I believe we all are interlinked. Interlinked in the grand scheme of things. I feel that writing brings us closer together. Well, reading and writing. It's in the stories told. The poetry written about love, heartache, and friendship. So we're asked to be our generation's scribes. So we write on pages we don't see physically. But pray they last a thousand lifetimes, at least past our children's children.
But we'll continue writing—Ropafadzo Chimwara, 2025.
The objective of life is for someone to be a witness to it. What of it if you take all of your distinct behaviors to the grave with you? The goal is community, to be seen, and to bear testimony to the magnificent mundane in everything we do. That is why I believe in marriage: I want someone to witness everything I am. Otherwise, what is the point?
I watched a reel about grace in the morning. The lady said mercy was like you stealing something and then someone paying for it for you, and grace was like a policeman picking you up for stealing but then giving you the money to pay for the fines, plus his car keys, nice watch, and the special Nikes in the boot. I don’t know if this illustration makes sense to you or if I have done justice to the ting but his grace is so unbound it has many shapes and faces. Grace for me looks like meeting you the day that I did and saying the most corny thing someone could ever say with a straight face. Having the audacity to imagine a lifetime with you and deciding there and then that shuck it, I’m going to say hi. Look at us now, at the very end of our journey. You know how sunflowers always tilt towards the sun? For a long time I felt like a sunflower, tilting towards you. Little did I know that if you turn your head too much, your neck muscles will atrophy (not advisable) or that seasons change and sunflowers only bloom in summer. What a lovely summer we had! It baffled me so much how someone could be so beautiful and graceful at the same time. I pinched my heart here and there to just remind myself that we can’t fumble this one, and yet here we are. I thank Jesus for you still. That in a room with 20+ people, I had the eyes and nerve to see you. That you had the courage to hear me out, take my hand, and walk along with me. Life could have been different without you, though I bet there is no way it could have been better. The bottom line is that me meeting you was a grace move I’m grateful for. Whatever, whenever, wherever, a part of me will always love you.
Have you ever seen someone’s neck, and all it says is “choke me” up to the point where you say, May I just use my fingertips, tips, just the tip-s, but before I digress, can I be him again? I want to be the guy you talk about in all your stories. Dear wife, I don’t know you yet, or maybe I do, but only if it’s not a Dex and Em kind of situation. I want to have a realistic 40 years with you. I want to see you love our grandchildren more than you love me; more importantly, you having to deal with my jealousy of it, rather the how you will make all of us happy. Because everyone is going to be happy. But whatever, because you are my happiness. The thought of me loving you “like a stan” floods my mind, my vision blurs, I think about mufesi weBhosvo playing nekusingaperi, my hands firmly held by the girth of your waist. My eyes sorely fixed on the twinkle in your eye, my little huge star, my chiral carbon, our quantum entanglement. My blood boils in all the wrong places. I think about the nights we will fight, the frustration I will have in my failure to communicate that I love you in spite of and despite. I pray for you every day, and I hope you find me soon.
Lately I have been working on myself; I have been trying to be more intentional about living, but something’s got a hold on me. Ndine kalist kane magoals angu and I plan to give them my all , saka bho zvangu
The last few weeks have been marred with alcohol, a sleep-thieving dissertation, and anxiety.
I’ve survived the brunt of the attacks.
I think.
Took a break from alcohol for almost a week.
The voices kept at bay.
I think this time they too are afraid of the edge.
I might not be as hesitant in the coming months as I used to be.
But I guess that’s where lies the beauty in the finality that is death.
He hasn’t stopped by in a while.
I guess that’s a good sign.
I think.
I hope so, really.
The last few weeks have been marred with alcohol, the pressure of becoming, and the realization that I’m actually present.
Living. Breathing. I am present.
To some degree, really.
I think.
I’ve got a general idea of my future.
It’s buried in my visions.
I’ve been having more of those lately.
A good life.
In all accounts.
But I’m Gatsby in all pictures.
Alone.
And I’m wondering if that’s enough to live for.
I hope it is.
So I continue.
I think.
I hope>
~Ropa
So next time… Next time I’m going to introduce myself to someone, I’m going to say all the right things. It will go something like, Hey, I’m Tonde with a “t.” My major selling point is my brown eyes…. I have a great urge to self-destruct that I keep at bay by writing these posts and loving, loving you, loving me, loving us…loving… I’m an addict. I’m addicted to euphoria, among other things, that nothingness between now and then, the oxygen coursing through my veins. I’m addicted to loving things that need fixing; maybe that’s why I am here talking to you. My fatal flaw is thinking I can save you and hoping that in all that effort it would be enough penance for my actions. I honestly think I’m a good pillar, but who is repairing my breach? Lately life has been teaching me to be still and trust. To just let God lead, I have realized that even if I give it my best shot or all of my resources, I still need God to say yes, else…
I’m searching for a deeper connection. Something that feels like home can be anywhere as long as you are there. I’m looking for more—more laughter, more peace, more joy. I’m not looking anywhere in the world because this is something I can only find within. This treasure is within and can only be experienced without .So I’m moving through my bone and marrow, sifting through my blood vessels and pheromones. Looking for more because I realize home is where the heart is. And as far as my heart is concerned, it belongs first to Jesus, then to me.
Never really found love.
I’ve noticed I hit purple patches in form from time to time, and that’s all to it.
My tongue becomes a little more fluid with words. The right ones, that is.
But then the form ends. The purple fades.
And alone I am again.
Alone I’ve learned to live. But alone some fights are a tad too big.
Loneliness stays a bit longer now.
Her company I’ve come to appreciate.
With moons rising and setting. The purple patches become shorter. At the moment they seem non-existent.
In a couple of months they’ll seem like folklore.
How I used to find comfort in the arms of another.
How I used to find warmth in cuddles with my lover.
Folklore how I used to know how exactly her heart would beat.
A little slower in the calm.
A lot faster in the blurry.
But that was it.
Love.
Folklore.
Stories to tell around a fire
Telling stories to loneliness, who’s now moved in. Of how I, back in the day, was a lover.
And oh, I loved!
But today’s another day.
Loneliness hasn’t moved in yet.
But she comes by from time to time.
And she stays longer each time than the last.
~Ropa
Here’s a playlist for your brooding , if you haven’t seen it, please click on the word playlist, and to read more of these poems, keep scrolling…
Hi guys, my name is Ropa. I’ve been writing for 6 years now. Started with poetry, and I’ve moved on to working on novellas and novelettes as a pastime. I hadn’t published any work yet, but this time I decided to go for it. This is my first literary baby. I chose to start with poetry because it’s what I started writing way back then. Thus, my first installment is a collection of poems I wrote during a tough time. An Anthology for Rusty Hearts.
Ropafadzo Chimwara, 2024.
Below, you’ll find links of where to get it:
Ebook
https://buymeacoffee.com/ropatchimmz/e/330530
Amazon
LIFE IS TOO SHORT ITS BETTER THAT YOU LOVE NOW THAN LATER…..
It’s beautiful and it pulls at the heartstrings I love it
poignant as all things oughta be
My expressions throughout; a smile, chuckles, tears, more smiles and more tears❤️❤️❤️
What of modern day love if not mixed emotions,thank you for reading through
Read this from an empty bus after a particularly long day, and felt like I was in a movie. Thank you for restoring my love for the pen. This is beautiful.
this really warms my heart ❤️