MARCH OF TRAGEDY(JOURRNAL 63)- This Brave Voices edition is wet with metaphors of sorrow and grieving with images of death .March is our global month of Arts (poetry and theatre) and Women. In 2019 March came out lashing us with the whip of bad omen. We lost many of our beloved ones due to negative effects of climate change, accidents and brutal criminality in most countries on this global earth. Some say the Gods came out angry to the now sinful world, others say the Devil is never tired of drinking tears of the hopeless and the sorrowful. The heartless say, death is the passage of time. “WE” are pen slingers , we accompany our departed and comfort the bereaved with epitaphs ,obituaries and elegies . This Journal is yet another eulogy or epitaph to the beloved lives lost during the ravaging Cyclone IDAI in Zimbabwe , Mozambique and Malawi .It is an obituary to souls that perished in the Ethiopian Airline crash .It is an elegy to the breaths of the innocent imbibed by greed guns in a New Zealand Church and the Brazilian Elementary School . The global earth is still at grief and as such, our pens are weeping. Our hearts are heaving with pangs of grief. To the departed, this is our literary accompaniment and to the bereaved take comfort to these epitaphs and poetic messages. Thank you to all messengers of peace, ambassadors of love, prophets of words “POETS”. Till we meet again. ALUTA CONTINUA. Contact CURATOR-EDITOR of the BRAVE VOICES POETRY JOURNAL, MBIZO CHIRASHA at TOGETHER WE RISE.



AWADIFO OLGA KILI is the Ugandan Ambassador and Head of Diplomatic Corps to Poets Of The World (Poetas Del Mundo) global poetry community. Kili is a Ugandan Law Student, Human Rights Activist and Award Winning Author of The Book Victorious Tales which is Human Rights based. She was conferred with the Ambassador De Literature Award from Motivational Strips, an International forum where Writers from 105 countries meet.

For all the terrible results of every tragic crash
All the lives that were swept, lost and there was no way
Left to transform the news to a false trash
Such tragedies shouldn’t have happened any day
There are no words to make pain easier.

We didn’t know that their lives would end this way
All those we lost, may they rest in peace
These devastating incidents had taken our breathes away
Heartbreaking realities we struggled to grasp
May all the bereaved find comfort and solace.

But this was the day God fixed
We shall not question His plans and deeds
But we shall remember this day of your glorious exit
You have lived your life and we won’t forget the story
Till we meet in the light of His Heavenly eternity.



JURGEN MARTIN NAMUPIRA is a humanitarian Zimbabwean poet. Jurgen does seasonal spoken word presentations, but mostly his work is in black and white. Jürgen has since released two Poetry anthologies titled Greetings! and House of Grace. He also has a couple of short stories, novels and dramas already acted out of his scripts. Last but not least, NAMUPIRA is also a blogger and one of his blogs Art Plus Hope has also become a hub for budding poets and writers . Namupira is also a student of Electrical Engineering at North link College in Cape Town, South Africa.


Doomsday is around the corner
And the witching hour is pressing hard,
Harder than the wine press
My head spinning like a mary-go-round
Memories flashing like lighiniting

Disaster o’clock found us at the crossroads,
The moment took us by surprise and suspended us in shock –
We fled in all directions and others swallowed by the ogre,
We sought their voices in the darkness,
But their light was thwarted
And their energies dissolved

We called out for the umpteenth time,
But none of them had the breath to blow the whistle
And here we are, counting losses
Staring at broken souls
Comforting broken hearts
Picking up leftovers
We are mourning with one voice.
Yet the malicious thief has faded away into the horizon with no remorse,
All he promises is to likely strike again…
Are we a cursed generation?
Food for thought!
PROSPER KAVUNIKA is a Zimbabwean Afrocentric poet, social commentator and a provocative writer born in December of 1985. He grew up in Chitungwiza where he did both his primary and secondary education. Besides poetry he finds comfort in writing short stories. Some of his work has been featured in the Tuck Magazine. Currently he is working on a short story entitled Dual Sim.
(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 dzisato 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
JUSTICE MASANGANO is a Malawian Thought Leader ,Opinion maker , Motovational Writer , Essayist , Poet and Educator .Masangano is the incoming Ambassador for Malawi . His poems are widely published in journals and presses across the world including in the


A filthy flying monster disembarked from nowhere in the blink of an eye

Doddering high above the atmosphere with taunting glide the gloomy picture painted

Defecating thick missiles of torrents under

Lying low at will to lay incontrollable siege

The giant wings spinning faster like a propeller

Misfiring naughty grenades of masked hailstorms recklessly

Vomiting eye-blinding sparks of lethal lightings at the same time

A one deadly platoon maneuver on a mission impossible to be conquered

Ear-shattering sound of loud thunder the language of its guttural barking

As it dispersed beyond massifs and streams uprooting trees and destroying crops

Terminating bridges and bulldozing homes wantonly

Multitudes sustaining cuts from scattering smithereens

Damage sporadic as flooding rivers jostled with debris

Drowning children and mothers among cackling chicken down the yearning caves of the sea

Leaving rotten carcasses, corpses and pestilence ubiquitous

The titan flag of victory raised to the pinnacled sublime

To the survivors, death a closer companion,

Of March cyclone Idai a champion,

GORATA MIGHTY NTSHWABI aka Poko Boswa-Botswana

(In the beloved memories of souls lost in the March 2019 tragedy of the Ethiopian Airlines Boeing 737 Max 8 Crash)
Ululations turned to horrific cries
Eyes turned red
At the Airport families hopefully waited
The big bird never arrived
Sudden darkness covered the sky
Clouds swallowed it and spat it out
Souls were ended
The alive souls pointed fingers of blame at each other
Cry no more tears my children
Have no more fears as it was time
God knows all!

When rain clouds separate
The sky’s gracious melodies shut down
Silence filled up the space
Butterflies became witnesses
Tears gushed and rolled endlessly
Viral sounds stopped
Trauma and shock visited all the corners of the world
Cry no more tears my children
Have no more fears as it was time
God knows all!

The malicious bombing sound in space
Shook the atmosphere
Trees,rocks and winds boxed each other
Volcanoes,whirlwinds and tornadoes cherished the atmosphere
Mother earth cried helplessly
Receiving tonnes and tonnes of bloodshed
African Ancestors weeped in sorrow
What did we do to anger you Christ?
Cry no more tears my children
Have no more fears as it was time
God knows all!

