Apprentice of power....page 1

Apprentice of power

v  any men or woman wanting to become a leader first has to become  an apprentice of  that power. he then begins to represent hidden interests as well as visible ones according to the dictates of his counsel a leader goes through training of how to make decisions
v  a leader is one who can make the best decisions under different circumstances
v  a leader is that person whose decisions are sacred as the position itself comes with great responsibilty which cannot be  easily fathomed.

v  The world is more of an economic battlefront where others are the fodder that feed the few incumbent must know his position in what relationships he forges

v  in the game of power survival is the top most concern 

v  a leader is as strong as those who surround him thus he she must be surrounded with those people who add value

v  The leader must be able to have above all else high level of spiritual insight because the higher you are the less the eyes can perceive what is below. only the inner eyes can penetrate things.

v  The higher you climb the less obvious things become

v  The leader must meditate and the intentions of a leader must not be made known until they have reached a point where nothing can stop them from becoming a reality.

v  It is imperative for the leader to search for wisdom for his reign is only protected by it and it also guides the nation the leaders moral and ethical shortcomings must not directly or indirectly affect affairs of the state/organisation

v  The heart may have it's  weakness but the mind must maintain control.

v  The fearful immortalise the fearless and these fearful are the ones who live in the world of the fearless .
vthe world as we know it is a product concieved conceived in the minds of the fearless.

v  A leader must be brave because he has assumed authority and epitomises the spirit and framework of the nation, organisation, family etc..

v a leader must trust the decisions he/she makes and a leader with wisdom can discern good from bad advice short term and long term priorities and assets from liabilities
v the leader  is that person who if it where an organisation makes sound policies and good investment, his decisions are those which must have long term profitable value.
v any leader who encourages the people to be self sufficient must make the enviroment conducive and profitable to these people who naturally carry the weight of the nation on their shoulders
v the idea of giving power to the people economically must be supported by strong internal policies and a commitment by governments to invest in its own people how?? by giving access to education, information and finance
v  any ideology with no financial backing is merely utopian and it is a destitute ideology it is time leaders invested in good ideas and stopped bankrupting them
v leadership naturally is old but the baton must be passed to an eligible youth for every nation stands on the foundation created by its founding fathers
v how power is attained is different in some instances it is taken in some it is given ,when it is taken it redefines the terrain and  the playing field according to the temperement of the victor when it is given it is managed according to the guidelines of those who have given it .
v the powerful should not even at one point be lulled into a sense of safety as their power grows so do your enemies.
v the current currency and language of African power is economics todays Africa is driven by the demands of the growing young  generation [those born after the political independence of Africa are the ones putting pressure on the older generation  so the old hold on to political power rightfully so, but the inheritance of this young generation must be power in  economic investment]where political liberty does not answer the economic disparities .
v  political liberty is part of the story but all these ideals are centred on liberating the mind the economic dimension of how to determine the economic direction of the nation is not expounded it is the banished gospel whose pages are not exposed to the masses it assumes the role of the bible in the days of Martin luther it is exclusive property of the intelligentsia yet right fully it belongs to the people.
 

inspire me...............

 

Beautiful

Beautiful is what you are

 You Inspire me to wedge the hoko

In times portal ,so we can be the only ones in motion

Together in the arms of love

Nursing the bittersweet pain from cupids darts

While time is frozen still in it's sepulchre of the moment

The time before and the time after

So we may celebrate the moment ,immortalise seconds

Fuse emotions  and thoughts to create life affirming goal’s

Tonight l don’t want you in my dreams only between my arms

I want to look into your eyes when l release passion’s juice between your wet and ready delta of love

Vangeriromoto...The Gospel of fire

VANGERIROMOTO[LET US PRAY]…..TEMBO CHIRENJE MOYO 2003

Cheniro kuMasvikiro ne Mhondoro dzeino nyika kunana sekuru nechembere ve dzindza nhumwa dza msikavanhu/the cause is now to saville row and prada my being by undressing me of the Mngcotho and bhetshu on my mind with secular materialism misdiagnosing Africas plight/ the so called freedom has more slaves in chains/How can l say l wont fight when this life is a struggle?when the drum of reality plays

Muchongoyo in the mind dancing feet trample to the mbira in my soul all the way to mbire/where the

Souls of  Hombarume,Mhondoro ne ma Gomwe giya /the lion spirit within roars rattling the ribcages of my existence /l am the path ancestor’s walk on to eternity /the eyes they see through and the tongue they divine with/the hakata they blow and throw on the reed mat of destiny/let me blow the hwamanda and raise the gano

Of my inheritance/the ancestors carried the Mkandara to rickshaw thoughts through

Time portals/ haunted by cotton fields and the mtarato, the insomniac day conjuring mbaramatonya nightmares/ the weals

