My name is Hasan simani born and bred in Masvingo. I’m 26 years old. I finished my primary
and secondary education at Shonganiso mission located in Masvingo. I passed my A LEVELS
and got enrolled at University of Zimbabwe where I graduated with an Honours Degree in
Psychology .After that, I went on to do Masters in counselling psychology at Great Zimbabwe
University and graduated in 2017. I started writing poetry when I was in form 2 inspired by
one of my English and Shona teacher Mr Maodza and my bosom friend Owen Mapuranga. I
once published two my articles in the local newspaper Sunday mail “A song without a chorus”
and “To pounce on my heart“. I also do spoken word poetry and stand-up comedy. This piece is
dedicated to OLIVER MUTUKUDZI. You can contact me on hsnsimani@gmail.com,
0774842701 or can find me on my blog Mr Hasan.
OLIVER THE GREAT
His Mindset was always to keep the mind set
Long serving musician skilled with the pen
And the voice that created tapestries of wisdom
Gracing occasions one bite of his songs you would want some more
But he didn’t create Oliver Twist for he twisted life to become simple
We just call him Gifted Oliver instead of Oliver Twist
His words provided the drop of Olivine to lubricate art
He would see hope even the titanic ship was about to sink
Think about his greatest hit NERIA
He mastered art became a lit legend so as in his grave he become elite too
Wasn’t worried about making magazines celebrity cover
Not even involved in the Gravity gang of pulling others down
He was a ladder for other budding artists if not a scaffold
He had unfailing good cheer even he lost his son
Because of earth’s ephemeral status death convicted him in a foul dungeon
The void was left for many artists to fill
But this man had too big shoes to fill
We hope we can follow yours and mine gold too
“TUKU TUKU “
Tuku tuku the whispering voices of the white fans
Cheering for him to pour some more
He brought mature changes to music like puberty
Every word was too delicious
My mental taste buds were hooked everyday
And people would call me lunatic coz I was such a tuku fanatic
I remember “sarawoga akaromoka awa rufu ndimadzongonyedze”
Funeral dirges that would provide solace to the weeping widows
His songs change plots and plots to make us take some notes
He would paint the panic and even plant trees in Kalahari
He would need no army but would carry bars more than an army
His geography was rural principled he wouldn’t try to bleach his songs with cosmetic tones
He clearly warned blacks “Your colour is black”
A therapist who inserted positive cogitations in a malfunctioning mind
He would unmask hypocrisies taking note of our blind spots
Giving fruits of advice for young ones not to become cursed fig trees
In a memory lane my poetry I try to make your memory learn
Hard work pays it paid him later to work hard
The journey wasn’t just a stroll in the park had to face the hard crunch of criticism and later was sweet
like cake
He was honoured with doctorate at Great Zimbabwe he became a Zim heritage
We will miss your radiant philosophy it brightened our hearts
SHORTEST SONG
I have seen metaphors with such delicate colours
With every event evergreen like summer birds of the air singing
Like psalmody
Such ecstasy and melody resonating with my subconscious mind
Stimulating our my strength and that was the end of the thought
The virtuoso performer lost his strength
I just heard fingers froze on the guitar
Is it true that Tuku has gone to rest in his final place?
Shortest song dies so young in words but old in wisdom
DIVINE STATE OF THINGS
The sun is no more he withdrew his rays and the earth coloured black a complete sunlight shutdown
Tremendous silence descended sadness if not despair
Death approached him like a guest
Unwatched he swallow him whole for his tomorrow’s breakfast
His image vanished away from us like a puff of smoke
We failed to kill death’s craving he is addicted to every flesh to make his relish
Lyrical lieutenant guitar dominant gracing every moment
Now death came to us no comment it’s just a torment
An epicentre of art loved by every brat
Gentle giant genius guitarist guru gone
Attention grabbing tongue that attracted Grammy and gold
He would romantically switch you on, I remember “svovi yangu”
Kindling the heart with intense passion
Becoming a fiery furnace of love
Every event of him playfully punches my creative mind to write more
Now our street is left with dirty if not senseless vibes
A hero indeed a phenomenon we can’t explain
A talent well lived and thrived
Tested, tempted but his titillating voice never miss the point like an arrow
His 67 albums more weight than 3000 theses of professors
Because you were not Shakespeare but you would shake African spears to validate African art
We absorbed your inspiration we hope to bring up your wisdom to the audience
Gone six feet down
But your legacy remains 60 feet up
And watched the pastor preaching the last words
“dust to dust ” Divine state of things