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Best Poems Written by Chisala Kataya

Below are the all-time best Chisala Kataya poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Chisala Kataya Poem

The Childrens Dream

I have a dream.

A dream about tomorrow.
Tomorrow the day that comes after the day that is today.
Tomorrow.
Which might take a year, or more.
But tomorrow for me is not a distant dream, but a path I begin today.

I want to be a doctor, and accountant or a lawyer.
A lawyer to defend the defenseless build on the already towering fences, of life that hold communities.
My entire life I want to spend bringing strength to our unity.
I want to be strong.
Hold up the weight of every dream I hold inside.
To feel the basket of everything mother Earth provides.
She shouts.
Mother earth calling us to feed.
I'm a seed sewn by mum and dad,
strong,
and with my crown,
a tree to be.
Roots going deeper in the ground,
deeper still.
My will to be great strengthened by teachers, preachers, mothers, fathers, stars I can see and are always close to me.

I want to be the math that counts his blessings.
Always chasing after things blindly, to others it seems, but guided by teachers whose wealth of knowledge brings me closer to my vision.
To make the most important decisions.
A consultant to be that counts because I want to be an accountant.
Which is the best news.
The best excuse.
The best muse to the ears because as a confident leader to be I want to be cheered.
To be the alphabet that always starts with A's, to my grades, a person in white a doctor whose hands gift people with more years.
Gifted hands.
Ben Carson would not have been so gifted had he not listened to everything his mother said.
What my mother said.
My father said.
Or even what my teacher said.
The cement they spelt with words strengthened the foundation we've now made.
Building blocks led to our vision made from us,
the childrens image.

03/10/17?

Details | Chisala Kataya Poem

Unanswered Calls, In the Night She Waits

Unanswered calls, in the night she waits

In the night she waits.
Waiting for her knight in shining armor.
A man glistened by loving traits, strong willed, someone who didn't hide lies behind his truthful words.

Too many fish in the sea they say, it seems like she's been fishing the longest.
She used her body hoping she'd get a good one this time.
Maybe treats would make them stay, but the ones she caught left a bad taste at most,
bitter and deceiving,
they danced around before they left.
Again and again.
And again.
And everytime thinking things would change.
How stupid she thought.
When the pains an ever present embrace that's all she's got.
So she cuts herself when she's alone,
hoping someone would take notice.
Hoping someone would care for her this once,
and not leave,
like those guys did after they had felt her warmth.

She's fond of always being called slut,
which shouldn't be true,
but she's done it all to feel loved.
She's done it more to feel loved.

They say an ugly personality destroys a beautiful face,
but how about a broken one?
Does she put on make up to cover up the cracks?
Lace her face with a smile and tell you it's fine?
Even when her blood thickens, makes it harder to breathe, the elephant in the room, is herself when she speaks.
She says her periods last longer than most, maybe it's the pain from every night she sleeps alone.
Her heart a tombstone, heavy, upon her body, a grave, because she was dead to most.
Her monotone cries muffled by the pillow she holds close to her face.
But he didn't call,
didn't come by,
didn't say hi,
didn't share her bed for a full movie, just pleasure cameos, before he left.

Her heavy heart a weight no work out or meal can change.
She sleeps with her phone in hand,
waiting for a call that never came.
Sleep child, sleep child.
This night you shall not wait.

07/03/18 ?

Details | Chisala Kataya Poem

Your Suggestions Aren'T Welcome

This is me.

This is me.
Not caring so much about caring,
but still caring.
Because to be labeled sane you'll have to care.
And still I'm falling short of prerequisites placed upon me by your judgemental faces, my life choices are like Facebook filled with unwanted comments.
Hanging, out the window like my own dirty socks.
Made to feel short even though I'm tall.
In that imposed suggestion box.
Your assumptions like sticky notes attached to my skin, clawing at my flesh with that he said she said pastes.
And I faced this too many times, this pointless tune repeated playlist.

I showed you my own naked skin,
and you made up the rest.
You exaggerated rumours caused this tumor in my head,  like a poison your words spread haunting every choice I'd make.
Criticizing my thoughts, movements and actions pretending like your own glorious transactions are legit.
Sprouting your own bad seeds.
Greed.
Envy.
And post traumatic everything and I mean literally everything because everything has it's own string.
Not always is it no strings.
Not always does it adhere to sin.

The world is grey.
No one's perfect.
That mindset alone will make things certain.
For you.
For me.
For us.
No judgement passed shall downplay my self worth so I could fit in your facade that you call your,

"Class."

Or maybe just another message placed, in that imposed suggestion box.

17/08/17?

Details | Chisala Kataya Poem

Love Just Might Be Out of This World

Hi.

I am writing this poem about love.
Mostly for the loveless,
the love hurts and heart breaks.
The love saints believing in fairytale endings.
Texting.
Messaging.
Love emojis.
Blindingly selecting gains.
You do not know what love is.

