Writings on My Soul

By Fungai O Maboreke

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!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524620448

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.

Book preview

WRITINGS

ON MY

Soul

FUNGAI O MABOREKE

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 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