“Dimples of Haiti,” Poetry by Mbizo Chirasha

DIMPLES OF HAITI 

Haiti, 

stink of sweat smelling millet slavery and the scent of blood revolutions. 

Slapped in the face with sanctions mud by hands under the influence 

of imperialistic alcohol. A super-concoction of propaganda maize porridge and 

Media yeast. 

Waterfalls of anger washing away your freedom dimples 

Handmaidens and mental epileptic waiters serving political syphilis in ideological cafes 

Children smelling stale ideological urine and dirt diplomatic cocaine 

Identities condomised with donor culture and sexual myopia 

Baboons eating colors of your flag, munching apples of your freedom 

Tongues kissing bottom streams of the state under the veil of democracy gospel 

Haiti, my pen is a weapon of mass instruction, I see the spreading yellow York of the sun,

gently falling over the darkness of your skin, yawning off the old skin of dust, Regaining the lost richness of your dimples. 

**

DAWN OF SUNSET 

Islamophobia and Christianophobia drank the york of our time 

Socialism, liberalism and regionalism many other isms made rags 

of us. Slaves to bitterness from imported political and religion attitudes. 

The sleep laden minds of Zambezi lost in the in the thicket of ballot arithmetic. 

Minds swollen by songs whose tunes crevice granite boulders of unending chumurenga. 

**

SUNSET ACCOUSTICS 

Sing Bamako, sing of spiders blighting  freedom tomatoes  

Sing of our pimped heritage 

Somalia, the dramatic irony of Africa 

Ethiopia, bring back the oil of our anthems and the clay of our identity 

Ivory coast, your hands are hardened by hard years of madness 

Cockroaches are walking over sleeping Zambezi 

Gugulethu, tired of scathy tongues and marijuana 

Egypt bulletins drenched by Arab spring urine 

Abuja, how long are you going to walk in shadows? 

**

PRESIDENTIAL GRIOT 

Sometimes memories smell like a dictator’s fart 
We once jived to our own shadows under the silver moon and our shadows 
danced along with us, we rhymed to the nightmares of hyenas and 
hallucinations of black owls. Our desires sailed along with gowns of 
fog back and forth at village dawns. Wood smoke smelt like fresh baked 
bread. Time bewitched us, we ate William Shakespeare and John Donne. 
We drank lemon jugs of Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. 
Soyinka’s lyrical whisky wrecked our tender nerves. 
We bedded politics with boyish demeanor and dreamt of the black 
cockerels and black Hitler’s 
Sometimes time is stubborn like a sitting tyrant 
Last night, commissars chanted a slogan and you baked a dictator’s 
poetry sanguage. Zealots sang Castro and Stalin and you brewed a 
socialist crank, the president is a stinking capitalist. I never said 
he is Satanist. Back to village nights, hyenas are laughing still, 
black owls gossiping, silver moon dancing still over rain beaten paths 
of our country dawns. 
Sometimes time stinks like a dictator’s fart 
Your lyrical satire sneaked imbeciles through back doors. Your praise 
sonnets recycled suicidal devils and polished revolutionary rejects 
Back then, smells of fresh dung and scent of fresh udder milk were our 
morning brew and under the twilight the moon once disappeared into the 
earthly womb, Judas, the sun then took over and every dictator is an 
Iscariot. 
I never said we are now vagabonds 
Sometimes time smells like a dying autocrat 
Mwedzi wagara ndira uyo tigo tigo ndira – the moon was once sour milk 
silver white and fresh from the Gods’ mouth and sat on its 
presidential throne on the zenith of bald headed hills and later with 
time the moon was ripe to go mwedzi waora ndira tigo tigo ndira 
Sometimes wind gusts whistled their tenor through elephant grass 
pastures, we sang along the obedient flora Chamupupuri icho…oo 
chamupupuri chaenda chamupupuri chadzoka 
Chamupupuri icho…oo! 
Our poverty marinated, yellow maize teeth grinned to sudden glows of 
lightening, the earth gyrated under the grip of thunder, then Gods 
wept and we drank teardrops with a song mvura ngainaye tidye makavu , 
mvura ngainaye tidye makavu .. Pumpkins bred like rabbits, veldts 
strutted in Christmas gowns. Wild bees and green bombers sang protest 
and praise. I never said we are children of drought relief. 
Sometimes time grows old like a sitting tyrant, 
Tonight the echo of your praise poetry irk the anopheles stranded in 
tired city gutters to swig the bitter blood of ghetto dwellers, gutter 
citizens eking hard survival from hard earth of a hard country , their 
rough hands marked with scars of the August Armageddon , their sandy 
hearts are rigged ballot boxes stuffed with corruption ,they waited 
and sang for so long . 
Chamupupuri icho…oo chamupupuri chaenda 
chamupupuri icho…oo chamupupuri chadzoka 
Chamupupuri icho..oo 

***