Category Archives: Elizabeth Tshauambea Ndou (Lizz)

A Beautiful Sunset

The 5 megapixels on my phone’s camera do not do justice to the beauty that surround me in Venda. The skyline is always so beautiful at sunrise and sunset.I’ll miss such views when its time for me to leave.

A beautiful sunset as captured from my front yard

A beautiful sunset as captured from my front yard

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LEARNING TO FORGIVE MYSELF

Learning to forgive myself


My soul weeps

My soul weeps,
My ice cold heart has been melted into a river of tears,
Overwhelmed by the social inequalities that have spread like spores over the years,
Septic sores that have turned rural virgins into whores,
My soul weeps for humanity is in a coma, drifting closer to death daily.

My soul weeps for the widows who lost their husbands in struggle,
The same women that barely have food on their table,
Feeding on government’s promises that their husbands’ deaths were not in vain,
Waiting on their spouses blood to fertilise their barren soil.

My soul weeps for dust babies,
Whose only desire is to own a pair of shoes,
Who walk through dark valleys in pursuit of food,
The very same children left to nurse themselves for the angel of death has claimed their parents,
My soul weeps for Africa’s starving young.

My soul weeps for 13 year old Duduzile,
Forced into prostitution so she can fend for her younger siblings,
Constantly beat on like a marimba drum by her pimp,
The scars and wounds on her feet from those that wanted more than what they were willing to pay for,
Her legs, always open like a cheap Hillbrow store that knows not of any public holidays,
My soul weeps for 13 year old HIV positive Duduzile.

My soul weeps for the tenderpreneur,
He flashes his assets yet has an empty soul,
He drinks himself to sleep for the screams of those he cheated to get where he is are constantly tormenting him,
Exploiting minors to obtain his blood diamonds,
Over working orphans in sweat shops,
He lingers around expensive boutiques yet he knows not that salvation is what he really needs,
My soul weeps for the black diamond who knows not that he has sold his soul to the devil.

My soul weeps for the Congolese refugee who fled to South Africa in search of a better life,
Knowing not that he’ll be abhorred by hostile hearts,
Termed “lilwerekere” and set ablaze in broad daylight,
Not knowing his search for safety would lead him to his death bed,
My soul weeps for the Congolese refugee who fell into the arms of Xenophobia.

To be continued…


Star-Crossed Lovers

With the sweet melodious tunes of birds in spring and the alluring scent of flowers in full bloom we crossed paths,
Shakespeare’s ghost possessed Cupid who knocked us out and we soon took to our true forms; Romeo and Juliet reincarnated,
A modern day pale skinned, amber eyed Romeo with his highly pigmented, frizzy haired Juliet.
Our souls illumined the universe and we defied not only social norms but gravity!
To heighten our emotions we ditched our sight; love really is blind, we can testify for we went colour blind.

We defied gravity and ascended to cloud nine,
I stole his heart and he vowed to protect mine,
We painted celestial images of one another in the sky,
He was my muse and I was his,
As the sun set our souls intertwined and merged,
With each breath he took I felt my lungs contract,
We were one!
W e levitated to the moon and there he told me that I’m sooo fine and he promised we’d be together till the end of time.

I, his sky and him my moon;
The surrounding stars, fair maidens twinkling, twirling and curling their toes; desperate for his attention,
My moon shinning his bright light onto me, his sky and spitting his smooth poetic lines and rhymes so they’d know he was taken.
As morning came reality hit, Romeo and Juliet were star crossed lovers and so were we…


Venda – An African Goddess

Vendalahatshikamuroho lamanakanaka,

Her curves; the hills, mountains and bending roads,

Her beauty; ever green, fruitful and smiling up to the heavens,

Her guardian; the ever blazing sun radiating its heat and light onto her chocolate brown skin,

Her soily womb; thick and fertile giving birth to nutritious fruits and veggies,

Fruits as delicious as those from Tshakhuma tshaha Madzivhandila,

Ndi Vendalahatshikamuroho lisa ladzi nwana nga ndala.

Her aura so pure and welcoming,

Her scent so clean and unpolluted,

The wind blowing out melodious tunes,

Hu pfala mifhululu na nanga dza tshikona dza Ha-Tshivhasa midi ya vhathu.

