Prolific Israel literary surgeon Yehudt Malik-Shiran diagnoses my writings as “kicking protest poetry”

Where will you find the poetry? asked Haim Nachman Bialik, our national poet, he knew that to write poetry from the depths of thought, is not only to create it from nothing, it is to be attentive to the murmurs of the human heart and the murmurs of the heart of the world. When we are attentive, we are alert and take in everything our eyes see, poverty, ugliness, a flower waking up, birdsong, streets rushing their way, a busy crowd splitting into tall buildings, snakes of cars day and night spewing black smoke and polluting our air.

And we are very sensitive to the depleting air on our planet. We are not politicians, we are God’s messengers. He blessed us with the talent to write and record life from our eyes. Nature photography is good for us, we marvel every time how nature sculpts itself and creates a playful look for us. Our singing has power. Our words are written with cynical humour, and those who read them out loud know that this is an authentic protest poem for what is happening around us and no one sees. Only the poetic documentation sees and perceives everything.

MBIZO CHIRASHA is an African poet known throughout the world for his kick-ass protest poetry. I met landscapes and sayings in his poems. The human environment in which to fall in love is the simplicity of stroking a child’s head, the playful sight of a chirping bird and people going to work and encountering a sky devoid of makeup. Next to the beautiful simplicity of life, the condescending aggressiveness of people of status and power, politicians who do not see the person who elected them, as soon as they sit on the chair in the House of Representatives, is very noticeable. Complete disregard for the needs of the other. This ugliness is very prominent in Mbizo’s protest poetry. Kicking vocals. Seeks to draw the world’s attention to the behaviour of tyrannical rulers, dictators who see themselves and do not see the simple voices who asked for change in favour of economic growth.

MBIZO CHIRASHA is the 2020 Poet in Residence at The Fictional Café, 2019 Sotambe Festival Live Literature Hub and Poetry Café Curator, 2019 African Fellow for the International Human Rights Art Festival, Essays Contributor to Monk Art and Soul Magazine in United Kingdom, Arts Features Writer at the International Cultural Weekly, Featured Writer Poet Activist at The Poet A Day, Core Team Member and African Contributor to Bezine of Arts and Humanities in USA, The Originator of the Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign. Curator of MiomboPublishing Blog Journal, Founder and Chief Editor of WOMAWORDS LITERARY PRESS, Founder and Curator of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal, Co-Editor of Street Voices Poetry trilingual collection (English, African Languages and Germany) initiated by Andreas Weiland in Germany, Poetry Contributor to in Belgium, African Contributor to DemerPress International Poetry Book Series in Netherlands, African Contributor to the World Poetry Almanac Poetry Series in Mongolia, 2003 Young Literary Arts Delegate to the Goteborg International Book Fair Sweden (SIDA AFRICAN PAVILION), 2009 Poet in Residence of the International Conference of African Culture and Development (ICACD) in Ghana, 2009 Fellow to the inaugural UNESCO- Africa Photo- Novel Publishers and Writers Training in Tanzania, 2015 Artist in Residence of the Shunguna Mutitima International Film and Arts Festival in Livingstone, Zambia, a globally certified literary arts influencer, Writer in Residence and Recipient of the EU-Horn of Africa Defend Defenders Protection Fund Grant as well as Recipient of the Pen Deutschland Exiled Writer Grant. He is an Arts for Peace and Human Rights Catalyst, the Literary Arts Projects Curator, Poet, Writer, publicist and is published in more than 200 places in print and online. His latest 2019 collection of experimental poetry A LETTER TO THE PRESIDENT was released by Mwanaka Media and Publishing and is both in print, on Amazon. and at is featured at African Books Collective

His poetry is a living, breathing and kicking record. A record that documents the poetry of life that Mabizo writes and looks for a little beauty in this ugliness. Nature sculpts heavenly beauty for us every day, we just have to open our eyes and marvel at God’s creation, who created us equal and need to protect our natural environment. Poetry is a power of the soul, it comes out of it like the prophecies of wrath and rebuke of the biblical prophets during the time of the kings who ignored the teachings of God and thought only of war games.

