PARDON ME GOD
Pardon me, God,
For being what I am.
I did not choose this
Disability.
Forgive me, Lord,
For feeling so afflicted.
I may curse on you, Lord
But it still hurts.
Pardon me, Mighty Holy,
Be patient with my blasphemy.
I am pained, Father,
By this haunting
Disability.
This haunting curse,
Shattering across my life.
Oh, Mighty Holy One,
Save me Lord.,
Forgive me God,
For being a nuisance
In this Holy world!
For being a stink,
Among the Blessed Sheep.
But Father, is it so, that
I may have sinned,
To deserve this?
If it be so, then, Amen.
Pardon me God,
For being what I am.
Wellington Zava

MY POEM
I was alone
During the deadly hours,
In total darkness,
A real oblivion.
A flash struck
My closed eyes;
A ghost,
I thought.
To my surprise,
It was a poem;
My poem,
Coming from the darkness
With the rising sun.
My poem spoke;
It really talked
With the real voice
The voice of hope.
It spoke of disability,
Its pains and hardships.
But warned me,
Giving up was not the solution.
Tungi

I LOVE MY MOTHER
I love my mother.
But she went away from me.
There is nothing more to say.
The poem ends as softly as it began,
I love my mother
Nyasha Nyu

WHAT TO DO
What to do;
Go inside your bedroom,
Close the door behind you,
Take your bed, shoes, clothes outside.
Come back into your room,
When you come, bring trees, bushes, soil, birds
In your bedroom,
Place them everywhere.
Kneel down and pray.
Paris W Ndou

The art room