 SAMSON RAITI MTAMBA Is a Zimbabwean poet of Malawian extraction (b. Harare, Zimbabwe, 1959).He has published both poetry and prose in Australia, in the United States of America, Germany, Ireland, and South Africa among other places. He has been practising the art of poetry since primary school. He studied at the University of Malawi, Chancellor College and was active in its Writers’ Workshop ending up editing the English Department Critical Broadsheet THE MUSE from undergraduate years to postgraduate. Briefly at Dalhousie in Nova Scotia. New Left. Interested in Poststructuralist Theories and Children’s Literature. Taught in Zimbabwean high schools and the Zimbabwe Open University (ZOU). Now independent researcher into the writings of J.M.Coetzee and Ayi Kwei Armah. CURRENT: “DISABILITY, DEFORMITY AND DISFIGUREMENT IN CHILDREN’S LITERATURE: THE CASE OF BEN HANSON’S Takadini AND CLAUDE MAREDZA’S Harurwa”, JOURNAL OF AFRICAN CHILDTEN’S LITERATURE VOL 1 No.2, February 2013 WE LEARNT OF NOTHING BUT DEATH AND THE THINGS OF DEATH We learnt of nothing but death and the things of death: We laughed with pure joy Walking with pure laughter glinting from our teeth Kissing with all the affection we could muster Imagining that we flew bouncing like sprightly birds Borne on the hardy wings of youth Springing from each other’s breaths and heartbeats While the others, bemused, stared As the trees sang for us The wind wiping our sweat-drenched faces In the afternoon sun. We learnt of nothing but death and the things of death: We loved ardently. We walked arm in arm in the streets of Harare Doing what we thought most natural Preferring the sweet orange to the bitter lemon Avoiding pain and things of pain Avoiding hate and hugging only what was beautiful Selling nothing (No more and no less) Buying only what was for sale And repenting our losses With the dew of somnolent amnesia. But of life, alas, we learnt nothing surely And for this, we are condemned to die young Demented, destitute and sick- Morons and ragtag yokels Consigned to a cruel master, For living and loving most naturally, most genuinely. IF YOU CAME BACK TODAY If you came back today I would not greet you the way silver swallows Weave their way in the sea of the sky To celebrate the first rains If you came back today I would say that I was in the throes of sleep And that you were the creature of a nightmare Welcome only because inevitable Though inauspicious and menacing to my world I would not know The meaning of your smiles Nor recognize the inflexions of your speech As in the past warming up To every syllable of your words The way heat is registered by metal Or the lusty touch of the rain by the thirsty lips of the parched earth. I would not know Whether to be happy or surprised In this speechless limbo Pregnant with weighty questions About departures without farewells Returns without eagerly-hoped for arrivals Or warm welcoming rituals... If you came today I would say that you were a dream A gift from the gods Which no one expects Or can refuse For whether a joke or serious sign Just or unjust Who but the gods themselves Would know or say? If you came back today I would not speak Or dare blink an eyelid Fearing to see the lie of your truth Or the truth of the lie Before my bemused presence.
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