“Sometimes time grows old like a sitting tyrant”

Tonight the echo of your praise poetry irk the

anopheles stranded in tired city gutters to swig

the bitter blood of ghetto dwellers, gutter

citizens eking hard survival from hard earth

of a hard country , their rough hands marked

with scars of the August Armageddon, their sandy

hearts are rigged ballot boxes stuffed with corruption,

they waited and sang for so long.”

The rage erupting from her is like lava erupting from volcanoes. On the one hand, she has longings for her childhood, when she had no worries about food. The house was stable: father, mother and children. The pastoral familiality seems to have been taken in the tongs of life’s cruelty. On the other hand the abundant evil that destroys every good part that God created. This is how it appears in my song Azania, since they robbed people’s lives, times have become stinky and poverty and poverty speak in an existential language of sickness, hunger and death.

” Azania, smell and memory of Mandela

Mzansi, long walk of sobukwe

Land of metaphor and ambition

Choking in toxics of xenophobia

Babies lulled to sleep by rants of fake revolution and alliteration of the rainbow nation

Metaphors of madness!

See Hani and slovo-your freedom suns watching sarafina from terraces of life

A Scarred revolution!

In this land that lost its gold and salt.

Azania, you are the rainbow laughing the last giggle

Xenophobia burning rainbow flags to ashes

Xenophobia! Black ants burrowing back into their umbilical soil

Madiba weeping, singing for another summer, another rainbow”.

Mbizo’s poetry is called poetic prose and is very long. It is a poem that tells a story and has a uniqueness, you can find in it original and beautiful metaphorical images alongside the human story that was born in the seam between the poem and the story. His writing is interesting and fascinating. brings us together with worlds of longing for rejected villages in Africa that today may not be on the world map as a result of the wars of life.

I recommend that you get to know the beautiful poetry of the African soul brought to us by the poet Mbizo Chirasha, through it you can get to know magical worlds in the Africa of the past and also get to know what is familiar in the Africa of today when the color of the local government is not different from the color of the government in the world. This poetry is the mouthpiece of the children of God on earth, who wish to preserve the beauty of creation, to recognize the goodness and freedom given to them to write and express their opinion in this poetry.

Poetry by Mbizo Chirasha translated into Hebrew by Yehudt  Malik – Shiran


Sometimes memories smell like a dictator’s fart

We once jived to our own shadows under the silver moon

and our shadows danced along with us, we rhymed to the

nightmares of hyenas and hallucinations of black owls.

Our desires sailed along with gowns of fog back and forth

at village dawns. Wood smoke smelt like fresh baked

bread. Time bewitched us, we ate William Shakespeare and

John Donne. We drank lemon jugs of Langston Hughes and

Maya Angelou. Soyinka’s lyrical whisky wrecked our

tender nerves. We bedded politics with boyish demeanour

and dreamt of the black cockerels and black Hitler’s

time is stubborn like a sitting tyrant

Last night, commissars chanted a slogan and you

baked a dictator’s poetry sanguage. Zealots sang

Castro and Stalin and you brewed a socialist crank,

the president is a stinking capitalist. I never said

he is Satanist. Back to village nights, hyenas are

laughing still, black owls gossiping, silver moon

dancing still over rain beaten paths of our country dawns.

Sometimes time stinks like a dictator’s fart

Your lyrical satire sneaked imbeciles through

back doors. Your praise sonnets recycled suicidal

devils and polished revolutionary rejects, Back then,

smells of fresh dung and scent of fresh udder milk

were our morning brew and under the twilight the

moon once disappeared into the earthly womb, Judas,

the sun then took over and every dictator is an

Iscariot. I never said we are now vagabonds

Sometimes time smells like a dying autocrat

תְּמוּנַת מַצָּב עוֹלָמִית

לִפְעָמִים זִכְרוֹנוֹת מְרִיחִים כְּמוֹ נְפִיחָה שֶׁל דִּיקְטָטוֹר

פַּעַם הִתְנַדְנַדְנוּ לַצְּלָלִים שֶׁלָּנוּ מִתַּחַת לַיָּרֵחַ הַכָּסוּף

וְהַצְּלָלִים שֶׁלָּנוּ רָקְדוּ יַחַד אִתָּנוּ,

הַסִּיּוּטִים חָרְזוּ לָנוּ שִׁירָה בִּצְבָעִים וְצוּרוֹת

צְבוֹעִים נוֹלְדוּ מִתּוֹךְ הֲזָיוֹת

שֶׁל יַנְשׁוּפִים שְׁחֹרִים.

