to move up and down
.R.i.O.
A fusion of ink and lense.
ITS OFFICIAL, WINTER IS HERE
76/365
Don’t be fooled
Even though the sun seems a shine
Icy chills trickled down my spine
Winter arrived in design, unexpected and unwanted
Bawling winds, unforgiving, cut across anyone on the way
And the sun masked with deception,
mischievously shone and teased
Disclosing not a bit of its heat.
Goodbye tanks and twig skirts
Booty shorts and jumpsuits
Away we tuck our sandals and wedges
In exchange for uggs,
heavy coats, scarves and gloves
Now an ice-cold fanta just wont do
Give me a hot cuppa tea maybe two
Sigh… and as the day comes to an end
here I sit helplessly releasing a smile
hoping the pavement reflects some warmth
and love to penetrate deep to my bones.
Edith
75\365
Defying patriarchy strumming the masculine bass guitar…
From surviving a tragic accident Edith we Utonga really has come far.
Domineering the sound she independantly thrills the crowd…
Her stage presence enthralling regardless the capacity of the crowd.
An inspiration to many women across the nation…
Embracing and nuturing talent should be a standard parental obligation.
Sharing stages with renown artists, the world does not know what’s coming…
Edith we Utonga will leave you dancing, singing and humming.
To listen to her music visit www.edithweutonga.com
She hails from 263, thats right, ZIMBABWE is where she’s from.
.R.i.O.
KaTsoka: Little Foot
74\365
Katsoka, walking for hours on end trying to leave a trail in this competitive earth…
Five little toes that twitch, hurt, and snap ever since birth.
Katsoka, kano kwara maningi kamanikidzwa mugoghi…
The little foot that sees fire when pressed up in high heeled shoes,
Yet Katsoka truds along carrying the weight of the world.
Married to the struggle with a little ring to decorate the little spaces inbetween…
Katsoka, with painted toe nails raised in the air cooling off the sweat…Katsoka, walking for hours on end making tracks noone will forget.
.R.i.O.
Piercing Light
73\365
Piercing light slashing through the darkness…
Illuminating the night with an eerie sort of calmness.
Revealing the acts of night at the stroke of one switch…
Its light burning bright, so bright it could frighten a hard core witch.
If looked at too closely the piercing light may blinded the naked eye…
Yet its absence feeds the underworld, without it, grace and protection die.
The Piercing light radiating, eliminating, protecting slashing out the darkness…
The Piercing light, illuminating the night with an eerie sort of calmness.
.R.i.O.
Musical Intercourse
72\365
He holds the beauty of his life closer as each chord progresses…
Gently sliding his fingers inbetween the twine as his beauty he caresses.
To the audience all they hear is a ballad or a song…
To him and his beauty, it is a thrill that lasts all night long.
He uses the microphone to sing to and along his beauty…
He strums her with such intensity, revealing their undying beauty.
He strums her, she soothes he,together in musical intercourse…
Their union of undying love, passion sans lust, in short, musical intercourse.
.R.i.O.
Pedestrian
71\365
” The rich man’s worth is in the city… Destruction of the poor is his poverty…Destruction of your soul is vanity”. - Buju Banton.
Unemployment levels soar as the day goes by…
Unemployed, I would rather volunteer my services than spend hours aimlessly high.
I am not asking for much, I am just another pedestrian…
Filling up the nations pot holes, I am just another pedestrian.
I do not own a car, I can not afford to commute on public transport…
I am not asking for much, just a lil help, a little support.
The bricks, stones and mud I lay protect your tyres from the potholes sharp edges…
Yet, you cannot even acknowledge the voluntary hands that alleviate the damage of the potholes sharp edges.
I know I chose to do this, but I did have another choice…
I chose to patch the streets, and use the cardboard as my voice…
I am just another pedestrian, doing the noble thing for my fellow country man…
Even though you don’t acknowledge my small societal contribution it’s okay, I guess this too was a part of God’s plan.
.R.i.O.
Nameless
70\365
He’s only six but he is a master on the streets…
He has no mother or father, no one to fend for him or buy him toddler treats.
Raised by siblings, molested by the gang, ignored by the wealthy, ridiculed by poverty, protected by noone…
Forgotten by relatives,tiny, cold, scared, hungry, loved by noone.
Master of begging, pick-pocketing and stealing, roaming aimlessly in the street…
Watched over by angels, smiling in malnourished insanity, roaming aimlessly in the street.
Illiterate and vulnerable,needy and gullable…
Dirty,nameless,forgotten, orphaned but still lovable.
.R.i.O.
Z.I.M.B.A.B.W.E.
69\365
Zimba redu remambwe ratinoti ZIMBABWE… Vana vake imbama… Tose tose tiri HAMA… Ruvengo ne ruchiva zvinoputsa nyika… Saka, iwewe neni ngativakei Nyika… Tikatsveta ruvengo,hudzvinyiriri nezvimwe… Haufungi kuti tose tinga komborerwa ne zvimwe… Kunamata istandard,kubatsirana IMPERATIVE… LETS BUILD EACH OTHER UP WHETHER U MY MATE OR MY RELATIVE… United we stand saka wangu SIMUKA.. Ndibatewo rukoko titambe seTumbuka… Right now mashoko apera asi ngati vakanei ne wamwe… its about me and you and OUR love for ZIMBABWE….! ***********************************************8 Our house of stone, that we call ZIMBABWE, Her children are beautiful, we are all one family… Hatred and jealousy destroy our nation… So you and I should build our nation. If we drop the hate, subjugation and everything else, Do you not think we will ALL be blessed with more? Prayer is STANDARD, helping each other IMPERATIVE, LETS BUILD EACH OTHER UP, WHETHER YOU’RE MY MATE OR MY RELATIVE… United we stand so my brethren STAND UP… Hold my hand so we dance like Tumbuka… Right now I have reached writer’s block but let us bulild our nation with others… Its about me and you, and our love for ZIMBABWE. .R.i.O.
Dollarisation
68\365
Hegemonic assimilation aimed at guarding the fiscal policies of a nation…
Whether legal tender or parallel to one’s currency fighting to curb inflation.
Stripping a nation of a strand of it’s identity…
The misappropriation and lack of accountability strip us of our financial identity.
Yet, the sins of our fathers we pay in euros, rupees and dollars…
It is not in naira, kwacha or kwanza that we pay the sins of our fathers.
International trade sponsored by this economic pollination…
Whose aims are to strengthen the economic fabric of nation…?
.R.i.O.
Graffiti Screams
67\365
Graffiti screams, social and political inscription…
This aint vandalism, it’s a form of ministry, literature subject to your depiction.
Tracing back to Ancient Greece and the Roman Empire…
Spray painting and scribbling thoughts, visions, dreams and artistic desire.
More that pop-culuture, it’s a culture on it’s own…
It screams of words untold, ignored but known.
A depiction of what transpires within the community…
It’s defiance a challenge to authority and a mockery of conformity.
Graffiti screams splashed from wall to wall…
‘Urban vandalism’ depicting ideologies that need to fall.
Hand raised in defiance of this artistic prejudice…
Graffiti screams calling on artistic and societal justice.
.R.i.O.
