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Constance K Zhakata

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Marondera
Constance K Zhakata

Poet | Author | Motivational Speaker | Scriptwriter | Model
A voice rising from pain to purpose. God did , and the journey continues.

22/09/2026

LET ME SLEEP

“This is now our world,
I love the colours we used,
they attract a happily ever after”

He affectionately embraced me
I felt my blood stir beneath my skin,
as though happiness had finally found
a place to settle inside me
I looked around, mesmerised
by everything we had created,
and for once,
I was not afraid of what came next

I wanted that moment to outgrow the night,
to slip beyond the reach of morning,
to become a life we could actually keep
then someone called my name
I heard it faintly,
as though the voice belonged to another world
I refused to answer
I wanted to stay
but the voice came again,
closer this time,
and everything began dissolving beneath me
his arms loosened,
the colours blurred,
and our little world began retreating
into the darkness from which it came

I opened my eyes
the room was still,
but the life I had just been living was gone
for a moment,
I remained suspended between two realities,
trying desperately to find my way back
I closed my eyes,
hoping the dream had left a door ajar
but there was nothing
no colours, no embrace,
no happily ever after,
only the cruel realisation
that sometimes a dream gives your heart
exactly what it longs for,
then wakes you before you can keep it

Constance K Zhakata

20/09/2026

My Desire

My small self,
walking joyfully,
shaping and colouring my desire,
my dream,
my road smooth and straight,
my circle clean and honest.

I visualised it
and kept seeing my perfect dream coming to life,
as though it were really alive somewhere near me,
just waiting for me to come and pick it up.

I saw it so clearly,
I never imagined I would have to search for it.
I thought dreams were simply made,
then patiently waited for,
until one day,
I would finally become old enough to claim them.

Constance K Zhakata

15/09/2026

My Beautiful Phase

I’m living through this beautiful,
unexpected chapter,
and I find myself wishing
the pages would refuse to turn.

I’m afraid it is only a dream,
that someone will soon wake me
and return me to the weight of reality.
I’m afraid this chapter has already begun
counting down its final pages,
and I am not ready for the ending.

Whom do I beg
to hold time by the wrist
and make it linger here?
Who do I plead with
to let me savour this season
just a little longer,
before the story moves on without asking me?

Constance K Zhakata

08/09/2026

POWER IN THE SOIL

Where I come from,
soil is our wealth.
Our fortunes are counted
in planted acres, full baskets,
and meals that do not miss a day.
We may not call it riches,
but it keeps the cooking fire alive.
Perhaps agriculture is like water.
We reach for it every day,
but rarely stop to ask
where it comes from.

We complain when the plate is empty,
yet seldom think about the field.
We know the price of maize
after harvest,
but not the cost of raising it.
A farmer knows.
He knows the cracked ridges,
clouds that pass without mercy,
weeds outrunning maize,
and dawn beneath a hoe.
Agriculture feeds us quietly.
That may be why we overlook it.

Water becomes precious
when the well runs dry.
Perhaps agriculture deserves
the same realisation.
Because long before food reaches our tables,
someone has already put it
into the soil.

Constance K Zhakata

04/09/2026

EXPERIENCE AND EDUCATION

It has been intertwined in our African minds
that education holds more power than experience.
As a young African girl,
I fight that thought.
Before we knew about education,
our ancestors survived through experience.
They read the seasons,
understood the soil,
knew which roots could heal
and which ones could kill.
No degrees to prove it,
no certificates to frame,
yet their knowledge kept communities alive.

Today, we have become attached to papers,
sometimes forgetting the person behind them.
A graduate may know the theory,
while a skilled man knows the work.
A teacher may explain a lesson,
while a grandmother teaches from years of living.
I am not against education.
A degree can open minds,
create professions,
and bring solutions to a community.
But a skill can also feed a family,
build a home,
and put food on a table.

So why must one bow to the other?
A degree tells us what someone has learnt,
experience tells us what life has taught them.
One may carry knowledge in books,
another may carry it in their hands.
If both can teach a child,
save a life,
build a future,
or change a community,
then perhaps the question should not be
who is more educated,
but who is willing to put what they know to use?

