Tales Of An Ordinary Poetic Boy From Bulawayo

Sjazo & the Three Scary Snakes Fairytale Yase Kasi Once upon a time there was a brave boy called Sjazo. He was on the way to see his older brother Rango, when he decided to take a shortcut through Emakhosi. It wasn’t long before Sjazo got lost. He looked around, but all he could see were trees. Nervously, he felt into his bag for his favorite toy, Mgaga, but it was nowhere to be found! Sjazo began to panic. He made sure he had packed Mgaga. To make matters worse, he was starting to feel hungry. Unexpectedly, he saw a scary big snake, it had a white and blue t-shirt on it that looked a Dynamos FC jersey. It suddenly disappeared into the trees. “How odd!” thought Sjazo. For the love of anything better to do, he decided to follow this peculiarly dressed snake. Perhaps it could lead him out this bushy area. Eventually, Sjazo reached a clearing. He found himself surrounded by shacks made from different sorts of food. There was a shack made from sweet potatoes, ...

Ghetto Love  A Short Story By Tau Kelvin Stompy was thinking about Zanele again. Zanele was a sweet beautiful girl with a cheerful personality. She had shiny, halo-white teeth and the most amazing rapture-blue eyes he had never seen before. She was the nicest girl in the neighborhood. She went to a Roman Catholic Church and she was part of the Praise and Worship team. Every kid now loved Sunday school now that she was their new teacher. Stompy walked over to the gate and reflected on his bustling surroundings. He had always loved the ghetto with its noisy, crowded streets. It was a place that inspired him to write songs that really expressed who he really was. He had his pen and notepad in his hands, but his mind was not giving him anything to write about. Then from a distance, he saw Zanele’s sculpted figure walking down the street. Stompy gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a Kwaito star wannabe, a regular drinker with red eyes and a dreadlock...

Near End Of Life I cease having strength to resist this darkness. It's too dark to find light no more. I'm that soldier that can't shoot his guns anymore. Heaven or hell? Thoughts drifting into emotional sensations of near end. Dreams I had. Who I became instead. I bumped into my ex. What is the meaning of life? I keep losing strength to fight this darkness. Can't light a candle to light this illumination

Tomorrow I'm like tomorrow gonna be busy like a Samurai's blade in a sword fight. It is easy to set my alarm, customize tones, snoozes and all that. In the depths of despair for today we promise the changes of tomorrow. Today carried my mistakes and now, all I have is belief in the existence of tomorrow. But then Pac was like tomorrow ain't promised to no man

Till We Meet Again: A letter to my father. Dear Dad, When your eldest son was 10, Mama gave birth to your last born on the 7th of February 1988, 7 months after you passed on. I was only a year and a few months old. Everyone says  I cried a lot every time you left for work. I enjoy the feeling of how I felt about you, but for some reason, I get mad at myself for not having any memories about you. But I strongly feel like I know you. Maybe because mama tells me stories about you. Everything about you. From the simplest things like how you talked and how my young brother walks just like you, to the  most inspiring staff like how you chose to go to war and, how you were so motivated and determined to fight for the independence of our country. But now the war stories get her upset, because of how that freedom is abused today. Highest levels of corruption, limited provision of basic services and leaders employing hate spe...