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POEMS

African Child: #Poems

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By Fransisca K. Mutangadura

I am an African Child by birth.

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I am an African child because I descended in Africa

I am an African child because I love being African

Dark best describes my complexion,

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Thus discrimination befalls me worldwide.

“An upgraded version of baboon,” they say.

Why?

Because of my short hair and black skin.

Nevertheless, I’m proudly African.

My voice and opinion are invisible,

Thereby my eyes are glassy.

They say I’m unable,

I say I have the capacity.

They say I’m vulnerable,

I say I’m honourable.

Therefore pride flows in my African veins.

 A society with all kinds of people in participation

All kinds of people I recognise

Without discrimination, without limitation.

That’s a dream I will work to bring to reality

A society where the dark skinned are equal to the white skinned

I am, I was and I’ll always be,

Proudly African!!!

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POEMS

A penurious life.

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Admiring the mouth-watering menu,

My throat craving for a cold beer.

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Searching my pockets,

A budget for a loaf of bread is the reality.

I then understand why,

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A penurious life.

By Trevor Virima

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POEMS

Gratifying its way.

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Sunday full of its luxuriate spirit,

Carrying the drowsiness of Monday to a

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Tuesday as it brings the burden of chores.

Wednesday giving light to a thirsty Thursday as we prattle about

Friday becoming a Zip line to an

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Entertaining Saturday.

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POEMS

The bitterness of bombs

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I wonder why I wonder why?

I grew up in terror

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And I met a terrible error

My life was and is still shattered

And my society scattered

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I wonder why, I wonder why?

The first bomb got me on the top of the hill

But I had to face it with courage and stay still

A couple of bodies laid like flies

And all I could hear were the cries

I wonder why, I wonder why?

I saw young lads taking the last breathe by my side

To survive I had to dive in no river in order to subside

 The ground was tensed and it couldn’t hold me anymore

And my senses, my throat and my heart were all bitter and sore

I wonder why, I wonder why?

I fled the scene leaving the dead alone and I felt the shame

But who was to be held accountable and who was to be blame

I will live to tell my own story as a single narration

But the history has it all and the full documentation

By Ngaluku Lukulu Chocho

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