EMMANUEL DOUGLAS MULOMOLE was born on 8th December 1994. He is a conscientious poet, avidly quotable writer, story writer and Life advice writer. He is from Africa, Southern part which is Malawi as his country. Many of his poems have been published on national and international website and some of her poems have also been published on international anthologies. He has won many awards from international poetry forums


C – Countries you have bitten are Mozambique,
Malawi and Zimbabwe

Y – You are verisimilarly having a purely
unmerciful name

C – Conveying the life of our brothers and
sisters into the light of gloominess

L – Letting your nefarious spirit to demolish our
living so badly

O – Obligation from you have openly bestowed
us a homelessness

N – Now you have also bidden us a painfully
and sadly uncontrollable tears in our eyes

E – Earthly people are really showing the
detestability to you.

I – In your calabash are full of killing and
destroyable storm

D – Ditty of you is to bring the purest
afflictions to us

A – Aperture of you is to call our life to an
inexistent space

I – Inner and outer action from you is an



uche naija
UCHE AKUNEBU is a teacher of journalism at the international institute of journalism Abuja and Open University. Immediate vice chairman of association of Nigerian authors, Abuja chapter. A public scholar, poet and prolific author.

Could you have
Been high on opium
That water horse
Like that?

Did you wake up
On the wrong side
Of the bed
To have caused this bedlam
All over Mozambique
Malawi and Zimbabwe?

Who must have
Offended you
That you have to
Fly off the handle
The way you did?

Do you know
That the flood of water
Generated by you
Pales into insignificance
To the ones formed
In our eye?

TINOTENDA WILSON WAISON an aspiring poet, human rights activists, page poet, flash fictionist as well as an editor of the ( Deem literature organization ). Born on the seventh of January 1998 at a local clinic in Chitungwiza of great svikiro, Tsuro Chaminuka. A Zimbabwean by birth and originates from Malawian tribe.Popularly known as the Lowlifediarist, has archived to compile and publicize two great ebooks entitled, THE STREET WHISPERS and the other one PAGES OF THE DIARY. He contributed to many journals online, The Kofi Annan tribute, African boy child campaign, The Ghetto Symphony Orchestra


The damned dusk came to find me in my deep sleep
And these fanciful episodes unveiling 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.


CATHERINE MAGODO –MUTUKWA is a poet and fiction writer who believes every woman is a story to be told and heard. She takes time to weave words of experience from untold stories of women who have loved and laughed, cared but cried, their feelings or unfeeling in light of what life has bestowed upon their different paths.
Her works have also been published in various online journals and anthologies.

The Rain. The deafening sound of the raindrops as they pelt the rooftops,(the asbestos-roofs, the corrugated-roofs, the thatched-roofs…) all the roofs.
Then the wind. The raging wind fiercely bending the trees and the tall grass beneath its merciless fury and unforgiving wrath, uprooting everything in its path, drowning the pleas and cries of those desperate and in despair.
The flashes of lightning and the roaring thunder, tearing up the heavens, ah! the skies cried.
It is this moment, this very moment my words seem so feeble and my mind becomes a splatter spilling itself.
I saw it all. I saw where life and death met and then collided, the human-kind suffered. To have been there, witnessing this night of frenzied-panic, feeling the cold air slice through the darkness, feeling hopeful and yet fearful, thinking… and wishing for it to be all over.
The many faces that disappeared in the water, the slippery hands that let go when all they wanted to do was to hold on…the tears no one could wipe away. The babies strapped on to their mothers’ backs, some screaming, some cooperating with no promise of the morrow. The countless loved ones separated, never to see each other again…
I’m left hollow. It takes a lot out of me. Every tear becomes a prayer, every tear means something, every tear becomes a question. The loss of such magnitude, consumed by the rising water levels erasing the existence of so many…
And dawn witnessed much destruction no eyes should ever see. While life goes on for those somewhere else, for these in the line of the destructive deluge, life means picking up the broken pieces, life means feeling the loss and pain…it means forcing the acceptance of the unacceptable.
For some of us looking from afar…HEARTACHE.



NGAM EMMANUEL BEYIA, Cameroonian born is poet, educationist, and an advocate of socio-political change. His writings address various issues and every reader is likely to find one that suits their interest. His works have been published in magazines and anthologies the world over. He has also received numerous awards of recognition
He studied in THE UNIVERSITY OF YAOUNDE 1, Cameroon, where he obtained BA in French and English. He then enrolled into Higher Teachers Training College, graduated with a bilingual diploma. Upon graduation has been teaching in local High schools in English speaking Cameroon.

Then to all silver palaces l’ll go
With avian unbridled freedom
Gun in hand, firing severally in air
observing look on face of war sponsors
to see if they’ll panic as we do here

An eagle to the battle field I’ll perch
Sharp talons poised, I’ll swoop down
Scratching and blinding eyes of hunters
So that human predators they won’t see
so for once the guns may be silenced

I’ll flap my strong wings and soar high high up,
on unperturbed moon’s edge, my nest I’ll build
Thunder bolts I’ll make as soldiers sleep
Random swooping for thirsty artilleries
Whence in nest I’ll store, far from men’s sight

Braving raging storms I’ll fly to forests
to witness the ordeal of compatriots
Fleeing from wars, bloodshed and fear
In communion ,their hunger, diseases
stories of cold and snakebites we’ll all share.


OSMAN MBINDI, Osman Shato Mbindi ( Shato the poet) is a passionate, Zimbabwean poet. Currently residing in Beitbridge. I discovered my passion in 2016 thus when i started writing. However, my first anthology will be out somewhere along mid-February in 2019. So far I have contributed to an anthology Pleasure and pain and also on Poem Hunter on the internet. To me poetry is medicine, my mouth piece and my solace. I feel I can heal our societal ailments through the chemistry in words. I look forward to be one of the best African poets in the near future.

The fiery wind had grinding teeth
It hewed desperately swerving trees
They wailed in pain
Screamed to Mami wata
The rains;
Poured in heavy flows
From the fat droplets
To the roaring floods
Pattering and rumbling
Devouring doves
Devouring lives
Cruelly sweeping cattles, houses and crop fields
Heaving, driving and shouldering boulders
Burying the bee hive where records used to caress
The sweating, tired white heads and the leaping kudus
It strapped the logs
The roofs
The life on its thorny back
You are a devil
Who bathes in tears, sweat and blood
Look what you have done now?
I hate you!


