MOZA IS OUR COUNTRY :  2019 arrived with omens of bad luck of death, hunger and disease. Maybe Gods are angry or bad devils are at it again. The wings of Cyclone Idai, Satan’s angel washed away the soul, breath and glint of Moza. Moza twice died and was raised by our Gods of resilience. Today we are warming the heart of Moza with metaphors of hope and we also mourn the loss of those buried in unmarked cemeteries of IDAI and KENNETH. We write these messages to massage the bruised confidence of Moza and with the hope that Moza will rise again from cinders of despair. We are African griots grieving with you Comrade Moza in this moment of forced silence and we shall dance alongside at sun rise. We say to the people of Mozambique Together We Rise. To those souls and spirits wiped away by the devils wing, we say Rest in Peace and we implore the Gods to calm your anguished spirits. ALUTA CONTINUA, land of the brave. From Tete to Sofala, Maputo to Beira, Chimoio to Manica, Nampula to Gorongoza. We say MOZA is our country .ALUTA CONTINUA!!!



ADESINA AJALA is a sprouting Nigerian physician-writer who aspires to grow root in the loam of words and the stethoscope and scalpel. His works have appeared in anthologies, magazines and other places. His short story was the joint winner for the first place of the 2018 The Shade of Women Foundation Writers Prize.


this poem is the teary voices

of 29 million people muffling the Pátrida Amada like unrehearsed dirges

on the lips of Cabo Delgado & the city of Beira

say Cabo Delgado is the blistered lip which

falls on the cuts in lip of city of Beira

to sing these songs & salutations of phoenixes for:

  1. souls broken in the anger of Idai & Kenneth

  2. drowned voices of more than 650 people echoing

refrains of buoys to those left behind in the clash of water & whirlwind

this poem is that persuasion of the survivors to thrive.

strip this poem of its imageries. & call it a prose

lettered in unassuming awe, flipping itself into ourselves

for a nation casting her losses like votes on the ballot of faith

this poem is both the ballot box & the result sheets —

the polls of the will of the people of Mozambique:

it tells of your butterflies waltzing; daring the odds

& [of your scented] flowers sprouting off the soil of your sweat.


CHRISPAH MUNYORO is a seasoned Zimbabwean journalist , Design Artist , accomplished poet and an IT Expert.



Dark clouds ululating with windpipes and trumpets
The phenomenal pressure leaving the skies angry
Dust devils and thunderstorms poured from the sky
Stinging, destructing and devastating thunderstorms
Strong winds and ravishing tornadoes leaving grief
Atmospheric pressure flooded and seized people’s homes
Serenity of nature robbed by economic downpours
Crops, homes and humanity washed away leaving laying waste
Lives lost and destroyed forever
Violent winds rotating national disasters
Lives in disarray ,perils and bleak
Irreplaceable damage which stole violently and without remorse
Governments awestruck and confused
Communities swept away
Fundraising efforts and projects rancid
Restoration and healing to the trauma cyclone idai a question mark
Death tows leaving hunger and thirst
Stinging rainfall which left tears,loss and pain
Cyclone Idai your veracious wave always a heartache
May God intervene, have mercy to humanity as we cry for lost lives


BENEDIXIO MOORE KHOTI is the voice of Zambia, powerful page poet, speaker and events coordinator.


We are firm unshaken souls
That carry fractured hearts
Beaten black and blue by the hue
Of harsh reality –
A gloom natural calamity
That painted our pure atmosphere livid
With colours of death who casted
Shades of shock and misery
Over the face of mother – earth,
Hellish shades of shock and misery
Sprayed by dreadful cyclonic storms
That turned our beautiful smiles upside down,
Punctured our dreams and battered our hopes
still we drown in floods of one love
And soldier on
Marching and scavenging to gather beauty from ashes.
We wear the names ‘victims’ of Idai and Kenneth,
We are the voice of Mozambique.