הָרְצוֹנוֹת שֶׁלָּנוּ הִפְלִיגוּ יַחַד בְּתוֹךְ קִרְעֵי עֲרָפֶל

בָּאוּ וְהָלְכוּ כְּמוֹ בַּסִּיבוּבִים שֶׁל מַנְדָלָה.

עִם שַׁחַר הֶנֵץ הַכְּפָר.

רֵיחַ לֶחֶם אָפוּי דִּגְדֵּג אֶת נְחִירֵינוּ

הַזְּמַן כִּשֵּׁף אוֹתָנוּ, בָּלַעְנוּ אֶת הַכְּתָבִים שֶׁל ווויליאם שייקספיר וג’ון דּוֹן. שָׁתִינוּ קַנְקַנֵּי לִימוֹן שֶׁל לנגסטון יוז ו

מַאיָה אנג’לו. הַוִּיסְקִי הַלִּירִי שֶׁל סויניקה הָרַס לָנוּ

עֲצַבִּים רַכִּים.

שִׁטִּינוּ בַּפּוֹלִיטִיקָה בְּהִתְנַהֲגוּת נַעֲרִית

וְחָלַמְנוּ עַל הַתַּרְנְגוֹלִים הַשְּׁחֹרִים צְבָאוֹ שֶׁל הִיטְלֶר הַשָּׁחֹר.

הַזְּמַן עַקְשָׁן יוֹשֵׁב כְּמוֹ עָרִיץ

אֶמֶשׁ, קוֹמִיסָרִים קָרְאוּ סִיסְמָה

הַמְּצִיאוּת הָאֲיֻמָּה הִיא שִׁירָהּ שֶׁל דִּיקְטָטוֹר.

קַנָּאִים שָׁרוּ קסטרו וסטאלין

רְקַמְתֶּם אַרְכֻּבָּה סוֹצְיָאלִיסְטִית,

הַנָּשִׂיא הוּא קָפִּיטָלִיסְט מַסְרִיחַ. מֵעוֹלָם לֹא אָמַרְתִּי

שהוּא שָׂטָן.

בַּחֲזָרָה לְלֵילוֹת הַכְּפָר. צְבוֹעִים הֵם

הַטִּפְּשִׁים שֶׁל הַזְּמַן שֶׁצוֹחֵק עֲדַיִן,

יַנְשׁוּפִים שְׁחֹרִים מְרָכְלִים, יָרֵחַ כָּסוּף מְשַׁיֵּט בַּשָּׁמַיִם

כְּשֶׁשְּׁבִילֵי הַגֶּשֶׁם שֶׁל אַרְצֵנוּ מְשַׁחֲרִים לְרִקּוּד סוֹעֵר.

לִפְעָמִים הַזְּמַן מַסְרִיחַ כְּמוֹ נְפִיחָה שֶׁל דִּיקְטָטוֹר

הַסָּטִירָה הַלִּירִית שֶׁלְּךָ חָמְקָה מִבִּפְנִים

דְּלָתוֹת אֲחוֹרִיּוֹת. סוֹנָטוֹת הַשֶּׁבַח שֶׁלְּךָ מְמֻחְזָרוֹת אָבְדָנִיּוֹת

שֵׁדִים וּדְחִיּוֹת מַהְפְּכָנִיּוֹת מְלֻטָּשׁוֹת, אָז,

רֵיחוֹת שֶׁל גְּלָלִים טְרִיִּים וְרֵיחַ שֶׁל חֲלַב עָטִין טָרִי

הָיוּ חֲלִיטַת הַבֹּקֶר שֶׁלָּנוּ וְתַחַת הַדִּמְדּוּמִים

יָרֵחַ נֶעֱלַם פַּעַם בָּרֶחֶם הָאַרְצִי,

הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ הִשְׁתַּלְּטָה אָז וְכָל דִּיקְטָטוֹר הוּא אָדָם

כִּיהוּדָה אִישׁ קְרָיוֹת.