On grandfathers back scar the conscience of inequity/ I battle to feed the stomach

And they war to conquer the mind/ Bantu legacies are desecrated in the mouths of scribes/collective spirit of inhumanity reducing us to tribes/we toyi toyi behind points of our self hatred and misinterpret our aspirations/ the symphony  of redemption conducts the orchestra backwards with malice towards humanity/ and hopes of peace are incinerated by flames of ethnic wars/incarcerated in gridlocked thoughts of foreign lords and sires/licked by bellicose flames hypnotized by tongues of heathen fires/where words are whores doing more of the prostituting than saving souls/minds hooked to armagedons prophesies of profit/ambitions of salvation held in check lost to spiritual manipulation/gospel abused and not used as heavens redeeming scheme/beseeching souls lavitate while isms smoke the ashes of our dreams/salvos and stones on walls brutalising my convictions/mockbattles on thought addiction to Zions illusion/l call upon  you Chirisamuru, mhondoro Chaminuka and you Tovera dziva remnvura /we are force fed Zion philosophy held in the throes of holy’gun’ism  /l know not of Zion but only of  Njelele ,Dula, Gorongozi and Nongoma where we find counsel in the embrace of the rock -souls reposed /beliefs crucified on the cross impaled by ignorance/Njelele muted  by the Masvikiros by the mediums secular indecision/lost to personality cults and philosophies of demigod thesis/ addressed in foreign languages commatosing Bantu with his-story/its time we shared our story/the Bantu thought crippled at birth/riddled with no saints/only those imposed to minion the Mhondoros of my tategurus/what is peace without a piece of mind?but a dead silence  ,a cadaver haunted by its own epitaph/given lip service glossed by requims from lucifers ex-communicated priests/from pulpits of Bantu sanity l recite ebony skinned lectures of my Tateguru Msikavanhu , Julius Nyerere, Mapondera,Mzilikazi,Bambaata,Kwame Nkrumah,Ras Tafiri,Samora Machel,Patrice Lumumba,Dedan Kimathi ,Tshaka ,Sotshangane chief Maqoma, Tyali,to all my ancestors   , these Bantu childs forgotten heroes/born in bondage to be in debt until death/monopolized resources nothing for free only oxygen for breath/they take away guns that brought liberty and wield batons that take away freedoms/we burn effigies & torch wreaths for incense/the talismans of my mind’s incandescence invoking and exhuming ubuntu from mass graves of ideological genocide/ inhale life when they exhale death/Bantu power sweat and labour created half the worlds wealth[y]/woke up to catchphrases of global village Africa amalgamated to one big plantation/two faced like a coin the devil is now on both sides of the cross/now we come forth we seek redemption as we abstain from white washed Calvinism and black washed imperialism it lacks realism/suppression an element of oppression depression of stressing/now l penetrate their racial thoughts deeper than the needles of a acupuncture deeper than

 the roots of the Baobob tree lm not black as ebony but emancipated and free/they say we are destined to be slaves so their law[d]s decree/never to walk on our legs but ever  to crawl on our knees/so they may do as they please /but the shackles that bound Kaguvi [outside never within] Gumboreshumba have fallen ,the noose that bound Nehanda Nyakasikana broken/l curse the oppressor suppressor of the Bantu activist/l shout Amandla ngawethu blackpower like Umkhonto we Sizwe

aluta continua

 [decolonization is not a solution from outside it starts from within]

People and business........

 

People and business

Back in fashion sebhibho and this time no one is laughing

Politician’s sell policy’s and  people are statistic’s on the numbers highway

 like gangsters sell coke without conscience- its people business

Preachers sell heaven and none of them want to die before they enjoy the profits

Some prophets sell hope they don’t believe in faith is the individuals sickness

N’ganga dzonyora ma prescription

this generation yavayema tattoo’s vana havasina nyora

the epitome of global democracy is selling death, bullets don’t care about breath they have no ethics,they only have victims massgraves,unmarked graves and lachrymose societies.

This business is about marketing  addiction ,

putting a high price on fiction and indirectly saying fuck you to reality

the other part of the globe is addicted to drugs by now their scientists have tablets for laziness

The world is faced with a veiled threat ,

the terrorist is the one without a veil

 the jihadist is the one  taking million’s on pay per view

its psychological warfare  they rob freedoms in the name of God so they can pull the trigger on that weapon of mass deception

 the threat owns the media and the guns on both sides

sending  fiend’s ,suicide junkies and promising brides

that ‘whitemen’ is now the salvation of black’s but to whom did your forefathers pray?

was this not a land of miracles ,did not the rock speak and did you not listen?

By the way we’ve decided  to call it freedom of worship.

