In celebrating her birthday my friend has released a poetry anthology entitled ‘Undressed.’ This is one Poetry collection that every lover of poetry should get a hold of. The anthology is available for free, please follow the links below to download and enjoy some great poetry.



Days are soldiers guarding us to hell

in these cities where boys

crave to kiss the face of death

love is a mystery 

only understood by death.

We’ve taught death 

to define love for us

The same way light asks darkness 

to prove it’s virtues.

At funerals our songs carry so much love.

We keep wasting love in these dirges we twirl

into air. Days are soldiers 

guarding us to hell

in these cities

where death teaches a child to love his mother

And love  teaches a girl to die everyday.

Days are soldiers


us to hell.
© Elizabeth Semende



nomatter how inseparable the sea is 

never break yourself 

trying to catch it’s droplets.

Let this teach you 

How to wait for the tide

and break into it.

That is how you grab your water.


Some men are different.

© Elizabeth Semende

Learning to make homes

In these places where women come to die

My mother’s words take turns to hit my ears:

“When you find a man, carve a home beneath his pride and

 learn to make homes from nothing.”
Then I screamed: Mother this is not my home!

This is not a home!

It carries the weight of a man’s pride 

the same way  corpses carry the weight of tombstones​

In silence.

Mother did not listen.
She too found a home 

In these places where nothing remains 

but a swarm of men urinating on the flame of our souls 

She said: that is how we make homes out of nothing

By carrying the weight of a man’s pride

In silence.

© Elizabeth Semende

Of Home

In the game of Truth or Dare 

I asked a friend about his country of origin

he frowned and said:

Where blood parade the streets 

And the air, a home for the stench of faeces.

I remembered​ my home 

And how my mother would say: 

People like us seek peace in ways 

that resemble men seeking cities 

without mad-men.

© Elizabeth Semende

To Have a Friend.


To have a friend is to hear a melody reek amidst a veld.

To place your eggs of hope on the selvage of a replete basket.

To have a friend is to believe.

To have a friend is to entrust.


To have a friend is to coil your love on a broken spool.

To wear her scars and pour your heart on the flame of her burdens.

To have a friend is to love.

To have a friend is to be loved.


To have a friend is to cultivate a bond on the barren grounds of earth.

To sow a family on the fecund realm of your heart.

To have a friend is to care.

To have a friend is to be blessed.


(c)Elizabeth Semende – 2017




A Past That Ain’t Passed.


At this grave I presently stand,

Deep within wishing I had a magic wand,

To turn time and season to that fateful night,

When he and her showed each their might,

Started as a talk but ended in a fight,

A young girl I was but her tears I still saw,

Her pain in her eyes all so clear.
From the other side of the bars I balefully stare

As his voice invigorates the events of the black day

When teasing ended in squeezing

Fear crept in my veins

Igniting hatred for every seed bearer

I had a mind miscarriage, beautiful memories of him are gone

But my eyes are still pregnant with the pain he caused.
Each kick and blow I still see,

That silent night when all hell did break loose,

Was it the cheaply brewed booze in his head?

Or was it the poorly fed multi-coloured damsel from the bar?

Or maybe it was my mere presence at his sight…

But nothing…

Nothing still justified mom’s departure to the other world,

And its the sorry ass of a man I called dad,I gotta thank for it.
The day I redefined marriage….

Was when he decided to play god and pulled her legs to kick the bucket


At the apex of shame he stands

Locked within the web he has spun

Conscience swollen with regret;

He patiently begs death to kiss his flesh

Should I borrow him the rope?

Should I keep it for when I change my mind?
Maybe death may be too simple for him,

Even his stay in this prison ain’t enough,

For he robbed mum from me,

He made her leave me so tender,

How I wish to soak his body in molten lava,

To just watch him melt to the bones,

Still that too wont be satisfactory,

To ease the pain and hurt that lingers on in my heart.
My heart is an abyss of misery

Whilst his is hard like oodles of masonry

I wish to pull the trigger and ease my wrath

But I’m human with a heart of flesh

I’m not afraid of his stony gaze

His smile mobilize demons and devils

Do me a favor and look in the mirror

Look in the mirror Dad and see a glimpse of hell.
Times and seasons sure might have passed,

My reasons to not love you still stands till now,

As I lay this wreath upon mum’s grave,

I know the real me too is six-feet deep down,

When you killed my mum,You killed me too…

And each year at her grave I shall be,

Seeking for the emotional feel that you watered down.

©Joy Munde🌹(Kenya) Elizabeth Semende (Zimbabwe)




Our differences in tongues and skins

are God’s gentle beautiful art keen.

Like a caterer turning rice to jollof rice,

fried, coconut or leaving it white.

We are various isles from one island,

We are geckos that echo on one land.

Tho’ we’re scattered like cast seeds,

a:r hearts’re twined like pair of genes.

I smoked wisdom, puffs of Intels spin,

Listen to voices that’re wisdom filled.

If genesis is not revolution.

Then heed my words for satisfaction.

The world`s a grassland to hearth all,

Rain graces the grass and Shrubs tall. Thus, we remain therein to breed,

To empty this earth-full and be freed.

Heed! For peace and unity to rain

blood in the Black and White veins.

We wind across the lonely path on

the mount with none but rocky soil.

With arms interlock we aim sky high

and our difference…

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