Showing posts from March, 2017


He once met a lass, so fine,
Told himself, "I'll make her mine."
She brewed him the best honey, 
And made all his days sunny,
But would sting him like a bee. 

Had a pet name, called her, "Bee",
Played her melodies on soft piano,
Wrote her Poems, bold P, I know,
Always sung her a song, "Please, Believe",
And one day, she packed and left.

His poor heart was left, a cleft,
Got it wrong, thought it was "Bee leave",
Well, she did terribly, misunderstand,
Now he writes to make the miss understand,
His words craving for what he once felt.

"He Once Met A Lass"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha

(Art Credits to the Artist)


A picture in my hands, slightly over twodecades old.  A baby tightly calm, in arms, my eyes grow wet and cold.  A tear splashes, onto a fold,on the picture's surface,onto my tiny infant face.
Taken few minutes after birth, I have always been told. With my innocent eyes closed, a tight grip on my fist hold.If I could ever have back,that moment in the picture,I would try, not to cry. I would smile back at you, mother, and high-five you, father.
You rocked me on your laps,when I couldn't shut my lips.I cried all night, you never slept. You always stood by me, and never left.Behind these grown irises of mine, you will always, forever, remain, the people who make me happy.Always, My Mummy and My Daddy.
"Mummy & Daddy"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha 


With nowhere else to go tonight,I prepare, for a familiar journey.Tonight, like all nights, I am going 'insane'.

So, I wasted away my day, packing up,stuffing my mind up with irrelevant relevance,all day kissing vipers and massaging crocodiles,that, I'll hop later, into my misery cabin, and slide down my cock-pit,get drunk on the smell of my clean duvet,and finally fly myself away into insomnia land.
I am going insane and I do not like this ride,yet, I haven't been crazy, nuts or bananas, just yet.Every time that I have to abandon my ship, they say something quite strange to me,"Good Morning..." 
Strangely, I must be the only one riding, a crazy dinosaur-ghost at night,all alone, over here.Other wise, what is good about my insanity,that you have to ask about, each and every morning?   "Insane"Drew Poetry~Andy Mwalasha


She had just landed from America,
Stepped into, my 80's Volkswagen,
Made that vintage car, a merry car,
She was like a dream folks work on,
But then, I was just, a taxi - driver,
Just a bloke, instructed to drive her.

From my driver seat,  I was drunk,
Drunk with what couldn't be mine,
Drunk driving was illegal, top rank, 
She was pure gold, out of the mine, 
But then, I was just, a taxi - driver,
She could never ever, ever be mine.

"Taxi - Driver"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha.


Palm leaves swaying, to God's breath,
21 pilots on my ears, I'm on auto pilot,
Still, 21 pilots and my being's crushing,
The Weeknd is too, so who's Monday?
My remains in the sea, waves rushing,
Time is eating us, like stallions on hay,
It feels good, walking down this road,
I once dragged, a blood - stained rod,
A shovel on my dusty wide shoulders,
With my shadow, nothing could hold us,
Buried lifeless and for a millionth time, 
Born life - full over again stuck in time, 
Glow in the dark and shine, in the light,
Told myself, if I lose, then, I can fight,
I fought before, I'll fight now till death,
That's what each of my breath's worth.

"The Worth Of My Breath"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


I live my life like a lizard.
Well, I live my life hard!
You want to grab my tail,
So to slow down my trail,
Well, I'll leave that; wiggly,
annoying piece of myself,
on your filthy fingertips.

I know how to let go,
I know, I can grow,
I will once sigh and go,
I am stronger now,
Way stronger,
Than ever before.

Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


When he was a little boy, his favourite toy was a blue toy racing car, which he'd spend most of his time pushing around the floor while his mother mopped the floor. He'd refuse to go out to play with other kids.

Now he's grown into a man and signed up with a rallying company. Today would be the greatest race of his lifetime. Her mother is there to watch her only son, her only boy, her only child and her only man make her proud.
As he squeezes into the driver seat of the racing metallic monster, she says a prayer in a thrill. But there's something the universe is keeping a secret from her, that if she knew about, she'd jump over the barriers from the audience without caring how much wear and tear the fierce asphalt would do to her precious wrinkles and pull him out.
Today, all she ever cared about in this world would vanish. Today, her little man would become a memory. He'd perish in a crash, in a flash.
She looks at his blue car, raving like a thirsty monster racin…


A ship, she was,
docked in my harbour,
lowered her anchor,
rusty, yet flawless,
she danced to the mocking waves,
rushing, breaking in her curves,
modestly dressed in sails,
she'd cruised seas, for days,
nights, months, just for me.

I sunk deep in her cabin,
behold, a chest of treasure, she held.
In pure jealous, I stabbed the captain,
and as the poor bloke bled,
I slowly stroked her mast,
she squeaked deep, in ecstasy,
trembling her salty ocean - wet iron.
She sailed for me, she came for me,
I must've been her cruising fantasy.