Of course I'd say like the sunshine love is warm,
the light creeping in.
Breaking the shade under lifes tree.
And like two halves to this speech,
love is the highs the lows, repeat.
And not just what you would like to see.

The backstage scenes are real.
The tears and arguments,
seemingly simple envy--greed.
It is the silence in your room when that text arrives and your heart assumes,
he cares,
they want me,
she misses me again.
Jane knew about the trends and also had the best response.
When guys texted, dropped knives til she found the one pain that she could take--not another cheating Drake,
but that thumping pain from her beating heart,
and that image of her loneliness burnt at the stake.
That warmth in her veins sprouting elation on her face,
it's great.
But Josh would never take the first step.

It is that portrait shrouded in bliss,
of a Jochebeds face as she gazed at her Moses resisting the urge to hold tightly to unwillingness as she let that basket drift into the world.
Her hands bloody with her blood as she grips tightly to broken mirrors,
her heart,
filled with so much love.
Imagine how she felt.

Love is...
Love is also dark.
Sounds dramatic but the truth is, this is the truth.
Grouping constructive criticism,
candid minds and every version of love that reminds you they've got your back.
Pulling down on the straps of the backpack so as to carry that pressure,
so as to reassure you that you're all they want.

Love is that ghost,
that haunts when loneliness is seated by your side.
Your confidant.
You ask, why?
Always cheering and giving a hand throughout the fight.
You look up.
Bruised and beaten--and you smile in that stage,
because loves still sitting in the front,
saying.

Hi.

10/11/17?

Details | Chisala Kataya Poem

Wolf In Sheep Skin

I promised to never lose again.

I kept my heart safe locked up away hidden and threw away the key.
Ever needing to catfish the fish because to me there was too much fish in the sea.
See my wet night thoughts fueled my needs.
And as a boy my love choices rarely came with acknowledgable wins.
So now I discredit those L's and now look to take my victories,
as a wolf in sheep's skin.

I take every girl I want,
in my sin.
And later be in, then leave like the thief I am.
Until then I met her.
Her innocence as blatant as a babies smile to his or her mum. Summarized in two words I LIED.
And I knew I was wrong.
Her beauty,
her mind everything came so fast,
like I did with her one night alone.

She made me smile,
and I gave her lies.
I told her forever,
me and her together all lies,
anything to keep the weakness inside.
Lest she forget that even the moon has a dark side.

I found her as a shattered image of herself and threw rocks,
seen as deep strokes laid inside her while thinking of the story that I would tell my boys.
And after,
put on my mask,
that is that break up text,
and took my weakness to the next bed.
Left her responses in SEEN,
never choosing to find solace in the truth that is I pictured what could have been.
She, so clean like polished marble floors from cathedral grounds while I knee deep in sin.
She would have never stayed with me.

The image she painted of us,
together,
peeling off like fading dreams.
So I left before she would do the same to me,
and left her in SIN.
I left her in sin so as to attain one childish win.
A victory for me at the expense of a QUEEN.
I was wrong,
and I know that because I see the shadowed image forming behind me,
through that shattered mirror that is my heart,
Whispering to me,
that I'm still just that wolf in sheep skin.

25/08/17?

Details | Chisala Kataya Poem

I Feel Like a Spring Robin

I feel like a spring Robin.
Reluctant to leave his nest.
Values cherished awaste paste not pride left untested.
To nature.
Wings not spread unheard to the tasks that lie ahead.
Indeed this reluctant Robin must leave his nest.

And scale a world blessed with adventure a venture known best.
But avoided for this soul is held back by a force that demands his every ounce and luck the rest.
Surely this reluctant Robin should leave his nest.

In hope that luck, dear luck will change the rest.
And bring life to a path lest void by only saids.
And raids of thought brought forth by inner will at most.
That I now believe that me, the reluctant Robin will finally welcome risk.
Love and life.
And leave this nest.

28/06/13?

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A Faint Hearted Whisper To My Beloved

A faint hearted whisper to my beloved

You asked me some weeks ago to write a poem about you.
Earnest to say that I'm surprised that I remembered because most of the time I'm usually lost in your big brown eyes,
I noticed.
Now don't get me wrong I do listen,
even though your voice refreshes me like white wine tastes,
mature,
delicate,
crisp,
firm and sweet,
it comforts my every guilty need.
Your cheeks full.
Add that shine to your face that is your smile that makes you complete,
so shine.

You miss me every moment that we do not speak.
I miss you,
I miss you,
whispers in secret the ghosts hear,
see my soul dance in the confusion,
it's like my words and yours are lost,
our words reek with hide and seek,
speak out aloud to my welcoming heart for it's that medicine it seeks.

I'm not a love poet.
That's true,
but I'll take that mouthful of fire ants,
swallow that whale in my mouth and not bite on my tongue as the words come out,

"I LOVE YOU."

