IDENTITY APPLES by Mbizo Chirasha[Black Poet]

I am a fat skeleton, resurrecting
from the sad memories of dada
and dark mysteries of animism
I am buganda
I bleed hope
I drip the honey of fortune
makerere, think tank of africa
I dance with you wakimbizi dance

I am tanganyika
I smell and fester with the smoke of african genesis
I am the beginning
kilimanjaro the anthill of rituals

I am the smile of africa
my glee erase the deception of sadness
my tooth bling freedom
I am myself, I am gambia

when others seep with bullets stuck in their stomachs
I sneeze copper spoons from my mouth every dawn
I am the the colombia of africa

I am the cinderella of africa
where mediums feast with the ghost of kamuzu in mulange trees
here spirits walk naked and free
I am the land of sensations
I am the land of reactions
coughing forex blues
I still smell the scent of nehanda’ breath
I am african renaissance blooming
I stink the soot of chimurenga
I am the mute laughter of njelele hills

I am soweto
swallowed by kwaito and gong
I am a decade of wrong and gong
I am blister of freedom vomited from the belly of apartheid
i see the dawn of the coming sun in madiba ‘s eyebrows

I am abuja
blast furnace of corruption
nigeria, the jerusalem of noblemen, priests, professors and prophets

I am guinea i bling with african floridirization

I am blessed with many tongues
my thighs washed by river nile
I am the mystery of pyramids
I am the grafiti of nefertiti
I am the rich breast of nzinga

I am switzerland of africa
the rythm of kalahari sunset
the rhyme of sahara, yapping, yelping
I am damara, I am herero, I am nama, I am lozi, I am vambo

I am bitterness, I am sweetness
I am liberia

I am king kongo
mobutu roasted my dI amonds into the stink of deep brown blisters
frying daughters in corruption microwaves
souls swallowed by the beat of ndombolo and the wind of rhumba
I am the paris of africa
I see my wounds

I am rhythm of beauty
I am congo
I am bantu
I am jola
I am mandinga

I sing of you
I sing thixo
I sing of ogun
I sing of god
I sing of tshaka
I sing of jesus

I sing of children
of garangaja and banyamulenge
whose sun is dozing in the mist of poverty
I am the ghost of mombasa
I am the virginity of nyanza

I am scarlet face of mandinga
I am cherry lips of buganda

come sankara, come wagadugu
I am msiri of garangadze kingdom
my heart beat under rhythm of words and dance
I am the dead in the trees blowing with wind,
I cannot be deleted by civilization.
I am not kaffir, I am not khoisun

I am the sun breaking from the villages of the east with great
inspiration of revolutions
its fingers caressing the bloom of hibiscus