Poetry

Rebel Son

My son listen to me carefully,

I may never get the chance to tell you this again,

Rebellion is looked down upon in all societies

But for once I am asking you to be a rebel.

Since time immemorial men have not been allowed to be emotional,

They dont expect you to cry in public

They dont expect you to sit, walk and discuss with your daughter even your wife,

But for once be a rebel and show emotions and you will still be a man.

Men have been defined by violence,

Being a victor, conqueror and leader,

To head the family with an iron fist, wife and children only to be seen not heard

But for once be a rebel and be human by showing love, tolerance and respect.

Men have looked at women as objects and commodities,

In society they should get married and stay at home,

In industry and politics they can not be expected to lead,

But for once be a rebel and see them as equals and capable persons.

Being emotional is not a weakness,

Being considerate and fair to women is still manly,

To accept women as leaders and partners is still a virtue

For once be a rebel and see women as a people.

I know its expecting too much from you my son on this,

Society is still steeped in stereotypes about gender roles,

Men are still fighting with their own egos

But for once be a rebel - All transformation starts with rebels.

copyright Paidamoyo Muzulu 2011

Rebel Daughter

You can be a shining example of the brightest brains at school

Pass exams with flying colours,

Debate and compete with boys in the class as equals,

You dont need to offer sex to the lecturer to be a star.

You can climb up the corporate ladder,

Manage and execute your duties professionally,

Be initiative and proactive in problem solving

You dont need to sleep with the boss on your way up.

You can be that successful entrepreneur,

Start that big business that employs thousands and touches lives,

Network and sit successful at the corporate apex,

And for that too u dont need a man's name to do.

Refuse to be identified by your relations,

Be it father, or husband or manager or corporation you work for,

Insist on being yourself my daughter

Because You are are unique as the individual.

copyright: Paidamoyo Muzulu 2011

Herd Mentality

Its twelve midnight

My eyes are glued to the monitor,

Alert fingers type furiously,

I’m conversing with friends across the world.

The chat is on Facebook,

While the other window monitors my mail,

A third zips through my RSS feeds,

My head is like the flying Twitter Whale.

I have been to MySpace,

Networked on LinkedIn,

And most recently on board Google Plus

I signed up for my communication needs.

I doze off,

Wake up,

Make a cup of coffee and asked myself

Why am I watching my fingers dance?

What do I get from all this mayhem?

Realization struck;

Virtual Talk has changed my lifestyle

Most of my friends are digital,

Most of my work floating in space,

It was the way of the world,

I am just one among the herd.

It’s time I get back to my body

Time to walk away from the ‘herd mentality’

I head back to sites that I can control,

Perhaps, my friends will follow me?

(c) paidamoyo muzulu 2011

The Letter

I can’t remember when I last received a letter

The envelope was sky-blue and had a foreign stamp

The address was scrawled in tight and flowing long hand

My mind went racing.

Slowly and composed after a thorough scrutiny of the date stamp

I gathered the will power to prise it open.

Yes, inside was the sweet scented long feather-weight ivory writing pad.

The handwriting was controlled, tight and flowing.

Each sentence was carefully constructed,

The diction was near perfect as the syntax.

It was written in an enthralling and captivating descriptive language,

But still simple enough to convey her emotions.

I envisioned the writer serene on her desk,

Her slender and lovely hands hands scrawling away.

The letter carried the tenderness of her feelings.

It was simple yet powerful.

Reading the emotional signing off,

My mind wandered to new forms of communication.

No email, text or chat message had moved me like this before.

The letter had a mystic gripping aura.

I gazed at the ceiling and shook my head to clear it.

I searched my drawers for the long forgotten pad and pen.

Emotionally, I scribbled in a daze blotting the plain pad.

I crumbled the blotted pad and started gain more composed.

Wrote slowly, concisely and legibly,

I let my hand translate my emotions into words and images.

I infused tenderness and seriousness of thought on paper.

I signed off at long last with satisfaction at my handiwork.

Carefully I addressed the envelope,

Tenderly took it with a merry heart to the post box.

I sighed as I dropped it,

Praying silently it would be received with eagerness.

Hoped it would be delivered in good time still carrying my frozen emotions for her thawing.

(c) paidamoyo muzulu 2011