Since we raised the volume on those radio’s  all we follow is the bass and twitter

They say we must read ,but who is writing and what is written?

More  fashion dread’s a few rasta’s- oh bumboklaat

Hugh hefner pushes visual Viagra  and  now we  are all on some mental erection our mind’s penetrating thing’s

The church pushes bibles the way capitalists push rifles

Its gun’s and drug’s, pimp’s and thug’s

 B’bylon Sell’s fear and addiction  to the public  they get us hooked so they can place society in a straitjacket   

The system prefer’s rehabilitation centre’s to nation’s

Where we are forcefed ,kept alive so we can consume more nonsense

But without the masses they is no concept of a system

 big nations are pimps their soldiers are licensed and practiced thugs,mercenaries,enforcers on small nations

small nation’s are placed on the corners like its  their destiny

 treated like prostitutes

 who have to endure opening their skinny thighs to be ravished by the fat demands of  disease ridden tyranny that makes them spread while it holds the missile’s  and economic threat’s to its head.

Africa is not a group of nations  caucasing and toyi toying  for bread

The more the unrest the more the business chaos is met with the force of copper and lead

They would rather cause infection and have a monopoly on the cure

Now small nations can be raped and pillaged silently, screams muffled by  the ‘open market’ philosophy.

They sell war and we donate with our suffering

Suddenly the world must cry for the cause of Israel and forget the thousands Palestinians that die daily

 but Israel  your hand is upon the throat of your brother

Who says  its justice when the world pays millions to Nazi victims and to Africans not even a cent.

But let us ignore money minded doctrines based on horse and rider relations

Reparations are the cure ours together singing the song of affirmative repossession

Wall street is the place of public execution  and privates salvation

The global system sells education for human industry

no one is ever free we are in bondage from the age of 6 when we are taught to be industries  tool’s

the slave master found craft men with hand skills now we are taught begging when their gamble ‘education’ fails us

Azania is it apartheid or xenophobia?

The black men still goes home facing the sun is it not a sign that we are distracted made to chase what we can never catch?

 I’ve had  introspection through the gates of meditation it's time for action.

A walk in the ghetto

Walking in the ghetto Tembo Chirenje Moyo

Every sight and sound is the spectre of quarantine/lotioned habitation made  smooth by Vaseline talk/a calculated system/crooked bins new years bongo drums bringing revolution from sqoulor /thuggery /sex and tetrahydrocannabinols/schools for juveniles/kids all want to go south none can do their sums/ghettoes have no trees like the city full of greens/fly’s drone the  wannabe bees of the slumz/more drives than avenues more tower lights than street lights to illuminate perceptions for one to reach their inner heights/arms tatooed the graffiti of rebellion –dangerous minds/young age vision to make thousands now we blowing millions/micro minis blown out hips/jasmine smell she and he gel sexy curls curves that clear throats/corners that have seen more dreams than Martin luther king/Revlon painted lips feminine war paint/whoring tales burst pipes we have seen the same uncollected rubbish since the day we were born/super cool sales/cost of living rising lunch ngamagwinya and maputi/plastic balls wire cars and clay dolls/stories of stubborn foreman reduced wages/denied prospects of bonuses/redundancy, strikes/more unemployed/prayer meetings/the laughter and tears  on the street,umbhaka  e park or  umbhejo e  bujumbura, ski lo nayo siphandu ucash to go ebhayisikopo,the ‘gizhah gizhah’ the best cinematic experience the participative audience who thought we could change the movie,efiga o ematsotsi choose your style esincane or izankatha,or its just kanzatho, kanzatho to patch the throats of those who fed the machines with their labour, tales of the ghetto izola zika Khumz lako Njombi , e new lobs to ema 7 hundred ,eWest and eGwabalanda Magwegwe to enjube,swaggers,u ski ,ara huru lo nayo, one generation the next does the same heads nodding to dub poets slanging word on the street/ Ko Mam kayz zisiwa more amanqine bhawa,sethengi inhloko lezanga phakathi,the  ‘zulu,zulu buya sidle makhomane’ ,inkomo zomdaka,some grew up when they played ‘ubaba,lo mama tasted the mystery and where shocked by the discovery and we thought babies where made of clay,big stomach omunye esequmbi indumba backyard saloons gossip by the fence/fist fights between man snatchers/shebeens dimly lit school boys drink their fill ties hidden in pockets /peace and mini wars the pulse of the street/black cats crossing streets/pigeon cages /pretence /choir groups/ rosaries/drama clubs / arawuru ,fist fights made man /drunks spit commonsense umbhejo using bricks for goal posts/amatender foot walk  streets raise dust/ Zu’s saloon,duets in rhyme and verse synchronized like drum and poet/eyes on the money, keep it in your pocket,my

 Mind inflames pages when l walk in the ghetto..

