Charles Mwewa

Poetry by Charles Mwewa

love poetry

 

Along Chachacha Road


Do you recollect when we walked along Chachacha Road?
Oh, you were as innocent as a dove, as rare as purest gold
At the dawn of infancy of the change that ushered in “The Hour”
When we were frightened even by a riffraff’s version of power,
Those memories aside, it’s you, and only you, that mattered
Etched in my psyche are those four words that you uttered
And as time passes, you remain alive in my porsche soul
For true friendship never dies, all other things will surely go,
Along Chachacha Road, we bought some unfermented juice
On Chachacha Road, we munched deep-fried chicken & chips
Drive do I, along Hero’s and TransCanada Highways in America
Still, you shined classily in those dust-stricken by-ways of Africa
I won’t say that I have moved on, that will be an infidel’s carnage
A friend like you is like good wine, which is perfected with age.


Loved You Till Now


How can this love grip me so ephemerally, so eternally?

My soul ceased not to bleed, my heart swirls internally

O old lover, the rhythms of your youthful laughter

So endlessly leads me to incredible mental slaughter

I loved you once, in my heart forever you have a throne

I kissed you, O love, everlastingly you own my crown

You are tender, gentle and altogether unforgettable

Your sweet speech rings a tone so soft, so predictable

You’re unbelievable, lovely as a delicately played flute,

So lusciously felt in my tortured mind, O pretty fruit,

Our love knows no law, no weapon, no distance, no time,

Like two paths, we part not, O gorgeous, earthly prime! 


Undying Love


No threats of discovery, no rights nor privileges dared stop me

I loved you more than divine binds could restrict, more than my own life

You were the star that shown daily when I got up, when I was awake

You made me defy all law, all rules and all the eyes that stopped not to gaze

I sat you front in a bus, opposite all those who judge character

I was not offended nor did I mind the minds of those who criticize falsely

I took you to the First House, I could only do so with you, my love

I was uneducated, untested and overtly afraid of other voices

But when I thought of you, all defences fell down, you conquered me

I have never stopped loving you, though the heavens may fall

And the earth totally passes away to another life strain

O Love, my soul longs for you like a tendon cherishes the vein

I never stop to think daily, all night, how that I can survive without you

O my love, my everything, when I saw you walk past, your legs

When I heard my heart speak and utter those words, “I will always…”

Now I know I meant what I thought, I will always do, O love

I curse daily the childhood infantile thoughts, the fear of vultures

Now I know, in life or in death, I will have no other my heart to hold

Whether you are here, away or with another, you’re always mine

Though the heavens become our new home, with you I’ll be fine!

Political poetry

Slaves to a Language

 

Day in and day out, I speak a language

This is but a baggage

I sing songs that are foreign to my accent

I divulge meaning without mental accent

I cry in the anti-native mantra, O souls that be past

I retire my real me, quietly and fast

Who will teach me that I sound awful

That to love anti-native is to be unlawful

I try hard, I want to fit in

But cracks wreak havoc within

Alas, all my efforts are but vanishing meteors

I perform with my mouth, am but a theater

Why? I ask, Why do I try to be like them?

Why do I publicly entertain verbal shame?

When my other tongue with negligence I murder

My father’s language without infamy I shudder

When my mother tongue I trash to the bin

And not to remember my own etymology, isn’t it a sin?

O language, why did I choose to utter love in a hateful verse?

To follow after wind, isn’t it a vainful chase?

Why did I decide to explain truth through lying lips?

And to get rich through slavery tips?

Why did I pay my dues with untried currency?

And pronounce hard Western surnames with intimate fervency?

Bring me home, O descendants never exposed to English

For my efforts to be another palaver are but foolish

The songs of my motherland are sweet

Only because I can understand them without sweat

Whom can we blame?

Because we did not inherit this from them?

Who instructed Parliament to drown our many dialects?

And substitute them with what we will never elect?

Cry my lovely ebony countrymen,

For who has polluted our portent semen?

Shout louder upon your foreign acquired semantics

And hide not in White-washed antics…

Shame,

Shame, Oh spurious shame!

For only imitators perish in their own madness

Those who despise their history are but less

There is nothing authentic in borrowed fame

As no civilization has maturated without a name

I want to be free

I want to have ROOTS like a tree

From the accents that sound like a rotten egg

Their grammar we onerously beg

I want to say Muntu, not People!

I want to say Imfubu, not hippo!

In my own native accent

I sound better, freer and excellent

O, release me from an alien prison

To forget my language, is treason!

NATURE poetry

  

Sonata to Role Play


Stop, ponder, take time, and imagine life as a large theatre

No matter the place or time of our birth, no-one is greater

We all come, play our role, and then exit for the next cast

Like clay, we’re molded for brief purpose, then dumped fast

In that fleeting tick of life, we may be assigned to any tasks

But all the same, we’re only dirt in florid but borrowed masks

The title does not make one more exalted than any apparel do

Neither height nor weight is any measure of permanent virtue

Blood, though noble, may sustain for as long as it’s called royal

Our prime may be an asset so far as to nature we stay loyal

The so-called great men among us are so-defined only legal

And death awards the same reward to all in spite of the regal

To Heaven, belongs our strength, benefit or luck, even heart

Anything we possess, we may well say, “We only play a part.”

war poetry

coming soon

personal growth poetry

 The Stairs of Kabwata


I remember the many stairs leading up to fourth home
Here I prayed, we laughed and also, I saw you come
You were so angelic in all ways, you’re still an angel
It does not matter “others”, or a look from another angle
The Stairs of Kabwata, we were like little children playing
“We’re still little, playful children,” that’s what I am saying
The Stairs of Kabwata, in both our hearts, we know it well
Though long ago, down our hearts, its rhythms still dwell!

Life poetry

 Slaves to a Language


Day in and day out, I speak a language

This is but a baggage

I sing songs that are foreign to my accent

I divulge meaning without mental accent

I cry in the anti-native mantra, O souls that be past

I retire my real me, quietly and fast

Who will teach me that I sound awful

That to love anti-native is to be unlawful

I try hard, I want to fit in

But cracks wreak havoc within

Alas, all my efforts are but vanishing meteors

I perform with my mouth, am but a theater

Why? I ask, Why do I try to be like them?

Why do I publicly entertain verbal shame?

When my other tongue with negligence I murder

My father’s language without infamy I shudder

When my mother tongue I trash to the bin

And not to remember my own etymology, isn’t it a sin?

O language, why did I choose to utter love in a hateful verse?

To follow after wind, isn’t it a vainful chase?

Why did I decide to explain truth through lying lips?

And to get rich through slavery tips?

Why did I pay my dues with untried currency?

And pronounce hard Western surnames with intimate fervency?

Bring me home, O descendants never exposed to English

For my efforts to be another palaver are but foolish

The songs of my motherland are sweet

Only because I can understand them without sweat

Whom can we blame?

Because we did not inherit this from them?

Who instructed Parliament to drown our many dialects?

And substitute them with what we will never elect?

Cry my lovely ebony countrymen,

For who has polluted our portent semen?

Shout louder upon your foreign acquired semantics

And hide not in White-washed antics…

Shame,

Shame, Oh spurious shame!

For only imitators perish in their own madness

Those who despise their history are but less

There is nothing authentic in borrowed fame

As no civilization has maturated without a name

I want to be free

I want to have ROOTS like a tree

From the accents that sound like a rotten egg

Their grammar we onerously beg

I want to say Muntu, not People!

I want to say Imfubu, not hippo!

In my own native accent

I sound better, freer and excellent

O, release me from an alien prison

To forget my language, is treason!