Dear mom and dad

My spirit hovers like a straying ghost
Soaring in the empty skies like a depressed eagle
In the heart of the scary jungle
Now dry and dusty
With brown rustling vegetation
Mom and dad
I have harvested your bloody tears
In this black broken bowel
I have seen you staggering
I have seen you struggling
I have seen you wondering
Groping, rolling stones, tiptoeing into caves
To search for my remains


Now listen!
I am weeping blood tears too
over the vapoured dreams
The blury -misty road
Please listen!
I am not squashed under those boulders
I am not buried on the river bed
Neither am i scattered on its channels
But i am stuck in that sacred cave
Where we used to see snoozing spears and skulls
So just retrieve my maggot feasted body
And bury me next to Grandpa
So that i can rest in peace.



EDWARD DZONZE- is  a  Zimbabwean Poet , Writer , Spoken Word Artist and Organizer.
In solidarity with the victims of Cyclone Idai,

The Living and the Soar Song
Today we drink tears
in the cold embrace of a tragedy
Every tattooed descendant of Nehanda is soaked in tears
Breakfast, lunch and supper is not certain for my brethren in Chimanimani
At the expedient behest of Idai, the unwelcome
who made himself welcome on the unsespecting patches of home ,
They drank and gulped bouts that sank them beyond the land of the living
There is no remaining grain of hope in their grannaries
to feed the survivors after a traumatizing wrestle with a cyclone that left them naked
And if you think the clothes you give as relief aid will clothe them from nakedness
You are looking at the wrong picture of nakedness
Their only shield from psychological trauma is our perception
They lost the serenity that defined their livelihoods
to a a ragging storm, a cyclone….
A cyclone that became known to us as Idai

I call unto you again Nehanda
Pardon my misdemeanour around this, i got your number saved as MEDIUM on my contact list
Say it to the African gods,
the very breast that suckles trees and crops for our sustenance
Is dripping vernom, spitting out ceaselessly
to choke the living in their quest for a fresh breath
This land is flooded with tears of mourners
but we cant standby and watch our actions drown the hope in the face of survivors
Those who survived to live again
Today we share these tears as a narration of what befell our brethren and kins in Chipinge
The wrath of fate delivered in excess, the damage too much a wound for the human mind as to the skin
Yet we found it written as foreword that the living can only rise to dance when fate sings a verse for us

Where was Noah to listen to Idai
prophesying the madness and evil intent of the cyclone
Dead bodies thrown around like teddy bears to provoke the pain of the humane heart
Villages stripped of the serenity that made them home to our acceptance of the same
Everything about life distorted, except the hope that lives after the tragedy
For time will tell a new tale to explain the graves
Today we share these tears to confront the providence of fate ànd subdue the pain to live again
The wrath of fate delivered in excess, the damage too much a wound for the humane heart as well the skin to bear
Today we drink tears from the cold embrace of a tragedy as libation to the African gods
Watching from the spiritual realms,
fate singing a soar song for us all to taste and dance to
For yours is a land soaked in tears today, take the picture to the African gods Neh


Adriatic Jaçe was born on 21.05.1971 in Përmet. After graduating from high school, he continued his studies in Tirana University. The passion for literature started when he was very young, passion which it grow throw years, as well as numerous reading, was transformed into poetry and creative spirit.
The diversity of life, Life metaphysics and deep sensation experience, those are the basis of this poetic creativity, which comes through symbolism and metaphor, that is used on creative style and creative art for the moment.
(Today in New Zealand two mosques were attacked, with dozens of victims …)

Today, all night,you didn’t sleep.
All your dreams,had blood.
Today enmity …command you brain.
Did not ask for the heart at all.

Today you made plans all night.
Wipe the gun, read the sketches.
From where to go,to victims
How many innocent,the beast would eat.

You took,what you’ve been hiding for centuries.
Emerge in square,with a guns.
There was no pain, for people.
Bullets burned out of each side.

Your vision was blurry from hatred.
Your heart doesn’t feel no sin.
Laughs,scrims painless.
Lifes you take, nade sacrifices.

You killed people, everywhere blood.
They prayed to Allah
The only mistake they had.
Thay had faith in there own God

The whole world held the breath.
Maybe someone said, you’re right.
But,I don’t you know what you going to do…
Do you get washer by all this blood?

I do not know how you will be calm …
How can you even live?
Leaving hundreds of orphans …
Dozens of women, there houses,empty

How will you breathe still?
Humans,they not going to kill.
You going to lift your eyes in God?
But will God going to forgive you?

Today you signed your dirty name.
On this dirty and dark word
Today, you killed dozens of bodies.
But spit on you thousands of souls

Perhaps somewhere are selfish persons?
“They are not ours” talked to themselves.
But they forgot the simplest thing
“Whatever they sowing today,will tomorrow going to eat.”



MICHAEL MWANGI MACHARIA (is a poet based in the Rift Valley region, kenya.He contributes literary and education articles to the Kenyan dailies. He is also involved in directing, adjudication of music and drama. He has developing interest in History, Fine art and photography
( On the Ethiopian Boeing 737 Max crash)

What can one say?

How does one describe that deadening feeling
That makes one toss and turn till dawn
Haunted by images of tumbling
From the clear blue heavens?

How does one describe the tragic loss
To an entire nation and whole families-

The sudden unexpected departure
Of the best in the various fields
Who departed one fine morning
Mind set on sweet home
Just a few hours away?

Death is the flip side of life
It just takes a toss of the coin
By a fickle wind blown
From mystic divine realms.

Sometimes thoughts aren’t enough
And poetry does not suffice
To express the pain
For the most loved and treasured
Who dwell in eternal memories.

Yet we remain here
Tortured earthlings musing fancifully
On what could have been
Had you not taken
The ride one unassuming morning…

Fare thee well,
Great soldier and fellow travellers
You fought a good fight
You came ,saw ,served motherland
With utmost honor and dignity.
Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st is a published Ugandan poet, artist and Literature and English Language teacher, an Acoli by tribe, born on 25th February, 1992, Kitgum, Northern Uganda


We are rolling
Our pierced bicycle of freedom
From the buffaloes
Of thirst and hunger
That knock dead children and mothers;
We’ve to roll the wheel, anyway.

We are rolling
Our slowworm wheelchairs of freedom
From the heavy handed mad bulls
Of the arbitrary cold prisons,
And the stupid amendments
That knock dead the nation every five years;
We’ve to roll the wheel, anyway.