PROSPER KAVUNIKA is a fast rising African Philosopher , story teller and artist activist from Zimbabwe

(cyclone Idai)

Chimvuramupengo mubvongodzi
Musakadzi asina mupomhodzi
Ndangariro dzako dzatisiya nemisodzi
Kukunyora handi ndava mupembedzi
Asi kubuditsa hwangu hushoropodzi

Iye akakurera, nguva yake akapambadza
Akakupa mbiri, akashayawo zvekupembedza
Kutosumana nemhepo kuuya kuzoparadza
Mbewu nezvivakwa hapachina wakayeredza
Mhere muruvazhe poshaya anonyaradza

Ko wainge wadii kunaya ukaperera mugungwa?
Ko wainge wadii kusasa mbewu dzisati dzaomegwa?
Ko zvawakafuridza matenga, chichafukidza dzimba chii?
Ko chatingada pauri kutohi Idai chii?
Ko chembere neharahwa vasara tichavaudza kuti kudii?

Ndafamba ndaona nherera dzisisina muriritiri
Ndacheuka ndaona chirikadzi dzisisina mutariri
Ndaringa ringa ndikaona mitumbi isina mufukunuri
Ndadzamisa pfungwa ndigere ndashaya chekubata cheuviri
Huturu hwawandisiya nahwo hwunenge mhiripiri hunge uriri

Idai chimvuramupengo
GEORGETTE KENDRA MBALE is a Zambian Spoken word Artist, a thespian and up and rising author.


Africa’s child mourns with sorrow
Mama sends her good wishes in whispers
Whispers in a cold breeze to calm an aching heart
She is not alone, we are all here for all of us.

I see my scared sister dying inside
Who am I to be blind
Pretending not to see her need.
Mozambique my sister
I know you’re tired and can’t find the fighter in you
A dark cloud hovers around you but the sun shall rise
It may rain cats and dogs but it won’t last a lifetime.

You have to get up
Try, try and try again
With hope you can move that mountain.
In spite of the ache
Get up and fight for something better
Wake up and ignite your fire each morning.
Rise up and keep faith, you’re gonna work it out
Mama Africa’s child is brave and a warrior.
JURGEN NAMUPIRA is a Zimbabwean diarist, published poet and blogger living and learning in Cape town South Africa


cry my beloved sister –
I won’t stop you
Kenneth has gone rogue,
the son we raised just yesterday
now boastful
turned into an ogre,
serial killer
In fact
anything and everything bad he is,
the unexpected and unwelcome guest…

Cry Mozambique cry!
we’ve seen this dark cloud hover,
we cry with you
remember tomorrow never dies
it is our hope for survival,
the future knocks on our doors
better days it comes with,
stay strong
keep fighting
devastation may have come,
but it’s not forever.
I repeat – it’s not forever
Not forever Mozambique
Your tears are not eternal…
NGOZI OLIVIA OSUOHA is a Nigerian graduate of Estate Management with experience in Banking and Broadcasting. She has published over one hundred poems in over ten countries and her first two longest poems of 355 and 560 verses THE TRANSFORMATION TRAIN AND LETTER TO MY UNBORN published in Kenya and Canada respectively are available on amazon.



I have heard your story

And seen your trouble,

The hate, the racism and the injustice

I have worn your shoe

And felt your pain

The wickedness, the intimidation,

The arrogance, the marginalization

Dear Africa, I have witnessed your fears

The hunger, the starvation and the intolerance,

The unfairness, greed and greediness

And the haunting tales of slavery.

Dear Africa, rise against the dark

Above the blackness, not black

Cheer, steer and wheel the steel

Love yourself, pride in your nature

Resist the windy and bomby path

For green is your strength and valour,

Dear Africa, we love you Mama

Yes, just the way you are.
OMWA OMBARA is an Internationally accomplished speaker , seasoned scribe , published author and poet from Kenya


Give Mozambique a New Song
Cyclone Idai has killed the beautiful music of Mozambique.
The witch has chilled every bone by sounds of storm and waves.
Hers are cries of desperation.
City of Beira is no more,
Love letters and books are her toys to swim afloat
She has killed thousands and carried our gods away.
Poets, neighbors, churn out your lyrics and new sounds
Let us give Mozambique a new song
A song of hope, a symphony of poetry, a castle of words that will weather the storm The shadows of the ancestors must return
From where Witch Idai hides them, in the bottom of the sea
So that Mozambique can heal again.

