That sip before inhaling


I’m leaving whilst you burning the midnight oil

The only time I know you forget everything else except that flicker

I’m not snicking out either

I’d rather just laze around in the aftermath

And get fat with my sister

Because somethings you said left an after taste

You know belittling my struggles

What do you know about not knowing

If anyone disagrees they are not worth your attention thereafter

So I get ready for the encore chorus

Clap with me if you feel it in your existence

Repeat after me you unconventional tea lovers

“We won’t let you take away the scars

They define me

They remind me 

They mirror our daily affirmations

Our religion,our blend

So no, we won’t let you take away these scars

My struggle, my pain, my victory

You don’t get to take away my victories”

And I put down my remote-mic 

And continue my packing

My departure is part of my tying loose ends.


The adventures with Gogo Dihwa under the tree of nostalgia


One day when it’s all gone to waste;

My courage,my free spirit,my strong will

I will fly home with eagerness to Gogo’s bosoms

So one day we can wake up just when the sun makes us good to sleep again

That’s when it still feels like it’s regenerating our skin and not looking to bestow a bout of cancer

Whilst eating mealie meal porridge

Under the tree with dried out leaves

I’ll be inquisitive like my six year old self

She always loved how I would patiently listen as she unpacked preciously tugged away memories of the adventures of raising Amai

She loved talking about all of her children

I don’t know about now though

They’re all dead and we are both weary beings

I no longer worship Amai and she doesn’t hear me so well anymore

It is increasingly more difficult to unpack

They aren’t just memories

It’s the only place my uncles and aunts are still alive

In the purest form

Her angel ghosts

Haunting but not in an overbearing way

But assurance that a reunion is a sure thing coming

I think when I finally get to embrace Gogo Dihwa

And sit under the dried out tree of nostalgia

I’ll ask more about her adventures to becoming my beloved grandmother

Who knows, maybe her adventures

Can unlock my misadventures, the missing element

My campus has no north

I find comfort in the idea that feeling like my six year old self

Might rid me of adulting

For a precious few hours.

Beautiful truths


I miss you

In the kind of way I miss needing you

Too many nights piling up

Where I find ways to sleep without you

I miss the fear of losing you

It kept me warm when the distance sighed crusty cold up my spine

Too many days to count

I miss the illusions I built us on

You don’t understand me

And I lack the need to confide 

I’ve adapted, like my niece on hot days

I miss longing to hear your voice

Missed calls don’t surprise me anymore

What I’ve always wanted to say on the midnight missed calls:

“Are you good?” I ask so you can ask me too

because you’re the one person I want to ask after my well being

Not the routine greetings

I mean the conversations under the sky

About what’s really going on behind my resting face

I miss these conversations we’ve never had

All in the name of life happening

I miss you

The way I miss being vulnerable around you.

Missed calls


I don’t play dress up with Mr Man

Our time will come, for now I’d rather not explain why

Because I don’t need to convince you of my heart’s convictions

That’s the problem isn’t it

We hurt each other so much we burn bridges that could’ve taken us back

Home where I’d look forward to seeing you

Now we’re indifferent, not callous, but still from love to indifference

That’s a painful fall

Not the one you cry from

But the one that convinces your mind to never look at cliffs the same again

Or horizons for that matter

I’ve gotten used to enjoying my chai latte alone

I don’t play house with Mr Man

Just like I don’t believe a word you say

I always thought when my world crushed I’d find my way to you

But I did nothing of the sought

My body wouldn’t allow it

As much as I cried inside

No missed calls meant no missing

No missing means moving on

Moving on means no confiding

No confiding means I’ll never catch up on doomsday

It came I survived, missed calls.

My battles are not your entertainment



I have mixed heritage, but Zimbabwe was my parents converging point so here I am, your everyday Zimbabwean girl. I am a typical story really; left home, much like most people, to work and study. So far so good, only because I set some ground rules until now.

First and foremost, I am all about Pan African ideologies but more at a fundamental level. That is to say we are all one people who all understand the concept of Ubuntu and i ignore borders as much as I can. Let’s take a moment to reflect on how much less xenophobic attacks would occur especially in South Africa if Africans saw each other as one people, not foreigners.

Secondly, I do not talk about home politics for fun. It gets me all riled up if we ever really talk about it. People’s favorite question since the recent ‘coup’ is “Where are you from?” Tata ma’chance hoping I am Zimbabwean. Well I am not comfortable with people hunting me down for entertainment, sounds exaggerated but how many of you actually ask a stranger coming from an impoverished country their thoughts on the home situation   out of genuine concern. Most of you get the kicks because you  get to hear it from ‘a live source’ . If you think about it, most of us have been gone so long, we are actually watching BBC news just like you. Some do still have family they talk to if they didn’t move them out of the country already.