We are rolling
Our wheelless coffins;
Some shall fall again,
But let’s unite to stand the pain,
The crown is worth more than the pain;
The prison of one is the prison of all;
We’ve to roll the wheel, anyway.

We are rolling
Our lives towards the beacon of hope,
Wheeling longer and higher above
The truncheons thudding
With the whisks of whips,
Running the Nation’s businesses;
We’ve to roll the wheel, anyway.

We are rolling
Our punctured bicycle with love,
A liberating love, love for the nation;
We may not reach the Promised Land now,
But we’ll reach finally soon, anyway.

NGOZI OLIVIA OSUOHA is a Nigerian poet/writer/¬thinker, a graduate of Estate Management with experience in Banking and Broadcasting. She has published over one hundred and fifty poems in over thirteen countries and featured in over twenty international anthologies.She has published three poetry books and coauthored one, they are THE TRANSFORMATION TRAIN, LETTER TO MY UNBORN, SENSATION and TROPICAL ESCAPE respectively. She writes hymns, psalms and has numerous words on the marble. All her books are record breakers.


They kill priests in the altar
And murder worshippers
They maim the pulpit
And burn the chancel
They carry the chalices
And party with communion wines,
They tear purificators
And dip robes in blood,
They are fighting for God.

They feed with the offerings
And steal holy images,
They mock faithfuls
And behead children,
They stab wombs
And bare foetuses
They are working for God.

This sermon is crazy, ridiculous
An Armageddon that baffles God,
These men are killing for God.

Hear bullets, see bombs, watch grenades explode
See men, women and children dropping dead
They die worshipping, sleeping, farming
They die running, fearing, praying, pleading
They die living, working, walking
They die untimely because some men are pleasing God.

Religion, the rival of God
The greatest enemy of God,
Religion, the challenger of God.

They kill to please God
They murder to serve God
They war to obey God
They butcher to preach God
They bomb to announce God
These men terrify God.

Dear God, I pity you
Your throne must be an oceanic blood
Your garment flesh and bone,
Oh how weary you must be.

They will kill this God for God
Poor God, my heart bleeds for you
Oh how strong you must be,
Watching, weeping, crying, sobbing
Yet, they kill for you.

Oh I mourn, they will kill this God
Quiet, lonely, unseen, He hides
Troubled, tormented, tortured
Agonised, bruised, broken
Oh dear lord, they will kill you for me.

Sacraments of blood, inward and outward doom
Communion of war, gun and trigger
Sermon of death, grave upon grave
Oh dear God, let them spare you for me.

WAFULA P’KHISA s a poet, writer and teacher from Kenya. He studied English, Literature & Education at Moi University. His work has been published in The Legendary (issue 48), Aubade Magazine (issue 1), The Seattle Star,The Beacon (ebook anthology), Scarlet Leaf Review, Antarctica Journal, NYSAI Press,, Best ‘New’ African Poets 2015 Anthology, Mgv2 Magazine, Lunaris Review, Best ‘New’ African Poets 2016 Anthology, PPP Ezine (vol 2, issue 1), Advaitam Speaks Literary Journal (vol 2, issue 1), Basil O’ Flaherty Journal, Emanations (issue 2), Disgrace Land (ebook anthology on Zimbabwe), New Ink Review, Dwarts Literary Magazine, Better Than Starbucks (April 2018 Vol III No IV), Tuck Magazine, Nthanda Review and Best ‘New’ African Poets 2017 anthology. His work has also been published in French. He blogs at http //:wafulakhisa.wordpres¬

we are mourning with joy and pain
wasn’t even ripe; she had a fine brain, a fine ass
& a fine face though
but she had to go down–
everyone has to go down someday
for one reason or the other.
she is the lamb whose blood washed away sins
of an evil regime & house-band
and keep them in business of killing
and derailing the birth of wonderful dreams.

THE dci, fbi, dpp… are on her case
chasing the shadow of whoever dismantled her, forever!
until grass grow on her tiny grave:
to conceal the face
of evil
metted on innocent earth-children
& blossom into beauty
that runs deep in the scarred veins of the ridges.

BEAUTY is an egret
sitting beautifully on human dung
pushed & pulled in all directions
by our wildest desires
who cares how it’s made?
we squeezed the 2/3 gender rule into nothingness
and threw into the dustbin of history–
pushing the woman to the extreme end [of the world]
where the sun & moon strain
to cast light!


CHRISPAH MUNYORO CHRISPAH MUNYORO is currently a graduate of Applied Art and Design, Graphics and Website Programming. at Kwekwe Polytechnic College in Zimbabwe . Munyoro is a talented writer, journalist and a dedicated Design Artist. She is natural linguist, fluent in many languages among them English, Shona, Esperanto, Setswana, Swahili, Italiana and Yoruba. She began as a columnist writing feature articles in the Gweru Times in Midlands Province Capital of Zimbabwe. She has worked as a Midlands Chapter Chairperson of the Zimbabwe Association of Freelance Journalists. Munyoro was once a Zimbabwe Representative at Zone IV Regional Youth Games in 2014 Bulawayo in the boxing discipline. The multi-disciplinary artist is registered under AIBA the international body of boxing. The Writer, Artist, Poet, Journalist and athlete has been writing poetry since her tender years and she has participated in various writers, poetry, journalism and sports.


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 idea a question mark Death tows leaving hunger and thirst
Stinging rainfall which left tears, loss and pain
Cyclone Ida your veracious wave always a heartache
May God intervene, have mercy to humanity as we cry for lost lives


nancy ndeke

is an accomplished literalist and internationally acclaimed writer, globally anthologized poet, widely published author of long fiction and poetry from Nairobi, Kenya. Ndeke is a book reviewer, a distinguished critic, political commentator, educationists and literary projects consultant. She loves nature. Her greatest passion is in reading while at the same time writing poetry.
You who tears welled and spilt all across the globe,
You stand not accused but noted with held hiccups of sorrows,
A bird came down squashing hundreds in its fiery belly bellowing smoke on the land of Haile Selassie, Black box only managed a smattering of panicky pilots searching for instructional manual, Six minutes of fervent prayers before heaven opens its gate.

Messy March,
You who elements cooked a storm directing its poisoned intent,
Sending waves and growling waters towards the shores of Mozambique and Malawi, Nowhere was safe as homes crumbled and trees got uprooted in the onslaught, Your carnage is now a report of the missing and those already buried, We are yet to know why Mother Nature so chose to deal us this cruel hand.

