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.
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!
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 her 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
A Short-lived Incursion Into A Cave
As dusk set in he set out on his trip in line with the orders and directions of one local lady prophet and herbalist.
In one of her burping trances, she stated, “Listen, I unlock the secrets of the universe, the mysteries that defy logic and science”.
The seer advised him to tread into a nearby cave and tug any creature he finds by the tail before sprinting out whilst touching his troubled body part.
He wondered what cave dwelling animals he would find, as he entered he discovered that humidity was high due to low evaporation rates, oxygen levels were low as well.
During the day the entrance zone usually receives sunlight but it was already shrouded in complete darkness as if he had reached the deep cave zone—which is the deepest part.
The true cave dwelling animals, the troglobits live in the deep zone. In the dark he drifted and strained his eyes and guess what—came across an accidental, a visitor or an animal that seeks a brief shelter.
Was it a real person? If so, was the person running away from a predator? Was he or she a speleologist? Was he looking at a wandering ghost? When the shadowy thing edged toward him, he shrieked and sped away!
A Headlined That Converted Her
On being asked why she decided To become a feminist and a spinster, She pulled out a front-page with pride, They concluded her decision wasn’t sinister A sense of justice said to them: lend an ear By the way, the caption cried like this: WIFE TRADED FOR BEER Surely, for beer, wife, goodbye you kiss?
Behind Peterson`s Case Was Sentimentality
The Bulawayo man courted a controversy Please beautiful bottom: he pleaded for mercy The stunned magistrate said: I crave your pardon? Behind her big beautiful behind is me: was his submission The divorcing man pleaded with the official to grant him Custody of her backside, saying he would give up any claim The divorcing wife would have none of it: to hell with his claims! She added that probably the sentimental man had weaning problems!
You Are On Your Own
Upon determining that definitely motherhood was mutely motioning she mumbled, moaned and moaned about how she would put up with it.
The young man who was responsible for her condition was irresponsible. Hadn’t he told her again and again to be an impermeable goalkeeper?
“You had better be a good goalie, if you grant me-- a great goal-getter-- a free kick or worse, a penalty kick, you`re on your own after a score!”
Her friend told her of a procedure, it was not only an excruciating one but the physical and mental damage led to lifelong health complications.
She wouldn’t go down that painful path. How would she ever live with herself after committing such a chilling eyesore? Perhaps parenthood is pretty, she decided.
A Delicate Delivery
rows of white cotton balls roared delicate, feathery, they swelled
up in the sky, dark clouds spread out their legs, hidden was a seed,
little whispers about their abdomens were that they were hasty distensions
but the pregnant clouds were heedless heavy with rain, they were ready & reckless
maybe there was love, they went into labor there were prayers for a delivery that was sober