Constance K Zhakata

02/09/2026

To the Woman I Am Becoming

First and foremost, I thank the Creator of the Heavens and the Earth, my Master, my Healer, my Provider, the Great I Am, for giving me another year and opening another chapter of my life. What am I without God? Nothing.
My first twenty-two years have not been the easiest. Perhaps they were, but I was too soaked in pain and tears to notice. There were happy moments, yes, but I still wonder why pain seems to last longer than happiness. Why does pain make us forget that we once smiled? What is pain made of? Is its material stronger than that of happiness? I still wonder.
Growing up, I believed I was a hidden diamond buried in the mud. Somewhere within me, I knew that one day my light would outshine the darkness around me. I saw myself writing books, poems, making films, telling stories that would inspire, heal, and give hope to someone who was almost giving up.
My story is still too young to be told in full. There are chapters I have not lived and pages I have not written. But when that time comes, you will understand what it means to be me.
I have learned that the past is not only a place we come from. It is a mirror that shows us what must change before we step into the future. Everyone dreams, but not everyone gets the chance to live the life they once imagined. So we pray, we work, we hope, and we ask God for the grace to experience what we envisioned before we lay our dreams down.

I wish myself a happy and prosperous birthday. May God guide the woman I am becoming, protect the dreams I still carry, and give me the grace to live long enough to see the little girl who dreamed beneath the mud become everything she believed she could be.

Happy birthday to me.❤️🎂🎉

30/08/2026

WHILE YOU CUT ME

It’s hurting, hey.
You heard me right.
It’s truly, unbearably hurting.
You are winning.
I am crying.
I am bleeding.
Yet I still smile when I look at you.

Why?
Why does my heart still gravitate towards you
when your hands are the very reason
it has become so fragile?
You hold the knife,
and I watch you carve me
into smaller pieces,
as though loving me
was never enough
unless you dismantled me first.

The door is open.
I know it is.
I could save myself.
But you built a mansion
in every fragment of me,
and now leaving you
feels like tearing away
parts of myself.
I hate that I still want you.
I hate that after all this pain,
one glance at your face
can make me forget
the damage your hands have done.
I hate that I can be falling apart
and still make room for you.

Tell me,
how can you love me
with the same hands
that keep killing me?
Give me a hint.
Just one.
How can you kiss my forehead
after driving a knife through my heart,
then look at me
as though the blood
is not mine?

Constance K Zhakata

28/08/2026

LIKE A STAR FROM THE SAND

Like a star from the sand,
Challenges became those
“when will they leave?” visitors,
arriving with storms
that swept all I loved,
leaving me bowing
on a desert-like place,
folding my wings,
watching hope slowly walk away,
while faith seemed sleepy
and everything else
kept flowing away.
I watched myself becoming a stranger,
standing where I once knew how to stand.
Then, from somewhere I could not name,
a dazzling knife kept flashing.
I followed it.
Not because I understood the way,
but because something in me
still refused to sit in the sand.

Constance K Zhakata

27/08/2026

An Adamant Idea

An adamant idea took root in skull and chest,
a quiet heresy no one thought would manifest.
“Pie in the sky,” they jeered, “dead on arrival.”
But conviction doesn’t flinch at an uphill arrival.

So they burned the midnight oil, brick by brick,
chin up through ridicule, too obstinate to quit.
And damn if it didn’t come alive, gears finding breath,
the absurd made manifest, thumbing its nose at death.

Now that stubborn blueprint’s gone viral in steel and code,
robots everywhere, because one person wouldn’t fold.
What was laughed out of rooms now walks among us,
proof that the impossible just needed someone reckless enough.

So don’t mothball the madness burning inside,
water it in silence and let it bide its time.
What starts as a spark in the dark will grow limbs,
bloom, spread its branches, and outlive the hymns of doubt.

Constance K Zhakata

26/08/2026

Insatiable

After my entrance into tertiary education,
something in me shifted.
Perhaps it was the realisation
that knowledge stretches far beyond
what a classroom can contain.

I began reaching for books,
not because they were prescribed,
but because curiosity had begun
asking for more.

James Clear's Atomic Habits,
Denzel Washington's reflections,
Stephen R. Covey's wisdom,
Shakespeare's centuries-old verses,

Different voices,
different eras,
yet each leaving something behind.
I have come to realise
there is no “I know enough”
in knowledge.

The mind keeps opening,
and with every opening
comes another room I have never entered.

Shakespeare wrote,
“We know what we are,
but know not what we may be.”

Perhaps that is what learning
has begun to mean to me
not knowing everything,
but refusing to stop discovering.

Knowledge is a cup
that does not run dry.
And the more I drink,
the thirstier I become.

Constance K Zhakata

Address

Marondera

Website

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