Abroad. Aboard a train of loneliness. Sadness keeping her
company in spite of receiving a salary considered
somehow lucrative by the standard of her country.
Missing her son to pieces. Lindiwe Mpofu.
Going out. Going shopping and fishing. Catching no freshness
but losses of interest, losses of appetite and losses of self.
The disconnect in her room, in her longings is loud---
as it screams like her upset tummy. Lindiwe is shifty on her bed.
Of Pacing and Policing
The cries rang louder and louder
seeping into his room , his mind;
giving him a dream, that of liberty.
The songs of discontent, of hunger,
were emanating from the streets,
from an angered psyche of the young.
The chanting, the policing and all-- jolted
him of out the dream, the 1970 dream,
into reality , not liberty, but insincerity.
the wave of heat was blowing her away
its rage was sweeping the tender walls
of her heart off into a topsy-turvyness
with a merciless and profound sweetness
it became profoundly important for her
to seek refuge but the inferno that grew out
of her pretty pulsating and pulverizing ordeals
became the necessities and imperatives of her life
when ideas of him being a kaleidoscope of transient fun
started bubbling up on her mind she began to scrap them
with every ounce of her body and blood till a combustible rivalry
between her and her sibling erupted-- her sis wanted him tossed away
Come On And Cruise On
A piece proved that poetry
Can be gorgeously poised
And gorged like a delicacy
A viable mode of transportation
It’s hale and hearty for the mind
The soul and spirit`s medication
And that it can take readers out
Of all—out of politics into poetics---
Out of themselves and their spaces
And cruise with them far-off and nigh
Into warmth and words and wisdom
On & on till it reaches a cool crescendo
Towering Tower Block Takes Him Down Memory Lane
From where he sat, from where he took a pensive walk--
From where he parked himself and took a studious look
At his daily schedules, tackled an assignment, read a book
He could view the orbiting of the sun, it rolled with a hook
He could observe, sense, feel the beauty and dynamic enterprise
Of Bulawayo, its texture, its ticking, tickling, its tackling prowess,
Its heartbeat, happiness, heaviness, its colours, its rare calmness -
As each day progressed as a passage with its craziness or coolness
It was there that he had become rooted in, there duty called
From mornings of any kind to afternoons when home invited
That was his base, a window to a world that gyrated & educated
Life being dynamic things were about to take a twist, he accepted
When one spends the better part of the day in one busy space
One gets accustomed to the rhythms and heart of that place
One grows roots of familiarity into its milieu, smile or frown
4th floor towered over his head with a fond familiarity grown
He never missed “love” as like in a couple each and every single day!
Lovebirds perambulated there like it was their love paradise so high
From where he sat, he could view them pour out their hearts raw!
He adored that “love street”, but one day he had to kiss it goodbye