A refugee camp in Congo - Photo: UNHCR

It’s not a man that makes dream but a dream that makes a man; Daydream is for you to dream bigger than the corpses of Brain

Charles Lipanda MatengaCharles Lipanda Matenga, a young poet and writer, who was born in DR Congo, raised orphan and spent life in a refugee camp, shares his poetry
Charles Lipanda Matenga, was born and raised orphan at Rwenena Village, Uvira, Sud-Kivu, D.R Congo in 2005. Charles Lipanda Mahigwe is President of African Youth Artistic Poetry-AYAP. 


It’ll reach a day

That you’ve been hoping to see

Like chickens ticking on the eggs to lay

Been waiting to discern what’s inside your flight

Your way will be full of lights

No more darkness to hinder your insights

But no matter what, but you’ll still need to fight

For there’s minor problem in life


Initially people lived for the beauty of the nature

But today we live for the sake of life

Dreaming to be alive that day

That holds thousands of pages like a book

Being written by your own visions

Can’t be wet nor destroyed even by violent floods

For they’ve been encrypted by your mind and soul


This day is the sky

For one part is cloudy and another is milky

But don’t give upon your dreams

For they are like streams

Carrying future for you

You’re expected to work harder after failing

For failure is not the barrier to success

But the courage for your progress

Changes will come

Like heavy rains from the sky

It’s when you’ll realize that

It’s not a man that makes dream but a dream that makes a man

Daydream is for you to dream bigger than the corpses of Brain

Or even bigger than the vastness of DR Congo


Photo Courtesy: Apolitical


I told a girl that my heart

Was like a bird searching for her nest

While thunder and lightning were after her

She never replied

But only her lips could speak

Speak in a quavering voice

For they trembled like earthquake victims

Like gravels been washed away by the strong wind

Quelling her panic inside her


Should I say love is hell?

Living in a tale

For it burns my heart

Till my chest becomes a bundle of ashes

Does loving someone queries art?

I hope she shall hear these feelings

Moving like blood into arteries


If love was a scar

You’d never find even a little trace of it on my body

For I’ve never been loved even a second.

If love was heaven

Only a few souls would walk into there

For mine never tasted even a little.

If love was sky

Stars could be counted

But only me who would not be seen.

If love was air

I’d die suffocation

For my body would contain no oxygen.


What’s love when words themselves are weaker than actions?

Where foes defeat soldiers in the battle

If lovers were warriors.

And war was love

I’d die before they even shoot me

And this wound could get no cure

For it’s like AIDS.


I’m scared of this type of love

For it makes my body shiver

Like smoking wrecking liver

This love is quarry

Where unstoppable feelings are dug out

Where a girl is quasar

Shining like gold and silver

But it flows harshly like water in river

If love was a car

Those names of boyfriend and girlfriend couldn’t even exist

That I’d travel the whole world by my feet

She and I walked a thousands of miles

Before I finished telling her

These words stained on my burned heart

While reading her smiles


Love is queasy

But this piece is not a quibble

Then why should I love when nobody loves me?


UN Women Africa
Photo Courtesy: UN Women Africa


The whole world became dark

I couldn’t see even a little lit of candle

I could only hear the voice of songs sung

And that voice made me remember

When my mom was still alive

She would sing as a bird singing for her lost ones

It’s said that a man doesn’t cry

But the tears came out from my eyes as spills

I could count every drop going down my cheeks

Like cars crossing the river’s hills


I was the ship with neither captain nor sailor in water

Thinking wreckage was on my way

I had no fear of being called an orphan

But I was afraid to be the orphan

Because orphanage is pandemics in our society

Will these dark imaginings get away?

Is it not just a state?

Don’t I breathe as you do?

Am I not a child among children?

That you treat me like this?


Losing parents doesn’t mean you lose everything

You’re still all you were born

You still have dreams to pursue

You still have goals to achieve

You’re still having that vision in your life

You’re still having that mission in your journey

You’re still the one from God

You’re no less than the rain and the moon in this universe

At age of nine

I put all my thoughts on the line

But I realize now that

Life is the mixture of sand in lime

Only if you become version of yourself

Also read: Home is everywhere – Charles Lipanda Matenga


Angela Kosta - Sindh CourierPrepared by Angela Kosta Academic writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, journalist


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