When a neighbor’s house is burning, do not rejoice

Join them in solidarity and mourn
For the witch that destroys Mozambique, Malawi, Zimbabwe may stretch her wings far. Idai’s torrents of tears splashes marathon thunderstorms as if in race against time Idai kills paralyzes like the colonizer
Merciless as if tears of past suppression is not enough
Our ancestors must not be buried at the bottom of the sea.
Poetry Nation arise, let your voices be heard.
Pick up your pens in earnest, sharpen your throats and dole put your poems
Call out to the chis, our gods, bewitched at the bottom of the sea to return home. We shall give them decent burials again.
We must keep the living alive and the dead appeased
The children shall be set free to become angels again.
Poets, give us a song of hope, gun your pens in mighty battalion
Tell us Mozambique shall rise again.


GORATA MIGHY NTSHWABI is a poetess herein as Poko Boswa Poetry my Heritage specializing in both traditional and contemporary poetry. She is an author of an English poetry book “Exploring the Roots Poetry my Heritage, Living Arts self published in 2016.She is a member of a renounced poetry group “Maruping Poetry Organization.Gorata lives in Botswana.

Gallap kiti! kiti! Kiti! in Mozambique palakata!
Destruct a wake of destruction left before the weeping eyes of the beloved Mozambiquians
Mold the lovely demolished traditional mud houses like Mama taught me
Bring back joy to Beira and other cities
Long live Mozambique!

I pray to my African Ancestors this time around to chant with me in pain
This calamity has left billions of hearts broken
Children have been left orphans
Wives and husbands have been left widows and widowers
You are such a heartless creature of all
You commanded darkness to take over without hesitation

Africa blood and marrow of my bones
Let’s all bow and implore comfort and support to our sisters and brothers
In my mother tongue we say “Mabogo dinku a thebana,bana ba motho ba kgaogana tlhogwana ya ntsi”
Let’s all worship in praise “Morena boloka sechaba sa etsho”

CAROLYNE AFROETRY MA is an globally acclaimed page and stage poet in Uganda . Acen is a literary activist, blogger and Arts diarist.

UNMARKED GRAVES OF POETS ( One of my favorite poems)

Spiked, black fences besieged
the boneyard like a
correctional facility.
Gnarled trees hunkered down
over most of the plain-
Plummeting the rest into
The wind howled like a
spine-chilling scene in a
horror movie.
Dead leaves dropped to
pay homage to the ground.
Censored colloquy
Ripped vocal cords.
Roll call in absentia.

A murder of crows strode and
squawked on the manicured
scutch grass.
Rows of weathered marble and
fallen wood bereft of epitaphs.
Junked versifiers
Restrained lyricists
Arrested dramatists
Blue-penciled manuscripts.
Epistles of immortality bound
with the decomposing relics
of poets past.
History will pay tribute to us!

Even as the last rays of the
dying sun disappear behind
the mabati roofs and the
season of mourning fades.
The morning dew will glisten
on the grass and dawn
will be another bypass
drafted by the government
As our bones rise to meet
and greet the sun.

Let it be known far and wide.
Our words are epitaphs
on life’s manuscript.
Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st is a Ugandan literary enthusiast , languages specialist poet and opinion maker


A thief doesn’t curse the theft!
The eyes of evil only damage those who shut up!
What Dark days rest
To the death of silence!,
When bells roll
And hearts cross;
But the men of evil feared!
What Dark days we hide
In the clouds of silence?
What a eloquence before the nights!
Acceptable until you are the one who follows!
“I have a dream” is not the voice of silence.
But the eloquence of the voice of the without voice.
When the oppressive reigned
In the middle of the colorful Jim Crow Bars!
What a childish silence
He broke the manhood of our humanity!
Callas until you are the one who follows!
What unfortunate signs penetrate
The belly of the earth
For the guilt of silence!
That silence is gold
When the dust of death
They wander by choosing your neighbor!
Death is beautiful until it touches your door!
You laugh until you’re next!
What loads of innocence
They win in the sight of the blame!
Janani loum swallowed death in life
For the nation to live.
Mandela, the vanguard,
She was like giraffes.
And he looked at injustice in the eyes, and said:
” what are you doing?”
It’s honey until you’re next!
Ghandi spoke and left you silent,
The silence of the good.
The tongue rips the throat, also the silence
Well kept in sight of the evil.
Silence is as harmful as the tongue;
I mean,
Silence in the eyes of the wicked,
Harmful as the tongue in the look of the good.
Evil is the silence of good
In the eyes of evil, the disciples of the devil.
Indifference is another name of hate.
They themselves are evil
The Romance of silence
In the eyes of the wicked.
Speak, speak, speak… for the love of God!
Don’t be harmful with your sweet silence!
The Knives of silence have more edge
The tongue of the swords
When as the depths of deaths are.
CATHERINE MAGODO MUTUKWA is an advocate of girlchild rights , a word carver ,published novelist and poet from Zimbabwe living in South Africa.


