Samuel Chuma


Samuel Chuma was born in Gweru, Zimbabwe in 1969. He is married to Semina Hamandishe and the couple are blessed with 3 sons. He lives in Harare, Zimbabwe with his family and works as an Industrial Relations Consultant. Samuel is currently perfecting a collection of poems for publication. The selection featured here is part of that  project.

Samuel Chuma’s Poetry



i used to cry with the falling leaf
discarded from the tree
its destination, its doom

but now i cry with the branch
clumsy fingered
unwittingly letting go

in the leaf’s free fall
part of the branch falls too
never to rise again

but though the two
be together doomed
the branch weeps the longest

sap-tainted tears
spiraling in a slow pilgrimage
down the indifferent trunk

and the wind
unseen and with unmusical glee
ululates its spite

and leafy hearts
all around freeze
sensing death’s seeking antennae


sitting quietly in your brain
forlorn by the walls of your thought factory
sifting through the dumpsite of your imaginings
seeking to find a memento of the love
that once you bestowed upon me unsparingly

wandering frantically on the landscape of your heart
thirsty in the desert of your emotions
sifting through the sands of your affections
seeking to find a grain that holds me still in fond remembrance
and suck from it loves’ soothing juices

to quench this devotion-spurned soul….


discarded plans
abandoned in the mind’s ashtray
like cigarette ends

half-smoked dreams
drift lazily out of reach
teasing grim reality

the brain reeks of fraud
as truth’s scalpel
exposes tentative thought


i love to swim
in the fluidity
of your thoughts

pushed along
by the currents
of your yearnings

occupying space
on the riverbank
of your conscience

just as dawn
ambles over with
eager sunshiney fingers

to autograph me
all over with
the seal of your affection…


let love whisper a serenade
coaxed from the wind’s
breathless symphony

and seduce the rainbow
with the scented caresses
of rose gowned faeries

sweetly disrobing it
of its virginal robes
of mating colors

to adorn the bride’s
bashful innocence
for the honeymoon altar


today, I shant put on your garment of creeds
tis lice-ridden and an ill fit
and causes itches on the private parts of my soul
tender sores which the heavy handed attentions
of your fire breathing gods can deign to cure not

the heaven of your words feeds from damnation’s breast
and swarms perpetually with hope consuming angels
who with tar-brush and black heart
deluge the rainbow of salvation
with the uninspiring hues of hellfire ash

let me take scouring brush and carbolic soap
to scrub out where your Judas kiss blemished my cheek
in a kiss of life that was packaged in death
and the seeds of doom irrigated by your spittle
discovered fertile ground in my innocence


These filthy hands
all gnarled and calloused
have nursed tender saplings
to full limbed majesty
and courted the blushful rose
to show off its perfumed splendour
to a dazzled humanity

These filthy hands
that you look at and shudder
have quietened the lowing cow
and brought many a calf into the world
and coaxed the land
to bring out its plenty
to feed humanity

These filthy hands
that you would rather not put a ring on
have mended the sparrow’s broken wing
to ensure the continuance of woodland serenades
that you write to your beloved about
in sonnets teary and sincere
hypnotising humanity.

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