Messy March,
You who tangoed with minds of rogue men out to make a score,
Youths of the outback land of peace shooting others like beasts of the savanna, New Zealand still weeps over its fallen whose crime was a worship place, The business of manipulation and rule of fear making its day,
Of good report is your intentions are known and your murderous deeds failed to score.

Messy March,
We know that life ends but did you have to uproot Katsina Ibrahim Lamis, We mourn the gone among them harmless souls kind of word such as mentioned above, The guilty continues their hand of plunder even as wild fires rage in Australia and Kenya with drought harvesting the weak, The way of life is the way of death and this can’t be discounted, But where the hand of God got pre-empted by a rogue creature man, These deaths we lay at your feet O maker of life.


victor wesonga

VICTOR WESONGA is of Kenyan nationality. He stays in Kenya. A Literature enthusiasts with roots immersed in Engineering. In the republic of letters, I read to internalize and learn .My submission comes from his unpublished anthology, MILITARISTIC STAIRWAY.

Saddened sodden soaked month, teary diary of a fiery March
That started best on behest of moderate rainfall told,
Hiding high elbows, its sleeves fold, fists quiet from desolate, cold, Its mood straightened out above the trodden land, saw cold, yet so bold Like the rays of the sun rising from the placid coastal plane, that mold With each coming date of day, drifting towards roaring waves of shame, March came with a heart, strings of flames attached, searching for fame, It was either by Cyclone Idai wave, a six minutes flight into the crash, untamed Puns, wisecracks from stray leaders on pangs of hunger in Kenya’s North and Rift, Of the guns of glory against a church, tenets running away from God, a gift Of March was a hewn of swift riot, whose remains of season,
Are named for posterity, with a curious reason!

A cyclone appeared. Irate with thirst, first, heavy of greed, a glutton flood Confirmed Noah’s great eloquence in oration of antiquity, when
With an ark on calm legs, sprouting above her keel, tethered with hope, That rose amidst darkness, a bullet rippling the soil, a guzzler with thirst clad Drinking houses, schools, churches, and homes, drowning the land, forming a land sea, Cyclone Idai was not nature’s promised, but a rage of sea solid with floating bones Daring with blazing might, where tremors had fled like grasshoppers with clean breasts, From environ immersed in deadly downdraughts, pressures from substratum hand Stinging with stark venom that gyrated on the rings of southern states, and sprawled on land Scrapping the soil off its few granites, in plots of hungry governments, Tolerating what they give birth to but unable to neither control nor change, awestruck! Nature’s greens, part of serenity destroyed lying law, flat like a worm Looking up between clouds, where hope of grace hails, for recollection For bloom once more, for land to flower, for situation perfection
For all, like climate, to lie low spent.

Of a month whose moments are saved at heart,
Its effects were stooge,
On a day whose effects finds a folder in mind,
Its consequences were scrooge,
On such a day, most will shoo away wisdom in lieu
Of sordid emotions, of human view
That day, on that one day,
When the sun’s rays are dimmed by fog
Above our heads,
Our mind clouded, by the stinging smoke
That tears our emotions broke
And let loose the taps that our cheeks wash,
The hour of such a day shall be a living hearth
Changing us, the scions of woods,
To its blaze of embers from the fuel soaked wings,
Managed by limited eyes and hands of man!

On such a day,
Where a trigger happy person is ready and armed
Even in the facades of God, termed
As one who creates with far out of reaching observations,
But in incontinent of eyes of mortal, with drunk dare
To shake the contents of a vase,
Life remains sacred and to let it settle,
Should be our admiration of God, owner of delights,
Inspire of thoughts on runway, takeoffs of landings,
All through his safe hands, that calms gloomy skies and sullen seas, Grumbling mountains that pierce poised plateaus!


jambiya 3
JAMBIYA KAI,the works of South African writer Jambiya Kai, unwraps the exquisite beauty of humanity, passion, love and faith against a backdrop of the dark concaves of violent crime, corruption, bigotry and poverty. She carves a medley of multi-cultural stories into a sanctuary where love lords over war and bloodshed.

15 refugees gather around a burn barrel on a Friday night under icy skies. Victims of Hurricane Pother. Huddled outside makeshift tents – captivated by Chotsani and Alile’s spellbinding story. The 20-year-old Malawian twins shiver from the aftermath of a storm that altered their lives forever.

Chotsani seemed lost in the events that took place in Cape Town on 25 June 2017.

“It is an imbecile who chooses to lose sight of injustice and buries his head in the sand – perhaps too afraid to face truth – the truth of murder and prejudice – who are we to question to whom the moon gives light, for whom the sun chooses to rise. Or for whom the storms of life will call? Are we not equal?
Are we not all human? Does this South African plain not feed the hungry and give shelter to the homeless; does it not relieve the refugee of social stigma? Then where is justice for the horrendous crimes and undisguised ferocity against the refugee who merely pleads for asylum and a safe place to lay his head?
It seems we have pilgrimed from conflict to combat – our yearning for amity has been smothered. I am no longer a boy but a frail old man; burdened for my mother and sister who were not only beaten by Pother but by the dark spirit of self-preservation; tortured within the core of a storm.

In this Nirvana my parents till the soil from sunrise till sunset and we eat from their labour. Is that not enough by which a man earns respect and secures his dignity? Why must we live our lives in fear of the ruthless who wish to see us go home – this is our home, South Africa has become our home”.

Alile laments – “Decon is where our “smartie box” is. Smartie box, that’s what the locals called Decon’s RDP homes – but we were grateful to have a home – our safe place with its tiny patch of homegrown vegetables and chicken coop. I was preparing to leave for school at 7am – an hour after Chotsani and papa had left. Pother maliciously rose and vomited all over papas dreams. Our home shook with fear as it hurled the dead through our windows. Mama and I looked at each other beneath the vengeance of an unrelenting enemy. Pother uprooted our tiny investment of love and swept away 5 years of papa’s pride.

I held onto mama as we swam through an opening to surface for air. Baby Ntwene drifted by with his wee hand reaching for his dead mother. Trolling rubble dragged the weak into its torturous embrace.