The doors of my mind, there’re refusing
to open
to uncover the mystery that makes
one understand
this tragedy that has become life at
My HOME is on fire, it is burning…
BURNING I tell you!
Allow me to air my frustration, while
I sit here at the edge of dashed hopes.

Deep in the valley of despondency
where my thoughts remain oppressed and
my opinions suppressed and
all these emotions unexpressed,
“Powerless” needs no translation
the words I carry deep inside there’re too
heavy, too heavy for pen and paper,
I can only petition our maker in the eloquence
of my silence.

An attempt to make sense of these agonies
has left so much unsaid
though I feel like shattering, simmering in
anger, struggling to conceal this mental anguish,
I begin to understand the value of my voice
to calm this storm…
NANCY NDEKE is an Internationally acclaimed Kenyan Poet , Creative Writing facilitator , Arts instructor and educator.


For you, a ton of sorry doesn’t do it,
Neither a load of tears,
When twice vile disaster strike with the same club,
Hurt is upgraded to traumatic terror,
Songs of joy evaporate as fog of fear envelope your shores,
Answers may elude the poet and the well wishers from far and near, But this is true of that beyond us,
Don’t give up on hope even at the dark of midday,
Weeping lasts a night and day brings a reprieve even as we moan and mourn, Life is unpredictable and often hand a cruel hand,
But brethren with these words I weep with you as one human to another And tell the heart that the lot of living sometimes is pain,
Hang on firm for the tomorrow’s sake,
When the floods of pain shall subside and birth a new song,
A song of hope on the hearts of a people that has bled.
It is well even as we sigh in held breaths,
For what we can’t change we must accept.

AWADIFO OLGA KILI is the Ugandan Diplomatic Corps head /Ambassador to Poetas Del Mundo. She is a Law Student, human rights activist and Award winning author of the book Victorious Tales.
Her poems have been published in various International poetry journals and anthologies. She is currently an Executive member of the International African Writers Association.

It was with great distress and sadness
That we received the atrocious news
About the worst hit of Cyclone Kenneth
Which came six weeks after the Cyclone Idai
Ripped into Mozambique and killed many people.
The remnants of Kenneth could dump twice
As much rain as the Cyclone Idai did
Causing homeless horde under broken shack
And cholera victims due to the catastrophic impact.
Oh Mozambique! Varnished are your laughter
Your face soaked in tears, worries about tomorrow
Saddened is your heart, wrecked emotionally
Struggling to bring back the lives you lost
Taken to the house of the dead by the Cyclones.
Oh Mozambique! We pray to our great God
To bestow mercy and erase all your failures
Granting divine comfort and consolation
To the bereaved families at this time
Of their immense trial and grief.
EMMANUEL DOUGLAS MULOMOLE is Malawian Poet , determined writer , student and peace activist .