 

A POEM ABOUT A POEM

Write me poem that is spawned from the 69 position of now and then/one having a ménage trios with you, it an destiny/without limits but with necessary words/that is a symphony to the bantu  plight /one that is about justice fuck equal rights how do you put in one sentence equal and rights,know your rights and justice is yours

One that questions its own existence

Intertwined like the grapevine of love and pain a therapy for thoughts

Resistant to the excess influence of sub culture

Chanted from the pulpits of bantu sanity

Write a poem whose words are not

blow up dolls,they need flesh,bones and soul

Freestyle

Freestyle

The day is already spun

Dawn fails to catch up to the runaway sun

The horizon is the hand jerking of the sun to come

Humanitys morning –glory-continuation of a never ending story

 day shot of from dawns phallic gun-a new verse of days poetry so divine has begun

Meditating feeling like the mind is holding the rays  pulling  up the sun-making it rise-

I sleep in your thoughts

And wake fully  dressed in your head like a dream

lm hollow but full of life  and songs like a drum

For  any palace and every ghetto to slum -today is for living do not be numb

Life is a sequel and death her equal

The moon is a freak of nature her backside is to the sky

She is the sun in the robs of whiteness

When she leaves  her fragmented  daughters and suns play twinkle twinkle our little stars

Mother earth gave birth to the forests that rest on the edge’s  of the city

Man birth the gun to reduce his daughters and sons

Rise up all of you who have been living in your dreams

The rest of the planet’s  are divorce’s only the planet Saturn wear’s the ring’s

 

Life is a developing love story that’s beautiful bittersweet

 Observation’s

Watching my father

Watching my father.

I watch my father become the tool of his employer

even his emotions are formatted to what he gets paid ‘meagre’

but a god like keeping him on his knees

He knows no joy ,because it is attached to the conditions of the slave yard

he is made a convict for a menial wage

visitors come only for a day and they leave,

 no loud laughter allowed

happiness is conditioned

freedom is determined by the landlord

all expressions are kept in check under the ceiling of regulations ...................fuck this 

Journey to Meroe-story of the drum

10 Nov 2013 by Tembo 'Chirenje' Moyo,...... Now the drum speaks /Ngoma yepasi Chigare

hi this is a piece l just typed now i hope you will enjoy it .

my creation ..

l begin as a seed

no blood at my birth no woman bled

in the womb of the soil l crack that is how l birth

my soul manifests after my shell cracks

l rise from death into the after life born to the forests  hum

growing up...

my arms reach out my lips kiss the rays of the sun lips locked

l grow tall and sacred unaware of my destiny/

suddenly when my trunk feels strong my virginity is taken by the axe

my foreskin pleasure the carvers knife

/my hollow self becomes depth/

lm crowned with goat skin

/now lm the inheritance that unifys clans/

i send the nation to war sing for the great awaken them

to be the spirits drum

the soul is to the prophecy

my innards and the shavings become the incense used to exorcise ghosts and to rekindle the path of the ancestors

my core......

is my heart that beats to my soul

suddenly i hear a a loud boom

they is chaos and loud screams im awoken from my dreams

l hear screams nightmares suddenly are a reality

l am snatched from my sacred place

the village is filled with smoke and the ground is wet from tears

i watch the young boys and girls bound with bark

,those boys who i watched growing up the same ones that played hide and seek in the forest,

young girls are snatched from the hold of chastity,

their screams muffled

their cry only a silent plea to a God,

hoping for a witness wondering if  he is watching and if he is not deaf

hoping  his ears where not cut of by his 'sons'

the young girls loose more blood than Jesus on some cross

the black angels weep but the xenophobic god gloats

as his children give deliverence to the 'bearers of heathens'

all this in the name  for the man

who was killed by some people that my keepers are not even related to

our conscience tainted to accepted ngozi yewatisina kuponda

i feel silenced but harsh like the language of a mute

the hands that touch me are rough

they do not caress me softly they do not touch me properly and i do not reach that height for the orgasmic release of sound

i hear the pirates tell stories about me ,stories of savages but not their savagery

stories of godless heathens but not of temples they defiled

i ma carried to countless shores and every bearer of mine relates their own story of their heroism and the cowardice of my people

i long for, for the rain dances when my soul was invoked when my rhythm transported the masvikiro into the realms of the ancestors when my voice along side the mbira and the hosho was portal

i long for the mermaids dance.

when my bearer touched me with his palms and i felt the sweet seduction

when i felt the sacred stimulation of  his touch when young girls and boys sang danced and ululated

when the old gathered with the young to make offerings

i long to hear the prayer of my people

i long to be played where my people celebrate