TSITSI TSOPOTSAis a Zimbabwean born storyteller, Poet, Writer, Advocate of the Girl child and a Cultural Arts Activist. She serves us with a rare but captivating poetry writing style. Her new poetry beverage soothes the mind of the reader as it carefully flows with blood and warms the African readers soul. It is soul food to the audience.Tsopotsa poetry speaks belonging, identity and African spirituality. Her new form of poetry is extraordinary in form and content. Reason and rhythm are special ingredients to this rare but sweet poetic refreshment. PorCupineQuill celebrates dexterity and diversity withPoet Tsitsi Tsopotsa. Aluta Continua-PorCuPineQuill eDitor.
BIRIA – RUWADZANO
The gathering place.
The space for togetherness.
Our choice for the women and women to be.
The giver’s of life and the absence of maleness.
Your name is Simukai.
Arise and take up your role.
Be present with you mother’s mother’s mothers.
I am the keeper of tales. The storyteller.
Before I left the womb, they knew my destiny
the gift of keeping the memories alive.
They saved my name; Rungano, for when I arrived.
Rungano - the one to remember from where we came,
with whom we came;
how we came to be what we became.
This is my gift, passed from woman to woman. From my mother’s mother’s mothers.
My mother’s mother’s name was Mavu
Because she came from the dirt.
Her mother toiled with the soil when she was given Udongo’s seed.
It is I Rungano, daughter of Mavu and seed of Udongo;
mother of Dudzai; sister of Dziva,
who is welcoming you into the clearing space.
My words are for you.
You too are elevated, as the giver of life.
The treasurer of tradition.
Raconteur.
Of our legends, communities our people.
Who we are; why we are and how we are.
Our truth.
Your child will be Yananiso, to keep the family together.
Your seed donor will be Upenyu.
Veneka will be by your side to light the way.
Simuka!
Arise and take your place.
©
FROM WOMB TO TOMB
I am calm and normal. No one would know.
Hell’s dramas behind me. ”She seems so sweet”
Say my colleagues, “Give her the window
seat.” Slaying today then; this is my week.
I glide by. All too soon it ends. Commute is
this torrid cell; an open faucet of sweat.
My pressure cooker – pops its lid: abyss!
“Mourn for my womb which is now a tomb - sperms’ crypt..
Hate is a word to which I can relate.
Bitter words flip off my tongue without thought.
“I have to strip - just get away from me mate..
Sex? I’ll whip you with that thing that you bought.”
I kick the smug bastard; how dare he snore
Whilst I struggle to sleep one minute more.
©
NOT IN OUR VILLAGE
This cannot happen here.
No matter how hard things can be.
Harambe. Ubuntu. Hunu.
We look after our own.
Money? Did you say money?
I can’t believe that they were paid. How much?
Blood for money? Kin for money? Souls for money?
Maybe it’s easy for me to scorn. I don’t need –money.
They have children. Fees. Troubles.
But he was one of our own.
What will become of this child? Who will he be? I hear they have already changed his name.
Ontlametse. God has protected him.
How will he be protected now? Now that he is no longer Ontlametse.
His name to guide him through this life - to determine his path.
The name that rolled off the tongue.
The smooth yet crunchy. Sweet and crisp.
Crystal ginger. Green apples. Bees’ honey.
Taste of amber.
Money cannot acquire that taste. Impress that warmth.
Green mangos. Cotton mouth. trampled mulberries.
And who will this child be?
When he has assumed an identity of someone that we don’t know.
A name plucked from the air, just like that? Whose path will that child follow?
Who then will appease the ancestors?
We are responsible for this child.
Harambe. Ubuntu. Hunu.
The child’s uncle should have taken him in.
What if this child does not follow his destiny and come back to his people?
David?
Not a name we use in our village.
Perhaps the old name would not work in his new home.
He shouldn’t be taking on a new life.
He is one of us.
His ancestors won’t find him there.
But, the point is
- who will he be?
TSITSI TSOPOTSA completed MA Creative Writing with (Kingston University). She previously worked as a nurse, project manager and marketing manager. ”It’s never too late to start writing fiction, your life is your resource for the stories that you must tell.” She writes short stories and poetry periodically. “I love writing poetry, the mood to write it always takes by surprise, but it always takes me ages to write one poem. I prefer writing stories because I’m naturally talkative. I am inspired by song lyrics because they are always telling a story.” Tsopotsaworks part-time withSetseno Writers Projectwhilst writing a new novel.
PorCuPineQuill is authored and edited by Mbizo CHIRASHA
Mbizo CHIRASHA the Founder and Author of the Time of the Poet.Freedom of Speech Fellow toPEN- Zentrum Deutschland,Germany.Alumni of the International Human Rights Arts Festival in New-York, USA.Literary Arts Activism Diplomatie. Globaly Certified Arts Mediums Curator and Influencer. Internationally Published Page and Spoken Word Poet. Writer in Residence. Arts for Human Rights Catalyst. Core Team Member of the Bezine Arts and Humanities Project. His illustrious poetry , hybrid writings , political commentary ,short fiction , book reviews and Arts Features are published in more than 400 spaces notably the Monk Arts and Soul in Magazine in United Kingdom. Atunis Poetry.com in Belgium. Demer press poetry series in Netherlands. World Poetry Almanac in Mongolia.Poesia journal inSlovenia. Bezine Arts and Humanities Webzine in USA. The Poet a Day in Brooklyn ,USA. Litnet Writers Journal in South Africa. African Crayons in Nigeria. Poetry Bulawayo in Zimbabwe. Pulp-pit USA.the FictionalCafe international Journal, Texas USA