Let lovely love be the weapon of amity
Envisioning a nice dream of no enmity
For protecting our country from strife
For greatly adding us the spirits of life

War is a devil that kills our blissful life
Let us join hand to reject a crime knife
With one love we can bake a harmony
To edify the nation be strong like bony

Let truly lovable heaven be on this earth
Cementing its eternal peace like a mirth
For bringing peerless blessings of light
Light from its beacon of pristine insight

Let us chase all perilous fears with truth
Escorting us to a pillar of set free of ruth
Alluring the purest cloud of togetherness
With love,peace,humanity, harmony, bliss
JULIET DHLAMINI JULIET DHLAMINI is an Accomplished Educator, a seasoned English language teacher and rising Poet from Zimbabwe

No, love should not hurt, ever!
It should make your feet float, and make your footsteps
Thud with the confidence of knowing, deep in your marrow
That you are treasured, adored, respected and valued.
It should make you smile in your sleep, as it does in the day
It should tickle you, make you giggle and break out in laughter
At shared memories that warmly melt the you in you
And spread warmth into your depth even as you stand on icicles.

Love should not hurt, at all!
It should urge you strive to be your best while making you see
The best in the one you love, who loves you too
The one to whom you are the best and all else is void
It should be the feather bed you throw yourself onto
In total abandon, eyes closed, confident in its soft but firm presence
It should be that ever present shield against the harsh winds
That would want to suck dry the moisture from deep within your core

It is not love, if, when you look in the mirror
All you see are a thousand pieces of you
And when the memories are like dredging
A barbed arrow-head from a festering wound,
When your heart weeps in sorrow as it flutters in panic and fear
When all you want is to hide, and break free, and fly away
Yet you feel weighed down as though cast in concrete.
No it cannot be,
Love should not hurt!
MICHAEL DICKEL( Guest Voice) ( has won international awards and been translated into several languages. His latest poetry collection, Nothing Remembers (, will come out late summer 2019 from Finishing Line Press. A poetry chapbook, Breakfast at the End of Capitalism, came out in 2017 (free PDF His flash fiction collection, The Palm Reading after The Toad’s Garden, came out in 2016 ( Previous books include: War Surrounds Us (, Midwest / Mid-East (, and The World Behind It, Chaos…(archived free PDF He co-edited Voices Israel Volume 36, was managing editor for arc-23 and 24, and is a past-chair of the Israel Association of Writers in English. He publishes and edits Meta/ Phor(e) /Play and is a contributing editor of The BeZine



I write this from storm clouds
tumbling over a mountain
like ghostly echoes of its
famous volcanic eruption.
I saw them whip by
the train’s window
and decided to ride
them, slipping out of
the passenger car unnoticed
just when you stopped my heart.
The rain of sound would form
meaning with lightning and thunder
if I had not fallen under the spell

of this place that is not formed.

Ashes fell down
from the sky, cinders, molten rock.
The living lay, buried there. Their
corpses eventually dried out, ashes
to ashes and dust to dust transcribed
literally, without translation. In a millennium
and a half, a little longer, the empty spaces
left behind become molds, the dead
become casts of cement.

So it is with the dead.

The memories
of living fall around the lives
once lived, leave a hole in the
pumice. The emptiness fills with words—
narrative and song. That is why I write
with rain drops on your windows
as the train speeds by the valleys
indifferently. That is why the ghosts
do not speak to me or to you.
That is why no one noticed

as I left the train again.

TINOTENDA WAISON WILSON is a Zimbabwean youngest literary arts projects curator ,blogger and slam poetry organizer living in Chitungwiza Zimbabwe

The damned dusk came to find me in my deep sleep
And these fanciful episodes unveilling like phantasm
A dark spirit scorned, a clay pot corded with a red
Cloth so gently, Eggs splashed at the cross roadside
And thick whites spelt, I was told by the chief priest
I had accomplished the appeasement tributary doing
And I woke, soothing sweat from the heats of those
Charcoal bocks burnt, the gas choking to seize a life.


EDWARD DZONZE is a fast rising Zimbabwean page and performance poet , a literary activist and a published author.


