Writings on My Soul
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About this ebook
Its about word manipulation
Through lyrical fornication.
To speak about:
the faces and places
I have seen and been.
the people I meet and greet,
through dating, mating, relating
about living amongst forests and speaking to trees
listening to the ocean and feeling the winds cool breeze
its about humanity, social justice and peace
about balancing difference through wisdom and mentality
of freedom and equality.
Between man and woman,
white or black
about ethos and ethics.
when we heed to biased silent voices
we become products of those choices
prisoners of our selfish vices..
its about this lifes ups and
those rock bottom downs
through genuine, forced smiles and beyond frowns
This is a celebration of my life, others and more.
Through love, pain, life death.
Simply, the writings on my soul.
The spirits do speak to me, sometimes!
Fungai O Maboreke
I am Zambian by birth, Zimbabwean by decent, British by colonization and American by naturalization. This book is a collective poetic account of my joys, fears and sorrows, a direct influence from the places and faces I’ve been and seen.
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Book preview
Writings on My Soul - Fungai O Maboreke
WRITINGS
ON MY
Soul
FUNGAI O MABOREKE
38991.pngAuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 1 (800) 839-8640
© 2016 Fungai O Maboreke. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Published by AuthorHouse 11/21/2016
ISBN: 978-1-5246-2046-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-5246-2045-5 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-5246-2044-8 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016911966
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,
and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Cover Design Created By Natalie Davis
Contents
About the Author
Colonial hangover
Awake, Zimbabwe, Awake
Selfish gods
Chimurenga! Lament for Baba
Some Freedom
Dinner Is Served Mr President
In This Together
I Tip My Heart To You Achebe
Madiba
For Jayne Cortez
I.W.O.M.D
Writings On My Soul
His Mother
Music
Space
Sea Girt’ song
The Subway Blues
Africa My Child
Paint Me Africa
Tell My Story
Spring
Wind
Vanity In Love
Stolen Moments
Stolen Moments in Time
You Make Me Smile…
Before The Sun
Touch of love
Beauty in Youth
Today
I am not….
Some Friends
Evolution
Dipuo Mkiza
Take a Second
HANG MAN
My Mind or What?
Hurting and Healing
Underneath Haiti’s Feet
Omi
Jack Daniels
DOT
This is the soil
Moments of Grief
Home
Voice
Dedicated to Zimbabwe and true freedom
…whatever that means!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
It’s about word manipulation
Through lyrical fornication.
To speak about:
the faces and places
I have seen and been.
the people I meet and greet,
through dating, mating, relating…
about living amongst forests and speaking to trees
listening to the ocean and feeling the winds cool breeze
it’s about humanity, social justice and peace
about balancing difference through wisdom and mentality
of freedom and equality.
Between man and woman,
white or black
about ethos and ethics.
when we heed to biased silent voices
we become products of those choices
prisoners of our selfish vices..
it’s about this life’s ups and
those rock bottom downs
through genuine, forced smiles and beyond frowns
This is a celebration of my life, others’ and more….
Through love, pain, life…… death.
Simply, the writings on my soul.
The spirits do speak to me, sometimes!
COLONIAL HANGOVER
They came the people with no knees.
They rode on horseback and wore breeches.
Out of their cracked, chapped lips,
they spoke in tongues we could not interpret.
Within their sun burnt cheeks,
they harbored lies.
Fire spitting weapons on their hips.
Their dark stories yet, untold
Their selfish motives still unknown.
But whose intentions their pale faces shone.
History began to unfold
Mbuya Nehanda prophesized their invasion.
Sekuru Kaguvi predicted their perversion.
Our spirit mediums psyched their reign.
The bards recited.
Poems, an ode and a lament
The hunters blew the trumpet
A warrior’s song and dance,
while the rest of us wept,
They slept
and they dreamt
of endless pastures lined with our wealth,
I suffer from a colonial hangover.
Yesterday I imbued with my oppressor.
He guzzled on my oil
and binged in my gold mines.
He lay sprawled within my fertile soil
Before passing out, right in the middle of my fecund fields.
Come daybreak,
he rode for a day to the east.
Where he sipped pots of my tanganda tea
Within the dark Inyangani mountains.
Then, he rode for another day to the north.
There, he leisurely fished bream at Lake Kariba
At dawn he headed west
And basked within the magnificent Mosi – O – Tunya