Into your gentle hands

Deep into your hands, I shall jump, yes my love,
Your patience would have ended
Those years you waited for me
Into your world
When I bid you goodbye, tearful goodbye.
Receive me quickly my love,
The roads shall be rocky for me and long
My eyes shall be smoky with the tears
That brought me to you after this absence
. I shall first learn how to scrawl,
And put me into your hands
As we did together in last life.
My tongue shall be weak,
Speak to me my love,
Open it with your hands
Let us just say again, "I love you"
I shall not care,
How long you shall be near me
But I shall just cherish that golden moment.
I would have put all what I had into your hands, Your rings you left behind
And that graceful smile
Each morning you wish us good.
The wind shall be strong on my face,
Do cover it with your hands
That you once gave to me
And tie them now with our rope of love.

Dried straw

Don’t throw away my shadow, my love,
Keep the dreams you remember me with,
Though I’m dried now like a straw,
There,
Somewhere you shall find me useful,
I once bloomed with stamina
And gently reached the juncture
When there was no more asking
Even with tears that
I shaded in my whole life
When you reversed your mirror.
The bond with this dried straw shall never fail your heart again,
Rivers shall carry me,
From far, far afield
Gently I will go down stream.
In the dark and day,
Someone shall pick me for a use or two,
Even if you pick me not,
I shall join my friends,
Tall and short, together we shall
Parked our selves into the gorge.
I shall want to continue my journey,
For few meaningful days
Before they discard me aside
By fire,
Or somewhere to manure other fresh lives in the pipeline.
But the one way we must take
To know how much we mean for all
Before we blow our whistle,
Each for a time on lips
And moment to say, "I have finished my race"
It is now for the rest,
Clap not for me,
Because you would have become dried like a straw
At the road’s side
And that shall be me.

Your pieces

There are moments we call painful
When everything you left must talk to me
The old towel you left, still smell newness of your love
It never cost you much monetarily
But my tears of your loss
Shall buy not what you left
Remember your colorful Khanga?
You meant for my pillow-side…. for your "real presence"
It is my sponge of tears today
All because you said your goodbye in a hurry
Before I could leave you my memories
Now I shall pick your pieces, my pieces,
From the frame overlooking my bed
And elegantly watch your graceful face
As I did every morning before you said your goodbye in a hurry
If I turn your old album,
I shall smell your body lotion, hair food
And wonder on your handy works in the cupboard
All faces in orderly calm
Just because of your craft
Then I shall ask again: "God, why have you taken my love?"
The flowers you planted at our parlor
Smiles each morning with your memories
I keep telling them, "My love has gone somewhere."

The candle died

There were many things still in our hearts my love
When life’s secrets were to be told among us,
In the night of our surprise revelations,
We left more in the dreams;
Sadness, pity,
All were around our stories,
But they meant precious things than our elegant faces.
We never bothered virus of love,
That refused to cross our hidden hearts,
It was then;
In the stillness of that night;
That we spoke…only like wizards,
At last we built plots for happy ending by sunset,
Which was yet to come,
And when the candle died,
We hurriedly said;
“Goodnight my love.”

Mother land

Basement of our roots,
Where we stand and shoot our arrows,
Our drums go wild, our eyes glued
On impregnated granaries.
You offer us pure unmatched honey.
Every pride to be found in none
But you,
In mock dance, beads on our necks,
Our feet jingling,
We celebrate your independence,
Children sing lullabies,
Our wives teasing us.
In battle songs,
We march to defend you,
Away from you, we remain resentful
Who can blindfold us to sell you
In worldly currencies?
Woe to us,
If we bargain you,
If we misappropriate you,
Wanderers shall we become
And let our remains from foreign cities
Never be yours again.

Smile of Freedom

From the slums, we wait for our freedom
Though harshness of nature is strangling us in the periphery,
Blind August-September floods greeting us from the gates
Cruel November-January cold is showing us its teeth.
Surely our smile is ready
Already paid for by our Human River
Painting red, red from beginning to finish line
Who shall betray our freedom?
Missed by our ancestors
In the days of their civilization.
Who shall resist this smile?
Hidden under our tears
Beneath our sorrows,
Buried in our tribulations.
Come smile of freedom,
Our carnivals set for
Your feet, purified,
For the great dance.

My land

My land,
Your face blown in the dust
Of famine and war
We walk along the streets of the world,
To beg,
Our war-stricken faces denied.
But you my land have begun it all,
What shall I call you?
My South,
Your womb, sour and muddy
Tied to our tears.
I hear you are so rich and worthless
Like divorced woman in Jaborona slum
Thrown at the edge of progress.
Fend my children,
With the string of our protocols revoked
Before my tender eyes of the morning.
North, say all about me,
All about my children,
Do your lips service
It shall end soon.
Persuade me no more,
Or else my ancestors shall rise
From their transparent graves
Where you cheated them at independence.
Haven’t you left them with acidic mouths?
And polluted land,
With dead air?
You chiefs,
You were cheated at broad day,
Your signatures abandoned like elephant’s penis in the jungle. North,
You said I was unlettered south,
Now I shall be gone,
In to the forest you exploited,
Am only dancing the bitter tune of your greed


In the valley you refused to level.
When the mountains where still high,
You refused to break.
Now am gone,
Gone, not to be found again in your streets.