As if my tears are called
to wash away the dirt on the African face,
They shout Amen to this freedom burning,
My heart knows lamenting for a song
Legislators masturbating in parliament
to show the world they got balls
The only sensible thing
they have to say is a boom blast from their handguns
The meal is served when a civilian bites the dust
They sip the blood,
Sucking from the only vein that keeps the economy flowing
The said beasts are our brothers,
black brothers baptised in the civility of barbarity
to birth this poverty, rage, hate and the lack thereof of our desired serendipity
We call them enermies
yet they remain friends with our politics

As if my blood is called
to punctuate the flow of life upon the African turf
The bullets are their balls
Whorever dares them falls,
We dine on their madness
All they care is to fill their pockets with the mineral loot
Sharing the national cake while the owls hoot
Preaching prosterity from the altar of a muzzle
Machine guns on standby for their political machinations
The continous flow of our blood and tears only lubricates their game
They loot, they shoot, they reign without shame
They loot , they shoot, they reign without shame
Corruption is the semen that comes from their balls-
thats how poverty became
They have got guns to endorse their madness ahead of African serenity
Their feet only cares to run for another term
I have just a term for their way of governance : Bullshit!
Take me for vulgar, i am not the vulgar
At least the people in the streets
cannot live with the vulgarity of corruption
They shoot, they loot….
Like so they reign without shame


IBRAHIM AJANI L. is a poet , writer and artist from Nigeria
I hold on.

Unlike a pendulum,
I walk through the shore,
Taking away what fall apart
On the land, and on the pebble,
And on my wriggling mind.

At the seaside,
Natures had speak
Of how life goes and comes
In varies, taking away
Every bruise, scars in heart,
And the trashes and ashes
Discard by my burning passion.

Down to the deep
Of ocean’s floor,
I dive not; to bury
All sort, and of depression.

That I could see joy,
Dangling before my eyes
As breeze frees trees’ leaves
On my brim hat and every heart.

Oh! You the solidarity,
Flip off the grief, out of pity. Weigh me not beyond this vicinity.
Let me glow; let go the perversity.

Do never hang my neck on,
In between the rope!”


ALFRED TEMBO is an Accomplished Zambian   Journalist , Projects Incubator , human rights activist and Writer .

Terror and tears l have seen both
Villan presidents I have known many
But the truth, non serve justice
Save for drippling tears squeezed from faded happines
They rinse pain away

I look over my shoulders
And the history is unfavorable
The stories told are heartbreaking

True love endures like a candle in the open
On windy dark winter nights it strives against all odds
Passion sinks and fades away but for a while
Like childhood memories it lives beyond the day
To live and die are never the same

Everything we left behind was for a reason
With faith at the right hour it shall reappear like a dream
And it will be happy ever after


MBIZO CHIRASHA is ( 2019 International Fellow of the International Human Rights Arts Festival New York. 2018Recipient of Global Literary Influencer Certificate of Merit by Directorio Mundial de Escritores through Academia Mundial de Literatura, Historia, Arte y Cultura Vice President of POETS OF THE WORLD in Africa 2017 Recipient of PEN Deutschland Exiled Writer Grant.2017 Recipient of the EU-Horn of Africa Defend Human Rights Defenders Protection Fund. Curator of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal,, Editor of the WomaWords Literary Press,, Resident Curator of 100 Thousand Poets for Peace-Zimbabwe , and the Originator of Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Movement. of the STREET VOICE a German Africa Poetry collection, in Germany . Contributor Atunis Galatika,, Belgium. African Contributor of Demer press poetry series since 2018 , Netherlands, of the International Gallerie 2019 in India, contributor for the MONK art and soul Magazine 2019,, United Kingdom.African Contributor of the World Poetry Almanac series, in Mongolia.Featured in the POIESISI Slovenia International literature Press ,, Slovenia.

time of the poet curator,
BRAVE VOICES POETRY JOURNAL- A weekly platform of poetry for resistance, literary freedom of expression and protest Poetry in pursuit for a peaceful, just, non-dictatorial and nonviolent environment with a special on Zimbabwe , Africa and other nations around the globe through poetry , Flash fiction ,arts , brave voices and literary activism. Contact the Curator/EDITOR of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal MBIZO CHIRASHA at , post on MIOMBOPUBLISHING Facebook Group or Inbox the Curator on Messenger.

6 thoughts on “MOZA IS OUR COUNTRY :Brave Voices Poetry Journal 64.

  1. Reblogged this on Meta/ Phor(e) /Play and commented:
    Proud to be a guest voice and have one of my poems in this journal of resistance from Africa. Scroll through the journal and read the poems on your way to Return from Pompei (one of the poems in my forthcoming collection, Nothing Remembers).

    Liked by 1 person

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