and there  a wave of police officers. There was a huddle
of elderly women and men, and a busload of singers and
dancers. Indeed, there was a lovely troupe of entertainers.
 
There was a band of musicians that belted out divine music.
The King showed me a host of editors and readers who were
keenly watching the proceedings virtually, waving at us.
On Zoom, I saw the new Mayor of Bulawayo, she was waving
at me with her assemblage of excited, charismatic councilors.
 
I saw eminent radio and TV personalities, TV script writers
and famous playwrights. The King was moving around with me,
with his entourage of advisors and security personnel, and a legion
of diplomats and officials from neighboring countries. I caught sight
of a nexus of my family members and relatives. I was speechless.
 
Some women wore headbands, thick knee-length cow-hide skirts
or short skirts made of grass or beaded cotton strings, necklaces,
beaded high heels or cute crotchet sandals or beaded sandals,
yet men wore animal skins and feathers, clusters of a cow`s tail
on the upper arm and underneath the knee, rubber batata sandals.
 
“There’s a mass of people from all walks of life, there’s a multitude.
This is a momentous occasion.  All these people have gathered here
to honor you. Yes, you,” emphasized the King who wore ostrich feathers,
a leopard skin, a front apron and a rear apron or ibhetshu. He talked
about the restoration of values and dignity. I was stunned and confused.    
 
The cheerful, revered and good-looking King took me on a tour
along Nkululeko road until we marched into an august building. 
“This is our parliament”, said the King as I admired the scent
emanating from an entrance draped in a variety of  superb trees   
and flowers. What a parliamentary chamber, what a monument. 
 
I marveled at its design. The architecture had a traditional touch
to it with a spear-shaped ceiling  that shimmered with 30 000
aluminum panels. Its interiors were simple, yet colorful, delightful
and powerful. The circular space adorned with the statues of King
Mzilikazi and King Mambo, signified the history of a new nation.     
 
The King continued,” Piker Press calls you a Prophet of Liberation. Do you have a pen
name? Do you sometimes publish under a different name?” I responded promptly,
“Bhija  Jamela. I inherited that name from my grandpa. ” He smiled, “Great. We‘re
gathered here to appoint you as an officer of the royal household.  As the Poet Laureate
of Mthwakazi, you’ll promote the reading and writing of poetry nationally”. What a vision!
 
 

​ A Stockpile Of Memories And Ecstasies 

​they lit into life at a lively and lovely pace 
her eyes were the divine stars whose grace 
drew a striking streak between a nightfall
and the glowing & growing of a windfall 
their warmness gave his quietness a chase 
that shone a sun set to surge & embrace 
they saw in him a museum: a depository
of memories, they told her of a love story