Plain and simple,
like that first time I saw you under that neon light.
Vague in your appearance,
despite your curves whose rays shown bright under that warm smile,
cheeks plum and firm when you said,

"Hi."

Wide eyed,
and happy,
beautiful like flowers blooming after the rains have poured and now gone.
I, a victim like those many bodies that fell for you.
You're not to blame.
When your beauty is a masterpiece placed upon you unknowingly,
carved in your skin even you must feel the body tingles when you see the mirror image look back,
the art that is you.

Your body is my mattress.
Love, is the itchy woolly blanket that keeps us from the cold.
And your kisses are the warm thoughts.
Those body warming memories,
that remind us of that one moment,
were nothing mattered.
That simple cliché feeling that you sometimes wish,
with petty guilt,
could last forever.

Together.

A faint hearted whisper to my beloved.

15/11/17?

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The Music In Me

The music in me has this electrifying essence.
That brings out the true me---my emotional presence.
Yeah simply put it overwhelms me.
Mostly overburdened by words churning right to left.
East and west.
A beat pattern that only I can see.
Rhythms - rhymes all in tune with my mental beat.
Flowing down my fine spine intensifying cold heat.
The chills.
That are the melody inside that keeps playing and playing.
What else can I do apart from listen to it's sayings.
Saying, " speech trapped in inner voice, and can't escape a world of random words," my mind.
But can't escape a curse overburdened with tales.
Threads.
Saids.
And empty words.
This music in me is a part I most cherish.
For without my simple sonnets then me---my soul shall perish.

24/07/13?

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Fake News Brought About By Astronauts In Space

So I heard some fake news the other day.

Fake news.

Fake news about a mothers sons bruise,
because he bit off more than he could chew.
Her aching mind always at odds because she couldn't diffuse the situation that made the accused,
depression,
her sons namesake.

Fake news.
Stemming from cooked up ideas, brewing from his inner most thoughts.
Like astronauts,
the few words he uttered always came in space.
And when asked about that suitcase he carried all day,
everyday,
his whole life to be exact.
He didn't utter words, but just shadows of everything else he should have said.
His words hang like he did,
in his head every night he lay flat.
Flat on his back.
Day came.
And so he watched the skies, an image he thought was himself because he was always blue.
Colorised like that light skinned craving that everyone including he called beautiful.
His dark skin tone ugly.
His body cloak the darkest night without the stars a splitting image of his life.
It had no shine and honestly I think he knew.

Fake news,
of a whisper in the wind carried by voices of people that showed him bodies they called beautiful but never did he hear it for himself.
The pain he felt never just words,
it felt like a book.
A scrapbook abandoned on that old creaking bookshelf, next to memories of his childhood he now could not recognise.
He tried to wash away the thoughts, but those tattoos fastened tightly to his neglected skin.
I mean him.
Whose eyes didn't make you feel the many years of his mother's love,
but just the guilt of depression pouring outward from within.

I said fake news.
His knees stained with mud because his knees deep in dirty thoughts,
tears,
and regret.

That neighborhood boy that brought about that fake news is dead now.

Fake news because he showed us the stars.
His dreams in a jar, that's spelt to the ground.
The background theme depression.
The impression he left was that he never wanted the crown.
Overburdened by life,
and expectation.

That neighborhood boy at the bottom of the ocean drowned.

19/10/17?

Details | Chisala Kataya Poem

On a Sad Note

You go through life existence regretting the little things in life, 
this man said. 
His face beaten up by the ages, 
a figure head to life experience, 
and so I listened.

On a sad note.

When he painted his pain on every word he let out, 
because the art he portrayed to me wasn't of light affection,
it was one of a heavy heart.
That's cracked,
almost shattered to pieces.
He let out sadness, 
in a tragic whisper saying she's the only girl he always misses. 

Said he should have gotten her roses.
Should have taken her to changing places and not just the constant dotted covers that patterned his bed rest.
Said he should have gotten her that new phone that would have kept them in touch always, 
because even he smiled beneath the sadness when he remembered that she was nosy.

This broken man, 
teary in his dread voicing thoughts like an already drowned victim,
stretching out to the distant light, 
hoping someone would take is hand.
He spoke with a severed heart.
His then expression, like a barren field frozen with snow.
He callously stared with sorrowed eyes and he didn't see me, 
only his self before the pain.
Before the poison of heart ache expressed it self clinging to his cold blood through spiteful veins.
It hurt.
I remember him pull his hands up to his face,
like he could no longer bare the burden of everything that he had learned.
The girl he spurned.
The images that flooded his head like flames,
they burned him on the inside.
 It hurt.
Like badly played notes on an old piano.
He never did say he loved her back, 
the words stuck on his throat.
His left now, 
exuding the mournful essence that says the woman that loved him was taken by deaths grasp,
in the form of cancer.

On a sad note. 

26/02/18?