Ashley Murove was born on the 4th of January 1992 in Goromonzi under chief Chwaka.

He went
to Marume Primary School in Buhera.He went to Buhera High School.He attended University of
Zimbabwe where he did Bachelor of Arts Degree in Shona and Linguistics,His first publication is
a project called Don't Give Up Africa organized with VaChikepe_the Poet and Publisher and the
100 Sailors.He is earmarked to be one of the best writers in the future.

*LIFE*

Often times, we hold,

Not what we want.
Our dreams, or is it reality
Goes against heart desires,
What is the good recipe of life?
What are the ingredients of it?
Your kindness,
Is cruelity to someone.
Try something splendid,
Always it is evil to another.
A vexatious life we live,
Why are we here?
An endless debate.

*Hailstorm across Africa*

I heard echoes
Echoes of yelling
You are becoming malevolent
Your disrespect of human life
Why are you doing such evil practices?
To your fellow brothers and sisters,
Acting like monsters.

Your fellow brothers are grieving

You don't care for your sisters,
But why South Africa?
Whats wrong with you
Mind you that,
There is no one man alive on an Island
Why are you isolating yourself,
From Africa.

One day you will regret

Days shall come
When you will be in need of help
From your fellow African you chastised ruthlessly
With scorn and acrimony
And none you will find
Stop xenophobic attacks now!

*Gluttons*
You Hypocrites !
You act as idiots -
As unscrupulous cheats,
I am here to lambast you,
In defence of justice.
Oh dad, we are dead!
You are a brood of heartless vipers....
And a clique of merciless midgets!
****
Like iron thrown into the furnace,
Your minds are so blazing
with strange proclivities to corruption
You are self-aggrandizing
Oh dad, we are dead!
Some are famished,
Only there to ascertain
Private needs and wants
What sort of leaders you are?

ticks?
Heinous scorpions?
viperfish?
Heah ...?
So strange?

Oh dad, we are dead!

You are an army of hyenas

In the midst of innocent goats
And how do hyenas
look after goats?

Morosely,
we are aware
That musquitos
do not cure malaria
*A bewailing song*
Lesson from my song,
Don't bother yourselves,
By its melody,
Tempo and rhythm.
What matters are grievances packed in it.
Political, social and economic quagmires,
All ensembles make a chorus.
I have to lift my voice,
Because I want to be heard,
I need to know,
Why am i living like a metcecus,
And living jobless in my country.
What a dreadful society?
Where you find banks cashless ,
Can we call it a river,
A river which is dry and no flowing water
A society where women commercialised their bodies,
All because of poverty.
Issues concerning disabled,
Are handled last. But why.