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.

All She Wanted Was To Be Right ​

​her stories buried under an edgy chest,
they rioted, rumbled ,seeking to reach a crest 
inside her silences, her moments of aloneness
an interplay between her calms and their rowdiness    
though untold, they told and retold their sorry stories
of moments in time loved, lost into an ocean of memories 
she feared telling her best friend or her aunt that each time
he passed by or she caught sight of his photo, it was a crime 
she couldn’t find  ample pluck to articulate, act on and bare  
her unheard words housed in hurt and too chocking to share 
that on boundless nights she turned and twisted on her bed  
the scars of loneness and longing brutal,  heavy, hot and red     
she turned to her pillow for comfort but it was tough and tight
she wasted ages navigating a past that failed to make her right  

A New Capacity ​

​a love scared of past scars 
of brutal break-ups & bruises 
of wounded and winding deeds

ended up seeking to run away  
from itself , its past, its shadow
stuck in self-dislike, in self-denial  

a love cynical of delight & devotion
fell in love with itself into restoration 
and treasured its company  and its body 

from self-loathing to self-esteem, self-love
it converted and cruised into another capacity 
a capacity to love another soul without anxiety 

Deliverance Wand In Their Hands ​

​ull of despair , they dreaded it
what if the other candidate was evil too?
they feared  possible unpleasant occurrences
after having languished in bondage for forty years
they had lost trust, the spectre of brutality and bungling
haunted them, persecuted  them, their life was a nightmare
stripped of humanity and human rights, their road was rutted     
they were their own victims as well as their own emancipators 

Bulawayo`s Benediction

​if ever there was a beautiful
brook, then she is the one
she is a brook whose waters
are destined to deal once
and for all with Bulawayo`s
perennial droughts & dupes       
our royal city has a capacity
to produce game-changers
and Busisiwe is one of them
Busisiwe is Bulawayo`s pride
a philanthropist whose work
speaks a lot about her love 
for humanity and the city 
what lurks within her soul
is not a malady but a melody
exemplary is her track record: 
orphanages, scholarships, jobs 
a sleaze-buster, a bold builder
of homes ,hopes and horizons
her song is a doer and a dancer    
hers is a song that plays & floats
within the depth of her heart
it inspires, stirs, and galvanizes
hearers to become nothing
else but heirs and heiresses, 
humble heroes and heroines    
what dances within her heart
are the metaphors and mirrors
 of souls whose lives & dreams 
and destinies have been touched
& transformed & blessed for posterity 
her name solely means The Blessed One
a selfless beauty, she is a blessing to the city
a superwoman, she is human ,solid & afloat  
for Bulawayo`s blues to be overcome, ownership
has to be reclaimed, concerted efforts applied
as far as Busisiwe is concerned, sleaze has no home
in the city if residents want it to be magnificent again

The Hooligan In Hell  ​

​his name was Nice Native 
all he wished for was neatness 
his body sprawled on nastiness 
at the very height of his stupor  
persistent punches were packed 
punches that preyed on his person 
on his private parts & precious  peace  
a booted backside , lined  little limbs    
the thug felt like he was punching what?--
a phantom, hitting a hollowness in hell
the hooligan was not a prisoner, hell no! 
he was notoriously known as For-fuck’s -sake
the lout lived large, looted and was let loose 
for the punched being , being there was hell 
his crime was his inertia & insentient innocence  

Little Hills Of Esigodini ​

​fabulous sight
landforms snake up and down
in extraordinary humps
of Nature’s poise and pride,
breasts of land projecting
into charged saddles-                   
midwifed to gush out milk
of purity and tranquility;
the hills- though
small in size,
short in height-
lug and beam
a beauty that towers
the sky of my sensuousness;