מֵעוֹלָם לֹא אָמַרְתִּי שֶׁאֲנַחְנוּ עַכְשָׁו נַוָּדִים.

לִפְעָמִים הַזְּמַן מֵרִיחַ כְּמוֹ אוֹטוֹקְרָט גּוֹסֵס.


I have a song for you

A song of bees feasting the rainbow nectar on the tattered petals of the revolution

Egoli! I have a love song for you

Song of Nomvula, the princes of the rain

Madikizela! I have a love song for you

Song of the abandoned poem.

I have a love song for born frees eating beetroot in Thembisa

Povo smoking ganja in Thokoza

I have a love letter for tweeting imbeciles, whose bellies are burning with emptiness

Zambezi! I have a love song for you

Song of fat cats milking cash cows of the state until udders bleed

I have a love song for you, Azania

Song of your bottoms frying in ovens Xenophobia

Political turncoats watering Marikana fields with blood

Orange River flowing red

Cicadas singing protest songs

Eating funeral sandwiches with apes in Kgalagadi.

Povo מעשן גנג’ה ב-Thokoza

Finding no sleep in burning trees

Azania, this jungle burnt off the coal of our dreams.



Azania, smell and memory of Mandela

Mzansi, long walk of sobukwe

Land of metaphor and ambition

Choking in toxics of xenophobia

Babies lulled to sleep by rants of fake revolution and alliteration of the rainbow nation

Metaphors of madness!

See Hani and slovo-your freedom suns watching sarafina from terraces of life

A Scarred revolution!

In this land that lost its gold and salt.

Azania, you are the rainbow laughing the last giggle

Xenophobia burning rainbow flags to ashes

Xenophobia! Black ants burrowing back into their umbilical soil

Madiba weeping, singing for another summer, another rainbow

מחזור שירי אזניה בשני שירים


אָזְנִיָּה, יֵשׁ לִי שִׁיר בִּשְׁבִילֵךְ

שִׁיר שֶׁל דְּבוֹרִים חוֹגְגִים אֶת צוּף הַקֶּשֶׁת בֶּעָנָן עַל עֲלֵי הַכּוֹתֶרֶת הַמְּרֻפָּטִים שֶׁל הַמַּהְפֵּכָה

אגולי! יֵשׁ לִי שִׁיר אַהֲבָה בִּשְׁבִילֵךְ

שִׁיר נומבולה, נְסִיכֵי הַגֶּשֶׁם

מדיקיזלה! יֵשׁ לִי שִׁיר אַהֲבָה בִּשְׁבִילֵךְ

שִׁיר עַל הַשִּׁיר הַנָּטוּשׁ.

יֵשׁ לִי שִׁיר אַהֲבָה לִבְנֵי חוֹרִין שֶׁנּוֹלְדוּ שֶׁאוֹכְלִים סֶלֶק בתמביסה

Povo מְעַשֵּׁן גנג’ה בְּ-Thokoza

יֵשׁ לִי מִכְתַּב אַהֲבָה לאמבצילים מְצַיְּצִים, שֶׁבִּטְנָם בּוֹעֶרֶת מֵרֵיקָנוּת

זַמְבֶּזִי! יֵשׁ לִי שִׁיר אַהֲבָה בִּשְׁבִילֵךְ

שִׁיר שֶׁל חֲתוּלִים שְׁמֵנִים שֶׁחוֹלְבִים פָּרוֹת מְזֻמָּנִים שֶׁל הַמְּדִינָה עַד שֶׁהָעֲטִינִים מְדַמְּמִים