I speak for myself when I say I prefer talking politics with serious game changers or people who are woke and see the bigger picture. I however never shy away from correcting misinformed simpletons if hopefully they are not so ignorant that I deem the task a waste of energy.

In conclusion, because I know people will always ask, I have mixed feelings about the tension going on. I am unable to make an assessment because there’s too much speculation going about :I am happy for as long as they are minimal civilian casualty. I am waiting this out because I have been Zimbabwean long enough to have the politics exhaust my emotions. When you have my state of mind towards the matter your emotions start giving you wrong signals. You get angry at the wrong people and always get your hopes crushed after every election. So if I am not willing to share any further thoughts on this matter with you, ask yourself why. Trust me I am in no way ashamed of my country, I have just grown to understand the human Psyche a bit more. Happy politics reading.

Confessions from the past


I finally understand the reason why you grow beautiful by the day

The longer I stay, the more I understand 

That we’re both growing and evolving

And not many can applaud in agreement

When they’ve imagined  what we’ve seen

I have never felt so free and yet not alone

There’s nothing restrictive about your arms

Dear arms, please hold me as long as you’re able to

Yours forever faithful to just these biceps giving me this unrecognizable comfort

I am free, not from burden or worry, but to just be

I’ll come back with my findings, here not now but to the here we will make

I can go and on but only at the cost of inflating your ego

That’s a genuine fear, panic attack kind of thoughts

The longer I get to linger in this space we’ve created

The more I realize the fault in the stars I aligned back when it wasn’t this pretty

You aren’t all to blame, I brought my own baggage for you to sort out

That wasn’t fair 

But hey she’s gone and we are both waving goodbye, we can’t stop smiling at just how far a distant memory she’s becoming

Unfortunately he is still locked up within you, or at least I assume

Sometimes he screams out loud enough to make me cry on occasion

He’s not to be tamed but destroyed, if we’re to go anywhere

But that’s for you to realise, it’s time to get him packing

Forgive me lover for I have sinned

Confessions of unfair accusations that came your way.

The gun replaced the half heart


It wasn’t about how I’ve never seen you devote yourself to the cause like I did

It wasn’t about my need to see the cause through

It’s more or less  how the wind still calls my name the same way

Regardless of your presence

So it is now more about how the voices howl just the same

So why wear your heart when it does not protect me

I got myself a gun instead, I’m on that tip

You know, self sufficiency, till I’ve mastered the art of making wine out of my tears

I’m not her you know, the girl you know 

I see her sometimes in old photographs with your heart

But I wouldn’t say I recognize her

She’s, I don’t know , a different kind of acquired taste

And to be honest I am getting tired of explaining her actions

And the obvious contradictions

It’s a pistol, in case you were wondering

I’d love to play Russian roulette with you some time

Feeling lucky son?

I got death on my side, try beat those odds

Exhale, you looking a little pale

Holding your tongue because you do not know what kind of explosive I’ve become

I’m the one that knows which battles to fight

And baby, you aren’t worth it sometimes

It’s addictive, this level of self love, leaves you alone, not lonely

Look it up

I still love you, and often whisper a prayer for your good keeping

But I shan’t force matters

I’m beyond your realm of understanding, and I’m at peace with that

My focus now is to protect my peace, gun and all

As I work towards a more gentle wind whisper my name in peace.

The girl floats



Dreams float along with dead goals

Seize one or two, embrace them, kiss them

Recite a poem or two

They might just come back to life

And we can move on

Move forward, just gotta keep on keeeping on

I like the indifference with which you lovingly caress my hopes and dreams

She slouches, feeling too big

Sullen eyes, feeling too small

When she is not floating with glazed eyes

She’s missing your skin

Just to feel it is okay

She’s gotten to understand your body more than your words

She wants to hang upside down

And have the sun block out her blemishes

Sigh, exhale, slouch much, stare into oblivion

She floats a few paces above me

With most of my heart and soul

In these times of uncertainty and vague knowledge of self and destiny

I exhale and stare up

Phase, in heat again

But I procrastinate the labor pains

I just want her back with me

So we slump in the beauty of our majesty

I grow weary of inhaling just to exhale and gawk.

Lies my mother told me



He was the first I told of my afflictions

It must be love, mummy’s little girl told herself

Confusion whence the thoughts are repeated

Break the heart, pick it up; sigh,monotonous exhaustion,drop it

It must be perseverance mother’s bosom comforted

There is no greater agony than feeling lonely when in love

It must be you never him, you’ve always expected too much, mother’s shoulders will carry you

We do not speak the same language

It must b that your language is too demanding, momma raised a translator

“He is perfect for you, hence it must be you ruining everything”!

Fundamental thoughts planted by a misguided love.