Mama and I were sobbing as we reached to help but lost our grip. We gripped each other. Our hearts were torn by the horror of the newspaper boy gasping for his last words. Go in peace JJ. We wept. Sorrowed for Papa and Chotsani who must surely be dead. Shacks sailed over playgrounds and soccer fields. A nightmare cruise through sheol. I once had to swim from crocodiles while defying lake Shire, but the pain of losing JJ and Baby Ntwene will stay with me.

Finally mama and I clambered to safety and found refuge in a vacant house that seemed to not have been hit too severely.

We held each other and sorrowed for our neighbours when suddenly a team of enraged women descended upon the house. They bound mama’s hands and beat us to an inch of our lives – left us for dead. We are foreigners they said. “You people are taking our jobs and now you have brought a curse to our land”.

I am a cripple now. The children at school call me names,” beanbag”; “miss floppity”, “raggedy doll”, “flip flops”;
Our father’s heart failed when he watched his wife grope his face. He died of a broken heart, not from Pother’s fury.

The names hurt more than my floppy legs. How do I explain to the world that I am a victim of frenzied intolerance? A chair my prison. The storm an alibi for a murderous community. Inherrent hate fueled by loss. Pother was untouchable but the despised refugees a hot vulnerable target even in the heart of nature’s onslaught.

Chotsani places his hand on her shoulder as tears pool his eyes, “We must grieve Alile. Here the sun rises and sets on all who grace its shores, yet we are ostracised and killed. This disease has been given a romantic name – xenophobia and Pother the inspirer. To my afflicted soul it sounds deceptively soft and feminine. Where is justice”?! His antipathy was palpable.

“The women went unpunished”, groans Alile, and justice turned a blind eye. It was Pother madness they said. Many times I felt less than the girl I was, the young woman I envisioned. I will never dance again. That’s the most painful truth that beats me everyday – one I have to face and live with. Indeed brother, xenophobia is a fallaciously graceful hand that delivered a draconian blow”.

Chotsani stands with his hands stretched towards the flicking red hot tongues as he stares into the past. “What will become of us – of our women, children, mothers and sisters; our brothers who are killed because prejudice rages and bias slices at our fragility. We came for peace but instead we found war. Why does the killing not stop!? Why…. Why”!!!!?? He falls to his knees as flames lick and scorch his sorrow. Pother took our homes and yes, many lives, but prejudice killed our father.

The group glares at the terror flashing from Alile ‘s eyes. “My mother’s bloodcurdling shrieks are tattooed upon my heart. They took her eyes and hijacked my dance but not for acrimony will I sacrifice love to live without freedom. Papa always taught that forgiveness liberates the soul. Maybe heartache was all he had after forgiveness”.

Chotsani looks at his sister, “Has democracy brought emancipation or has it sown violence and reaped more animalistic crime – Crimes that destroy innocent families. I wonder”, he beckons the wide-eyed group, “Will we ever be free?

“Brother, we cannot change the past and hate thwarts the hater. Prejudice and racism is born out of fear and is cushioned in selfish ambition. There are no victors in war. It is the heart of a man that must change”.

You are right my sister, let’s put the past to bed, at least for tonight.
Our narratives will be framed. The blood of the refugee will continue to cry out for justice. We shall recover from Pother’s brutality – mourn for lives lost – for Papa’s death, but bigotry –

Well, tomorrow we shall see.

RDP – Governmental reconstruction and development housing project)
Names, dates, times, places are fictitious.
The 2017 Cape storm/hurricane claimed many lives, washed away homes; destroyed, damaged homes and buildings.

CURATOR-EDITOR (Miombo Publishing)

MBIZO CHIRASHA is ( 2019 International Fellow of the International Human Rights Arts Festival New York (2018).Recipient 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, ( Recipient of PEN Deutschland Exiled Writer Grant (2017) .Mbizo Chirasha is a Literary Arts Projects Curator, Writer- in-Residence, Blogs Publisher, and Arts for Human Rights/Peace ActivismCatalyst, Social Media Publicist and an Internationally Anthologized Poet Writer. Recipient of the EU-Horn of Africa Defend Human Rights Defenders Protection Fund (2017). Resident Curator of 100 Thousand Poets for Peace-Zimbabwe. Originator of Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Movement. Curator and Editor of Brave Voices Poetry Journal ( and Chief Editor of WomaWords Literary Press.



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.











NOT A CHOLERA REPUBLIC – Dry water taps, floods of raw sewage and uncollected refuse dumps is an instant reminder of a country in depression. Zimbabwe is reeling under the menace of the deadly water-borne diseases mainly cholera, typhoid and dysentery. Many families in most high density suburbs suffer the menace of the deadly water borne epidemic, CHOLERA. CHOLERA has become a serial killer than cancer. Poor WATER governance , political decadence and vicious corruption cartels are major causes of the rot. Mostly Zimbabwean city dwellers have endured poor water supplies for almost two decades and many lives have been lost due this quagmire. The Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign joins all sane Zimbabweans to say that the Republic of Zimbabwe is NOT A CHOLERA REPUBLIC– Aluta Continua! We welcome your comments and suggestions.
Email your poems to the Brave Voices Poetry Journal Editor and the MiomboPublishing Curator MBIZO CHIRASHA at or post your submissions on Miombo Publishing Facebook Group.



An economic flash flood
delivering a mortal blow
to a nation reeling under cholera
typhoid, dysentery: medieval diseases
An economic earthquake
immeasurable on the Richter scale
our lives turning to ruins
the decimation of our fragile lives
This roaring lion economy
sending this buffalo herd panicking
despondency soaring like a bird of prey
in its talons the helpless chicks
This economic tsunami ravaging
smashing to smithereens our lives
fast dissipating are the remains of hope
reducing us to emaciated shadows


JABULANI NDLOVU MZINYATHI is a Zimbabwean to the marrow. A firm believer in the peter tosh philosophy that there will be no peace if there is no justice. Jabulani is a pan African
,an artist. A relentless fighter for equal rights and justice. He has penned dozens of poems. He is a singer of songs about all the wrongs. He speaks from the past to the present and the future)



(For Mbizo Chirasha and brave voices)
The voices against suppression
Asphyxiation of humanness
The voices against want
The intolerable beastly conditions
The villages in the urban fringes,
The voices against free choice
On the system of governance
The will of a few against the people
The voices for the worker
Trapped in slavish conditions
Toiling long hours for a morsel
The unengaged youth
Without hope for better day-
The voices must not be stilled.