יֵשׁ לִי שִׁיר אַהֲבָה בִּשְׁבִילֵךְ, אָזְנִיָּה

שִׁיר הַתַּחְתּוֹנִים שֶׁלְּךָ, מְטַגְּנִים בַּתַּנּוּרִים שִׂנְאַת זָרִים

מְעִילִים פּוֹלִיטִיִּים מַשְׁקִים אֶת שְׂדוֹת מריקנה בְּדַם

נָהָר כָּתֹם זוֹרֵם בַּאֲדֹם

צִרְצָרִים שָׁרִים שִׁירֵי מְחָאָה

אוֹכְלִים כְּרִיכֵי לְוָיָה עִם קוֹפֵי אָדָם בקגלאגדי.

לֹא מוֹצֵא שֵׁנָה בְּעֵצִים בּוֹעֲרִים

אָזְנִיָּה, הַגּ’וּנְגֶּל הַזֶּה שָׂרַף אֶת גַּחַל הַחֲלוֹמוֹת שֶׁלָּנוּ.



אֶרֶץ שֶׁל מֶטָפוֹרָה וְאַמְבִּיצְיָה

נֶחְנַק בָּרְעָלִים שֶׁל שִׂנְאַת זָרִים

תִּינוֹקוֹת הִרְגִּיעוּ לִישֹׁן עַל יְדֵי הִתְלַהֲמוּת שֶׁל מַהְפֵּכָה מְזֻיֶּפֶת ואליטציה שֶׁל אֻמַּת הַקֶּשֶׁת בַּעֲנַן

מֶטָפוֹרוֹת שֶׁל טֵרוּף!

רְאֶה אֶת הָאֲנִי וסלובו-שִׁמְשׁוֹת הַחֹפֶשׁ שֶׁלְּךָ צוֹפִים בסרפינה מִמִּרְפְּסוֹת הַחַיִּים

מַהַפֵּכָה מְצֻלֶּקֶת!

בָּאָרֶץ הַזֹּאת שֶׁאִבְּדָה אֶת הַזָּהָב וְהַמֶּלַח שֶׁלָּהּ.

אָזְנִיָּה, אַתְ הַקֶּשֶׁת שֶׁצּוֹחֶקֶת בַּצִּחְקוּק הָאַחֲרוֹן

שִׂנְאַת זָרִים שׂוֹרֶפֶת וּמְאַפֶּרֶת אֶת דִּגְלֵי הַקֶּשֶׁת בַּעֲנַן

שִׂנְאַת זָרִים! נְמָלִים שְׁחֹרוֹת מִתְחַפְּרוֹת בַּחֲזָרָה לְתוֹךְ אַדְמַת הַטַּבּוּר שֶׁלָּהֶן

מִדִּבָּה בּוֹכָה, שָׁרָה לְעוֹד קַיִץ, עוֹד קֶשֶׁת בְּעָנָן

מִדִּבָּה הָלְכָה מִשָּׁם עִם קֶשֶׁת בְּעָנָן, לוֹפֶתֶת אֶת הַחֵמָר שֶׁמְּחַבֵּר אֶת חוּטֵי הַקֶּשֶׁת!

כל הזכויות שמורות לשירים למאביזו

כל הזכויות שמורות לתרגום ליהודית מליק-שירן


Commentary  by Yehudt  Malik -Shiran

Yehudit Malik-Shiran

educator, writer/poet, literary critic, composer, owner of “Efi-Log” radio and therapist of expression and creation, publisher “Bat Or” publishing house, director of Shoshana Malik Center for Creative Writing. Married and mother of three. She won many awards for her writing, including the President’s Award. Weizmann.Her works were published in the daily press, in literary magazines – psychologists in Israel and around the world. Her poems and stories have been translated into Arabic, English and Polish.She has many songs performed by various singers, and four printed albums: “The Way” (2018 with Hoofit Mesika) “Great Gift” (with Norit Han Ziegler 2019), “The Longing That Remembers” (with Hoofit Mesika 2021), “Accord” (2021 with Nir Forai)


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