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Nationality: Zimbabwe



NATIONAL SECRETARY. ROBSON ISAAC SHOES LAMBADA is the National Coordinator of Zimbabwe Poets for Human Rights, an artistic collective of wordsmiths tackling human rights issues in Zimbabwe and globally.

Shoes Lambada is a writer, performance poet, critic and arts administrator also working with the only literature festival in Zimbabwe (LitFest Harare) as its Festival Administrator. He was born in Kadoma in 1981 where he started his artistic career at Jameson High School. He has performed his work to several audinence in Zimbabwe at almost all arts festivals that include the Harare International Festival of Arts (HIFA), Shoko Festival, Dzimbahwe Arts Festival, Ukubambana Youth Peace Festival and  Protest Arts International Festival where he was an artistic consultant responsible for the spoken word segment. Shoes Lambada has travelled with his work to countries that include among others United States of America, Germany, Netherlands, South Africa, India, Zambia, Malawi and Namibia.


SECRETARIA NACIONAL. ROBSON ISAAC SHOES LAMBADA es el Coordinador Nacional de poetas de Zimbabwe para los derechos humanos, un colectivo artístico de Wordsmiths que aborda las cuestiones de derechos humanos en Zimbabwe y globalmente.

Zapatos Lambada es un escritor, poeta de rendimiento, crítico y administrador de Artes también trabajando con el único Festival de literatura en Zimbabwe (LitFest Harare) como su administrador del Festival. Nació en Kadoma en 1981, donde comenzó su carrera artística en la preparatoria Jameson. Ha realizado su trabajo a varios audinence en Zimbabwe en casi todos los festivales de arte que incluyen el Festival Internacional de las artes de Harare (HIFA), Festival de Shoko, Festival de las artes de Dzimbahwe, Festival de la paz de la juventud de Ukubambana y artes de la protesta internacional Festival donde fue consultor artístico responsable del segmento de palabras habladas. Zapatos Lambada ha viajado con su trabajo a países que incluyen entre otros Estados Unidos de América, Alemania, Holanda, Sudáfrica, India, Zambia, Malawi y Namibia.



Sopranic echoes of silence

Aggravate the complications of my bitterness

The high-pitched voice of muteness

Pricks the inner wound covering my tears

which will only dry when freedom is freed.

A whirlwind and fragment

Of thoughts entirely flummoxes my conscience

When I imagine hand-cuffed and leg-ironed freeom:

Freedom behind bars!

They fought for freedom

Were awarded freedom

Celebrated, dined and wined for and with freedom

Yet when freedom uttered her free thoughts,

Parardoxically they frantically slapped freedom in the face

And silenced her by a battery of diabolic statutes.

The inspired voice of freedom now speaks in silence

Visiting in my dreams like an ancestral instruction

I hear sopranic echoes of silence

Aggravating the complications of my bitterness.

The high-pitched voice of muteness

Pricking the innerwound

Which will omly heal and dry when freedom is freed.


The last touch

You be my love for you come from my roots

You hate my black overall and black rubber boots

You adore brutes

Who wear white socks and black suits

Why should I trap a suit when I sweat in a mortuary?

I only write of corpse in my diary

Some hairy,

Some scary,

Some skinny

And some stinky,

Flee you may from my handshake.

Run you may from my pat on your back

Needless to say it is a fact

I will give you the last touch.


After your mother has given you

That loving touch on your cheeks

After your father has given you

That soothing touch with his fingertips

 After your t(b)oyfriend has given you

That sensational touch from dusk until six

I will give you the last touch.

I am a friend of the undertaker,

One who understands the job of a soul taker

You will face the barrel in a robbery

You will rest in my busy room, the mortuary

And I will give you the last touch.

Gently my palms will race past

All your curves from the hair to the nail

Softly my fingers will explore the

Broad petal

And the stiff finger

Of your long-preserved virginity.


So why wait for the last touch

When the touch that will touch you last

Is the touch,

That can now give you a better touch.

I was drowned in your ocean of love

Now I am floating like a body unfound

Listening to the passionate sound

Of your voice so loud

Heating my thoughts like in Hell I am bound.


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