Michael Mwangi Macharia (is a poet based in the Rift Valley region, kenya.He contributes literary and education articles to the Kenyan dailies. He is also involved in directing, adjudication of music and drama. He has developing interest in History, Fine art and photography.


The indigenous have witnessed your struggles and narrated your success with glitches of corruption and poverty
Sorrow and tears flood their hearts
Pathogens have become a way of life for the poor whilst
Stakeholders are feasting daily.
The tap water is corrosive
It is unspeakable horror and genocide
Dirty hands, diarrhoea, cholera and malaria have
become the narratives of the indigenous.
The children cannot make and play with bubbles
There is no clean water to baptize the Christian believers

The water is too frothy to wash hands.
There is no clear water to drink and wash away
the stresses of the day
Lovers cannot surrender and immerse themselves
with clean water.
Wake up Zimbabwe!
Today’s generation cannot be entertained
with tales of hardships
Be sober and vigilant!.
Rise up Zimbabwe!

Harare transcend and emancipate a culture of transparency
Clean water is the right to good health
Clean water is not a rule
Clean water is a humanitarian right
for every person!

Disclaimer: My prose in this poem is more of a critic with an intention to discern public, economic, social and cultural awareness for the people of Zimbabwe and around the world. My spoken word in this poem is primarily an act of compassion and advocacy in an effort to help eradicate the cholera and contaminated water crisis in Zimbabwe. It is my hope that this poem will help to speak one “VOICE” for the people of Zimbabwe on behalf of their current contaminated water

(Is a Pan Afrikan Poet and Author.Tsitsi is a native of Zimbabwe currently living in the United States of America. She was once a Resident Poet at the Book Cafe in Harare, Zimbabwe. Madzongwe has been featured and performed at the Voice of America, USA. She has also performed for the 2016 & 2017 PANAFest Festival, USA and MedStar Georgetown Poetry Café. I am a recipient of the “Who is Who” 2016 Award in the arts and entertainment.)



Home is where the heart drags you to
Mine dragged me to a mound of memories
For the roof and walls collapsed
When we sent mother back to dust.
I carry home in me
Because home is the memory of
Mothers eyes staring into nothingness
It is my footsteps fading into vanity
In search of love.
I hate to know I am a bee whose shrunken wings can testify roses are flowers with petals made of fire.


NKOSIYAZI KAN KANJIRI is a South African based Zimbabwean poet of Ndebele Shona decent. He is second winner of Drama For Life National Online Poetry Contest held by the University of Witwatersrand in 2017. Nkosiyazi has poems published in Zimbolicious : An Anthology of Zimbabwean Literature and Arts Volume 3 and Eagle on the Iroko, an anthology published in Nigeria in memory of Chinua Achebe. His poems have also appeared in the Sunday Mail and The Standard, weekly Zimbabwean papers. Nkosie is a published short story writer too, with stories published in two short story collections; True Lies and Outside The Garden Of Eden.


Since I am going to war
Since I am going to war –
Kill a handsome like myself
Who had baded farewell
To his lone daughter and wife
Who like you woke up early
Prepare me donuts holed into
The stick we picked from woods
While you thought you had
A premonition that I shall
Be a burnt corpse or studded
With nickle bullets up your spleen
Your commander parade himself
With ten coin insignias up
His stomach, – yes we were
Talking of a war that I find
My lost kin with bayonet pointed
And before he killing me –
I tell him that I wedded your
Beautiful sister, – and that
The grandma is dead and mom
On wheel chair gaze the east –
You shall find me in mausoleum
For the unknown soldier
Made in the centre of the city
But let’s take a black and white
Photograph, the saddest ever
Caught by two lensed camera.
– Soldier’s last words to his wife



is a gifted poet of immense insights and creativity. Writing on a range of subjects his themes are social, spiritual and politically aware. Looking the domains of day to day living, delving deep into the sufferings and joys he seems to be the voice of dispossessed and the vast majority of poor he passionately identifies, yet his art touches the high mark of existential writing, unique in style and composition, he appears to lead his own genre. He belongs to Wana, South Waziristan in Pakistan.)


Let us kick cholera out from our country
Yes, all places, areas from our society
For following the lofty ways of prevention
Drinking a clean water, washing the hands
Although cholera is a dangerous disease
But cholera is a purely curable disease
Let us stand together to fight cholera
Cholera of depositing our lives to grave
Together we can kick cholera out totally
And beam the ideas of cognizant campaign
For spreading a Loftiest point of hygiene
A person should put in his/her home a good hygiene
Don’t allow cholera embrace our villages
Let’s teach our children to prevent this disease
They should wash their hands after toilet
They should buy a food which is well covered.

was born on 8th December 1994. He is a conscientious poet, avidly quotable writer, story writer and Life advice writer. He is from Africa, Southern part which is Malawi as his country. Many of his poems have been published on national and international website and some of her poems have also been published on international anthologies. He has won many awards from international poetry forums.



From my toilet sit oozed off the ordures
Thick syrup like fluids trickling off from
The vent, pipe burst from the pressure of
Once was the precious liquid I ingested.
News flash, the hoods has been populated
“Us” to have exceeded the carrying cap…
Capacity of cause and not their negligence
Not their poorly delivered service detects.
As the effluent meanders off my doorway
It leaves it’s permanent tracks, denial turn
Be an integral part of the societies as the
Tar marks are corroding in flows of waste.
Swampy and stagnant are the depressions
Mosquito stings every night, and flies breed
Cholera transmitted from the dosage of dirt
Cabbage never been collected from pit wry.

tynoe  wilson.jpg

WAISON WILSON TINOTENDA, A protestant poet, prose writer, contributor in Brave voices, The Zimbabwe we want poetry journals. A human rights activist too as well as a blogger as Lowlifediarist. The founder of Deem literature organisation. A critic and analysis.



Chandinodya ndechanyatsogezwa
Chagezwa neyakachena chikachena
Chandinodya ndechanyatsobikwa
Chabikwa chikanyatsoibva
Chandinodya ndechanyatsodziiswa
Chadziiswa nekufashaidzwa
Kuti ndisadye zvangu utachiwana hwekorera
Yandinonwa ndeyakachena
Yakachena yakafashaidzwa
Yandinonwa ndeyakarapwa
Yakarapwa nerasha romupani kana chlorine
Yandinonwa ndeyakavhenekwa
Yakavhenekwa ikatendedzwa
Yandinonwa hazondipinze muchipatara
Yandinonwa inopachimiro handitizwe nevamwe
Vakutiza kupiwa korera. Itawo yandinoita tipedze

is an Activist Poet, who right to advocate for democracy and protection of human rights though going beyond to write about other social aspect of life. He is currently Studying for a Bachelor of Science in politics and public management at MSU Zimbabwe. His poetry career stated since childhood with reciting other people’s poetry and developed to blogging and commenting on other literature works like music and poetry. He is working on a Shona anthology of Poetry to be named Gapu ReRairo .Gaga is still rising the in the spheres of literature.)