their warmth appendages
the body with a nobility priceless,
like a cup of undiluted water,
they stand out undisturbed,
unchallenged by the ever-jerky
wheels of seasons and weather;
during gusty days their music
makes love to my ears with
a rare calmness-
l feel altogether like
abandoning my journey for them,
crowning them my beautiful infinity,
during sun-drenched days-
their seemingly little panorama,
drowns and dazzles my eyes into captivity;
an image of snug oases-
unparalleled greening of my soul,
they snuggle me all the way to the apex
of amity and stimulation…
they vacillate between ideal and real,
l relish to no end
their serrated depressions and passages
that feel me with a passion
beyond mere touch and tour,
they captivate my touch at will
l cannot give them a cursory look-
the harder l try to scuttle away
the further and so further
l gravitate into their cuddling glare;
they confer upon me the throne
of Nature’s dutiful and indebted admirer
of the stupendous dexterity of our Creator;
the little hills that dominate my dreams-
those that epitomise a hustle-free haven
for the breezy incubation and birth
of a romance and a love of a lifetime;
those are my little hills heal that  my soul,
they will define and refine my life
so that l get to appreciate the meaning
of dreams and days-
l am not surprised to hear that the 
these hills are lovers’ haven, 
the scenery  is just compelling,
the shrubs and trees ooze a lively life;
the serenity is so delightful that
it promotes a refreshing union of hearts; 
they are like alternative therapies- 
the remedies of matters of the heart,
the birds` chirping –mellow 
mends troubled  souls-   
melts bitterness and rancour-
nurses and mesmerises the ears 
beyond any measurable fears!
the shrubs and trees beget an aroma 
that makes a mockery of artificial perfumes,
those hills heal my soul in a high manner!

    

Her Ward And His Ward  ​

​is there anything better
than waking up to bliss
in one`s house and heart?
 
I`II transform our ward 
into a real record  luxury 
with heavenly gardens   

the aspirant councillor 
thought she had swayed 
him into voting for her


the male resident laughed
till tears showered  down 
his cheeks before uttering:

that`s more like finding
virginity in the maternity 
ward, aspiring councillor!  

Mask Up Or Else…

​a teen got fed up 
with looking out 
of the window 

and down he glided
and out he dashed 
without a face mask

he broke Covid 19
protocols, touched
his face twice ,thrice 

once inside the shop 
he wandered through
its aisles till he was told

by an old store worker
to wear a face mask
or to get the hell out

he tried to justify stuff
I got bored with staring 
out of the window at home  

It shouldn’t be an issue 
that I`m not wearing a mask
I don’t even  wear an under… 

but the worker would have
none of it, get the hell out
or else, I`II call the cops!

The Trials And Triumphs Of The Word Nerds  ​

​A bumpy path for their pens and papers
Alas they gathered gloom, acres and acres        

Busani and Bongile`s friendship thrived, 
Born of a shared love of poetry, it lived 

Busani ruled, inhabited the haiku universe  
Bongile situated her blend of free verse

Into the lived experiences of her readers
Both grew and gloried into nerds` leaders 

​That Is How High He Was 

​He said he was praying in tongues
When he was taking hard drugs 
“I ask not to be disturbed please 
As my court of fun is in session!”

Snubbed And Stabbed

​Layelaye grovelled at her feet
Pleading with her to be his sweet
Yet Ngiyeke kicked him where it hurts
By virtue of his history of broken hearts

When The Watchful And Fearful Was Caught
​

​The police officer took a closer
look at the handcuffed man.
 The suspect`s face told of all--
unsightly scars, vice, violence.
It was rumoured that he had
bombed ATMs but he looked
poor from the crown of his head
to the sole of his feet—perhaps
a rumour was all it was. Misery
and fear were written all over
him as if he slept more lightly
than any soul and fed more alertly.
He looked over his shoulders daily.
All that could not help him evade
the long arms of the law forever.
He was caught like a wingless bird. 
 
 

FGM Must Join Dinosaurs  ​

​provision of best protection 
to every girl, every woman
against genital mutilation
is a must, if we are human

Partial or total removal
of the external female genital
organ for non-medial reasons
constitutes several bodily  treasons 

Female Genital Mutilation
is a violation of rights, an exhibition
of deep-rooted gender inequality,
it is a practice characterised by brutality  

​A Nurse At The Luveve Clinic 

​Driven and guided 
by her love
 and advocate for the health
and wellbeing of her  patients, 
Miss Jama, supported them
through health and illness,
rendering nothing else
except pure patient care. 
  

Enthusiasm
coupled with care
breathed
in her heart
and actions
as she recorded medical history 
and symptoms, 
as she provided support
and advice to patients,
as she  monitored patient health and record signs,
as she performed diagnostic tests, 
as she administered medications and treatments , 
as she operated medical equipment,
as she educated patients
about the management of illnesses.