Mukupa Writes

By Linda Mupemo Picture courtesy of Google images                                    I was so close to leaving single ville,                                   So close to walking down the aisle.                               Diamond rings, red roses and a ball gown.                                      Veil, lacy pumps and a crown.           ...

By Linda Mupemo Welcome to the 21 st century where the core values of yesterday are the trash principles of today. Christianity has not emerged a cherry on the cake in this edited generation! Each time I permit my medulla to process a thought about who a Christian is, their life and their call, A rather formidable feeling grips my soul so I endorse two new words: Sundians and Saturdians because people now approach Christianity like an outfit for a date, only to impress and adore what we see. The rest of the days are party days, Saturdays and Sundays are the only holy days. Camouflaged in hypocritical personalities on service days, yet naughty all way Indulging in illicit activities with the notion of repenting later on church days, absurd! I call them Sundians and Saturdians, yeah and the truth must be heard! Pretending is not compulsory like the vowels are present in every word So I wonder if everybody is as holy as they portray themselves on social network...

By Linda Mupemo The curtain is slowly closing, wrapping up this phase. The crowd is still clapping, right time to leave the stage. We both know the story is ending, playing our parts but just faking. The love is already gone, no use faking what we are not feeling. As I say the last line of this beautiful love story, pain is pricking every inch of my soul. As I say the words we both dread to hear, my heart is shattered to the core. But I would rather take a bow than watch us drain our emotions in an endless war. From being the sugar in my tea, you turned into the pus in my wounded heart. The pus ripened and left around it an excruciating crust. No energy left within me, it’s time I put an end to this emotional dart. We have to celebrate what was and forget about what can or would be. We learnt our lessons and have a clear picture of how our next scripts should be. We can continue loving each other separately, forever my love you shall be. Goodbye my darli...

By Flavian Mupemo Jnr One step at a time, I was like Jordin Sparks on a battlefield. Two were three much, I was only six said Dad. I could play in the mud; and certainly none would think I was mad, I was just a lad; at least that was my shield. I remember going home dirty, all sweaty. But momma did not beat me-she hugged me. Even though she wore white clothes, closer to white as snow, she hugged me. With a passion and love warmer than summer, she held me. Took me by my tiny flabby hands and she bathed me. Then kissed me by my forehead, without a word and gave me a cute white pillow, I got sad. Out of guilt, I promised I would never play in the mud and that I would cherish that pillow. So every time I returned home from school, I would throw my bag, Jump on my bed and give my pillow a big hug. I remember the days I wished for a Santa; or anybody Claus. Anybody; who would see me as better than a loss.   See; I was genetically incapacitated...

 By Linda Mupemo They live today, worrying about tomorrow,  Picture by google images Living in pain, their hearts are torn with sorrow. All seems dark, pain paints their emotions, Paralleled to satisfaction, by lack; only tasting it in microscopic proportions. They have no home, know no shelter, Living all alone, wishing for a helper. Unlike deserts, their eyes are ever wet- with tears, Their potential minds suppressed in a corner of fears. No Clothes- a hindrance to their “presentation” tag, Their bodies… now accustoming to the “rags” swag. Gucci fashion is Spanish to them; they don’t GET it, no! “All-time wear” is what they know. Their enzymes are like decorations, no bolus to work on. Their stomachs? An instrument of rumbling sounds- no food to churn on. picture by google images It’s a new day; still begging on the streets, chasing after cars, The day they have full meals is a Christmas on planet...