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Home » Poetry » Issue 5 » ‘Kiss and Tell’

‘Kiss and Tell’

Oh, those lights, man, flash in my mind like a psychedelic trip! Pain, like glass being crushed by a lunatic carpenter, drove me wild. But you know what really burned the madness out of me? That skin-lightened dancer, damn, she broaches the subject of sex to me!

I was trapped in a room, drowning in darkness, starving for something explicit. It was like a prison, or maybe even the womb – blood clinging close, suffocating in the swamp of my life. I told her how I used to make her moan and groan and how I distracted her dancing process because I was horny.

But hey, I’m a refugee, always on the move, no sense of home, no connection to any piece of this damn earth. Boundaries are for losers, and I’m a wanderer, baby!

‘Whatever Happened to Bohemian Marechera’
Listen up, world, where the hell is Marechera now? That dude with the camera lens and loins, capturing life’s chaos frozen in time. Past, present, future – who cares about time? It’s all a mind-bending mess!

The wind from the sea carries the scent of forgotten things. I look out at the White Sun’s raging waves, feeling the chill in my bones. Exile’s got me torn, man, stuck between my mind and Bohemian reality, and I just want to break free in this community of nudity! The chorus of the Bohemian rhapsody engulfs my passions.

‘Africans Are Scared to Fight’
Hell, are we afraid to fight even where love’s a gift? I mean, scratchings at the door, who cares? A foot on the door, the thing we fight is subtle! Let the telephone ring, it’s just a poet calling – a finger-fat illusion washing itself in dollars and Euros. Liberation’s just Zimbabwean sadza and stew for the mindless.

Bullet-proof brains with their Castro beards, what a joke! Violet flowers and their sweet scent can’t save the jewel from thrones of bayonets, man. We’re melting like ice cream under the scorching sun. The Jewel has created a cemetery of our minds. We lick the ice cream from their horny bodies.

‘Mental Note?’
Yeah, mental note: I’m a rogue, and I dig it. The world can’t handle my irreverent vibe. I trace death’s design in the sand, everywhere and nowhere, man. I’m a rebel, no boundaries can hold me back! Don’t decolonise my mind, end colonization of my mind!

‘Disobedient Little Souls,’ the voice in the corridors sounds muzzling when I feel like my body don’t full orgasm.
Hey there, disobedient little souls! We’re all in this crazy mess together. Let’s break free from the shackles of conformity and embrace the madness. We’ll write bohemian poems, flipping off the taboos and diving deep into the chaos of life.

So, join me, and together we’ll dance on the edge of insanity, where poetry and hot rebellion collide. Screw the rules, let’s make our own damn magic! Poetry is hard, roses are red, and beer is brown, but water is for the drunk people, we don’t judge!

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