Living in the street, has allowed me to see “reali- tea”
Everyday l see men wearing jackets & ties running away from their “responsibili-teas” People who live in houses, put them in power for “govern-ment”
Yet , they can’t restrict them from self “pleasure-ment’
Because the word ” responsibility ” no longer exist in their vocabulary and the actions of those who live in houses “Rare-ping” is now part of our culture.
Hatred is the new “kind-nurse”
So called “profits” of God are abusing women willy-nilly in the name of Emmanuel Mankind now “man-cruel”
Everyone is a “danger-to-see”
Pastors and “Bee-shops” are “more-lesting” children to please their “unholesting” selves. Did you hear the pop……
Do you think he is popping champaign with them?
At their conferences, l here them having a “con-versation”
Where are real men and women, boys & girls who stand for the truth and who can have a “true-versation” Are you not tired of these conman??
It is time to be “response-able”
or brace ourselves for the “inevi-table”

bandera male.jpg

was born Alfred Tafadzwa Bandera in Chegutu, 1990, but grew up in Harare. He is a social worker, script writer and a girl child activist. Some of his work has appeared in DEAR SA and Tuck Magazine. He is currently based in Randburg, South Africa


Mwana wangu Zimbabwe
Uchikura ndaiva nechivimbo newe
Tarisiro zhinji ndaive ndakaisa pauri
Waionekwa musiyano wako paunomira nevamwe
Asi une nzira dzawakasarudza mukukura kwako
Nzira idzi dzandisiya ndine kusuwa muhurukuro dzangu
….wakakura uri mwana aidadisa
….wakakura uri mwana aigeza
….waiva chikakarara pamukushanda
….muri mumunda hapana musi wataivata nezhara
….pari pakudzidza pfungwa dzako dzainge dzakarodza
Nhamo yakauya wakura
Hutsvina wakakupfeka ukasara wava chapa
Kumunda wakanogobora ukavaka misasa yekuvata
Kudzidza kwese kwakayerera ukasara nenharo
Kudadisa kwese ndokupera ukasara wakunyadzisa
Tarira uone vana vako wavakazobereka
Vazhinji vakakutiza vakaenda kumitunhu iri kure
Hezvo nhasi inhapwa raramo yavo ndeye huranda
Vamweni ndivo vava mombe dzemashanga
Kune vacho vakasara vazhinji imbavha
Vamwe ndivo vakanoromba hezvo mashiripiti haapere mumusha
Nhema dziri mavari marwadzo kudzikurukura
Chembere neharahwa misi nenguva kunyunyuta
Ana baba nana mai pavanotaura kupopota
Majaya nemhandara pavanodya havagutiba vanogaro kokota
Zvindumurwa zvizere pachivanze chako musodzi ingori mokoto mokoto
Nhai Zimbabwe mwanangu wadirei kusindimara

Prosper Kavunika is a Zimbabwean Afrocentric poet ,social commentator and a provocative writer born in December of 1985. He grew up in Chitungwiza where he did both his primary and secondary education.Besides poetry he finds comfort in writing short stories . Some of his work has been featured in the Tuck Magazine. Currently he is working on a short story entitled Dual Sim.


Don’t tell time we failed to love;
Her skin was gold her name was light
I cherished from afar, that tigress.
Don’t tell time we failed to carve
Words to darts whose eager flight
Would burn to her heart extinguishing sirens.
She was not so far I gave up on my heart:
Sometimes I would touch her and linger…
… restart my heart to her beat,
Sometimes I’d masturbate with my art:
She was a spy with a derringer
And a dagger above her skirt’s slit.
I’d smile and poison her patriotism,
Then dance until pumpkin time.
It never lasted in that vain prism,
Since the source of it all was drowning in brine
There too an unformed Telemachus.

philani nyoni
PHILANI AMADEUS NYONI a Zimbabwean born wordsmith. He has written award-winning poetry for the page, the stage and the screen. He has also written articles and short stories for various publications, local and international.


Red clashes.
Silence ignores menace.
Blood spatters
Running down canvas
About to fall flat.
Dark angel sanctifies vainglorious
Cause primed by humans.
Portraits fall.
Parasites swarm innocence.
The last blink of an eye
Gazes into madness.

Children pelted by bullets
Have no time to swallow.
Hate proclaims itself a liberator.

Cling to ideology of fear.
Hide amid your laughter.
Hide among smiles at the cafe.
Hide behind a worship service.
Blend in the house of prayer.
Take your sabers.
Nullify. Follow the horror
Promising you heaven,
But encased in a lie.

You call this a life.
You are dust of straw men,
Smoldering in light.
JAMES COBURN is an Oklahoma poet in the United States. His first book of poetry “Words of Rain” was published in 2014. The book was a finalist for an Oklahoma Book Award. In 2016, ten of his poems against terrorism and to save the Sunderbans (wetlands) were published in “Onnyodhara” (The Alternative Way) Eid-special issue festival edition in association with “Anushilon” (The Culture & Literature Society) the National Literary Organization of Bangladesh. Coburn is a 2013 inductee of the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame. He has been published in several anthologies. Three of his poems were published in Tuck magazine in 2017-18. He is a resident poet at





ABOUT BRAVE VOICES POETRY JOURNAL– It is the mouth piece of the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign where the protest , resistant and resilient voices provoke the Zimbabwean and African leadership to realize that their role is to serve the masses equally  .It is a platform where Brave Voices and Solidarity Voices express their feelings , their emotions , their pains and suffering of the people through poetry and Flash fiction. Brave Voices Poetry is curated and edited by Mbizo Chirasha , a literary arts projects curator , Writer in Residence , Social Media Publicist and Arts Activism catalyst . Mbizo Chirasha is the Originator of the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign .For submissions contact the Curator/EDITOR of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal Mbizo Chirasha at , post on MiomboPublishing Facebook Group or inbox the Curator on Messenger.