"In My Harbour"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


When you want to get your feet, off the ground,
But gravity keeps on holding you more, around.
When you want to spread your wings to the sun,
And your father tells you, "Make me proud son."
But there is one thing you wish you hadn't done,
That which is heavy, making your heart a tonne,
That which you'd look back at, and wish to turn.
But then you make him proud. "We live and learn."

"Live And Learn"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


I'm I the teabag in your tea?
I'm I the sugar in your tea? 
I'm I the milk in your tea?
I'm I everything in your tea?
Tell me, I am the water, atleast,
Or the cup served with the feast.

No. Do not! Shut up! Ssssh...Hush!
I need your answers no more, shush!
I learned I'm just the plastic teaspoon,
That you will use, to stir up your tea,
Then later on, throw, into the trash.
I hate that over your lies, I'd swoon. 

The Tea Spoon.
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


Wait for the wind to push clear,
I'll be waiting for you, all along,
I feel you in but you're not here,
To each -other, I feel we belong,
Hold on to that loneliness, dear,
I still believe, it will not be long,
You sustained the heavy to bear,
For me, love, please stay strong.

"Wait For The Wind"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


I'm trying to swim away from the whirl in your coffee,
but, every time you stir it up, I get back to the middle,
Go on, drown me deep and make it work for yourself,
Need more sweetness? Yeap! Reach for the top shelf,
My melting skin isn't good scent, drop in some toffee,
Once I had a heart like yours. Hard, strong and tough,
It got crushed anyway. Well, this world is that rough!

Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


"Yes"and "No" were hard choices. "No"particularly had a really hard shell to crack. So I went for the easier one, and said "Yes" every time to your selfish desires.
"Yes" Every time you wanted to steal away a part of me.
"Yes" Every time you needed the smell of my burnt soul.
"Yes" Every time you wanted the smell of my blood and my  wounds.
"Yes" Every time you made an offer to crack my heart.
And when my being was all burnt down, you'd roll up my bills, cut my ashes into small stripes every night on your table with my credit card, and sniffle them up. I was so blinded by the glitter on your sword that I couldn't see or feel the cuts you were impaling on my skin.
"No!" I finally found strength to say it. I finally cracked open the "No" shell. But it was too late. You had already scattered my ashes into the waves of the sea. 
"Hard Choices" Drew Poetry ~Andy Mwalasha


There is a beat in my eardrums, and it is your heart beat. Rub your feet on my arms, and we will make some heat.
Slide on the seat, I'll give your thumbs, some sweet treat. Your nails so neat, sweet as plums, every night's a repeat.
"A Repeat" Drew Poetry ~Andy Mwalasha


I must be crazy to write about this. But sometimes I look at myself, things and people around me, and think, "What awaits afterwards? What will be there when all this is gone, faded and the dust settled?"
I like looking at myself and other people as fruits. Once, we never existed at all. Then on the trees that bore us, we began our existence as little adorable beautiful flowers. At that point, we were what humanity should be truly reflected as. Pure, beautiful, innocent, lovely, honest little beings. We were equal flowers, beautiful and adorable.
Slowly, we started our growth into fruits. Here, we defined our different distinguished tastes, as either the bitter ones, the sour or the sweet. We developed a seed in us as time went by,which is the reason for our existence, a driving force in us; what we'd call a soul.
As time goes on, we mature and ripen. At ripening, we tend to attract all sorts of pests that want to steal from us, the preciousness of our beings. 

It's so …


He knocked on the door, but unlike usual, there was no response. No eager answer served on hugs and kisses that night like it has always been on all previous nights. 
He knocked again, "Honey, I'm home." Once again, there was no response, but the noise of crickets in the flower garden and distant conversations on the television from inside the house. He slowly grabbed the door knob, his heart racing and thumping like Zulu drums, and turned it. His head was a nest of questions, concerns and worries. He stealthily charged in and dropped his laptop bag and roses that he'd bought for her, on the sofa. 
"Honey..." He mildly and softly called out once more, checking the kitchen. Onions burnt coal black, smoking and sizzling on a pan, on the cooker, was the sight his worried eyes got served to. He turned the cooker off and hurried upstairs in panic, breathing like a bull in rage, shouting, "Honey! Are you home? Where are you at?" He certainly knew somethin…


Young men around, talking about; money,
women, and the number of bras, they toss,
but none about sermons, morals. It's funny,
we men, don't know of Christ on the cross.

I've got fingers crossed, and facing the cross, 
I've got sins crossed, but they still feel gross!
I pray for my generation and flip a Bible page,
Prey in revelation. We slip on a bye-bull age!

"A Bye - Bull Age"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


I can't make love.My heart's castrated,
If life is a play, then ours is cast - rated.
Am I not the person, you'd anticipated?
For God's sake, I came. Am I accepted?

The stare in your eyes is cold; mockery.
Spice up the sour and bitter; more curry.

If your kitty scratches then please rub it.
Bunnies don't scratch,
you can have my rabbit.

The failure at luck ruined the master bet, 
Failure, at love baked in some self - hate,
First, make self-love, your most inner pet.
No perfect pair? Let's make a perfect set!

"A Perfect Set"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha