Mike Mware
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Mike Mware is a Zimbabwean student studying for a Bachelor’s in
Theology in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. A former student at
Churchill Boys High and Arrupe Jesuit College of Philosophy,
where he graduated with a Bachelor of Arts Honours in
Philosophy, Mike also writes plays and short stories. Last year,
his short play Mandida’s shoes got special mention from Wole
Soyinka in the BBC African Performance competition and was
broadcasted on BBC radio. In this play Mike combined poetry
with drama to produce a stirring story of a young girl called
Mandida. Mike derives great inspiration from lived experiences and
is always looking for new and creative ways of expressing the
mundane. He believes that it is in the mundane that great mysteries
of humanity are revealed.
Theology in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. A former student at
Churchill Boys High and Arrupe Jesuit College of Philosophy,
where he graduated with a Bachelor of Arts Honours in
Philosophy, Mike also writes plays and short stories. Last year,
his short play Mandida’s shoes got special mention from Wole
Soyinka in the BBC African Performance competition and was
broadcasted on BBC radio. In this play Mike combined poetry
with drama to produce a stirring story of a young girl called
Mandida. Mike derives great inspiration from lived experiences and
is always looking for new and creative ways of expressing the
mundane. He believes that it is in the mundane that great mysteries
of humanity are revealed.
Kick Some Gods! When they tell and retell it That God is a huge bearded giant Floating and chilling on the clouds With eyes huge and fiery like the sun Watching at dusk as at midnight One day to reward you with avocado pears or fire Then bite your lip and kick that god! When they tell you again That God understands not your tongues And only dances to guitars and organs Shunning your loud drums and naked dances Who said God is white? Why must he be black? Run before they paint her Green! Beware of the God who adores the aroma of burning flesh Of the man who lives across your border The God who gathers stones for you Before you rape and stone prostitutes and gays at noon Yet she who saw all the shadows with her big eyes The soft early dawn knocking and whispers Run before such a God pelts, rapes and burns you! Do not nominate such a god Who counts your fasts and prayers Checks and balances your tithes and offerings When you shout with empty stomachs And duck your landlord's bloodshot eyes Whilst somebody chews biltong and toothpicks God lets kick these gods Bring back love and compassion Torch fear and hatred not foreigners Gather truth and welcome one another Not stones to pelt ourselves Stop god from robbing the poor And then might we succeed In kicking these gods faraway with our toes! While You were Away I sat here Caught in the whirlwind of memories Eyes shut I saw you Yesteryear dazzled me into silence As you flew again back into my big arms Perched on my sinuous heart Twittering melodies of love in the forest And I remembered those evening walks The crow crocked outside I opened my eyes and you fluttered away! Sometimes when I sat here The wind grumbling outside I smelt your perfume Eyes open I saw you not I felt your soft hand on my shoulders Heard you muttering, blowing, sighing into my ears And I remembered those long nights The kettles shrilled and shrieked here I closed my eyes and again you went away! When the sun shone outside there I went out Eyes squinted I roved the streets From the horizon I saw you How could I miss that full smile? I quickened my pace You stopped I ran And I remembered the mountain chases A car’s horn jerked me I stretched my eyes You had gone away! While you were away My heart flew with you I smelt you Felt you I ran towards you While you were away Now you are here Now How I wish You could just go away Somewhere Away! Write and Run! Blast not from a thin hip These toothless gobblers of truth Who gagged the singers on the littered streets? Blindfolded the dreamers at dawn To snigger with wine-flooded mouths And meat-clogged teeth Blast them not with annihilating Bazookas Lure them not into mine-infested red pastures Rather bludgeon them with Verses of imagination Stabbing anywhere with a blunt assegai Shattering, wrenching, spluttering, scattering Their fat viscera into the silent streets Seek not the bullets that sink into oblivion Hug the weapon between the thighs of your blistered fingers To ejaculate not into warm burrows But to smear on the fecundity of the stiff pulp Tearing, plucking, yanking Blindfolds, gags and dark muzzles Blast them not with sluggering baton sticks That kiss and chomp harmless buttocks Cauterising nude feet and haggard spines! Bombard them not with gas canisters That choke hopes into tears of fear Rather ambush them with fiery metaphors Shoot them with satire and ambiguity Camouflage not yourself with dead leaves Yet speak and spit on dead trees Slither like a viper between their lines Shut your mouth Spare your teeth Open your eyes and Cock your ears You have no right to kill or die now! Yet write you must Run after writing! Don’t drop your pen! Run! |