Ndi Vendalahatshikamuroho lo tondwaho nga Mwali;

Her body fluids blessed with healing properties;

Ndi madzivha a Fundudzi,

Her arms stretching out, reaching out to welcome her lost sons like the branches of Her Baobab Trees,

Her vagina sacred and rich in history sa bako la Tshavhadinda la Dzimauli ha Rammbuda Tshiwangamatembele lisa dzheniwi nga nnyi na nnyi,

Her breasts standing upright and firm even after daily breast feeding sa thavha ya Tswime.

*To be continued…

Its heritage month so I dedicate this month to Venda, my home. She is poetry on her own, no words can begin to describe her beauty; I love Vendalahatshikamuroho.

Vendalahatshikamuroho and Her Curves by Tshauambea Elizabeth Ndou

Vendalahatshikamuroho and Her Curves by Tshauambea Elizabeth Ndou


A Conversation With My Cadaver

Lifeless on a cold steel bed he lay,
His body drenched in formaline,
His lifetime story encrypted on his flesh in the form of scars,
Flaps of skin dangling,
His insides peeping out desperately seeking for attention,
A permanent facial expression and erection; Rigor Mortis!
Another one ticked off Malak al-Maut, Azrael the angel of death’s list.

They say the dead don’t see, feel or hear;
They claim death is the end of one’s journey and a full stop to their existence,
They say there is no life after death, nothing beyond the grave nor the last heartbeat;

BUT I had a conversation with my cadaver,
Yes, I dissected his heart out but we had a heart to heart conversation,
I told him about my difficulty with Anatomy and his soul was filled with heartfelt sympathy,
They claim the heartless are cruel and cold yet his soul was so warm and beaming with empathy,
They have us thinking its the heart that defines a humanbeing when they know damn well that its the soul.

I had a conversation with my cadaver,
We spoke of ancestry and spirituality,
He spoke of his struggles and challenges,
He painted a vivid image of the day he died- the ultimate betrayal; poisoned by an acquaintance,
We spoke of death and Rigor Mortis,
He told me of the two earths he’d come to know of; one with living breathing beings and another with lingering restless souls,
He spoke of empires built on dreams,
Kindoms anchored by the foundations of people’s nightmares,
He spoke of spirit slaves who serve the dark lords who roam the earth like cowards in the night,

“Are lingering souls ghosts?”, I asked.
“Open your eyes, we exist! Listen to the voices in the wind and you’ll hear conversations, love songs, screams, prayers and the songs of our struggle”, he replied.

His voice faded but I’m sure that I had a conversation with my cadaver!

Before I left the dissection hall I took a look at him and ;
Lifeless on a cold steel bed he lay,
His body drenched in formaline,
His lifetime story encrypted on his flesh in the form of scars,
Flaps of skin dangling,
His insides peeping out desperately seeking for attention,
A permanent facial expression and erection; Rigor Mortis!
Another one ticked off Malak al-Maut, Azrael the angel of death’s list.

*this poem was inspired by a nightmare that I had a few weeks back

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Joburg Sunset

The Joburg skyline as the sun calls it a day. Image by Tendamudzimu Tenda Mulovhedzi

The Joburg skyline as the sun calls it a day. Image by Tendamudzimu Tenda Mulovhedzi

Johannesburg;
Her firm structures and curves depicting a rich history,
With a heart that refuses to give in forever being successfully resuscitated,
Pregnant with many’s hopes and dreams,
Mourning the death of a rural child’s ambition,
Robbed of her virginity by vultures that prey on innocent dreamers and hustlers,
Sodomized by the evil claws of those that try to take shortcuts by taking from those who travel down rocky paths,
Stories of hope tattooed and graffiti sprayed all over her tender flesh and walls,
Her skyscrapers reaching out to the heavens hoping to receive Johannesburg’s much needed miracles,
Morning dew; her tears; wetting the ground as she prays and begs her God for a better day,
The African sun drying her tears and reflecting hope.

At the end of each day the sun retires and calls it a day,
As the sun fades; it leaves Johannesburg’s skyline beautifully painted yet her heart filled with fear as she awaits the arrival of her nocturnal guardians, the moon and street lights.

Lizz (Tshauambea Elizabeth Ndou)

*poem inspired by the sunset image captured by Tendamudzimu Tenda Mulovhedzi