Sunday, December 28, 2008

Natomas North

You look at houses.
I look at pages.
RoomSource brings the steam
Of confidence to your eye

while Marechera, Marquez, and Morrison,
Scramble for my day's last minute
Long after words
Have exhausted the architect.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

It's Not a Fantasy

We can look into the future now,
See the impossible morph
Into smiles, shouts of joy,
As children skip about again
To welcome us back home.

One day, their turn will come,
Not to be chased from home
By desperation but by the thunder
of a tradition our years here
Have culled for them.

We can be forward-looking now,
Even where the the eye defies vision--
As what it sees pricks growth--
We can still see tomorrow's sunrise
And sing the new chorus of change.

© Emmanuel Sigauke 2008

Friday, December 19, 2008

Is this fantasy (Zimbabwe)?

With natural senses shut,
eyes of faith open,
I begin to envision
things that are not,
as if they were.

The tables have been turned
as a new era begins.
Is this for real,
Or another good dream?

I see people
pregnant with expectation-
filled with hope
and determination.

Hatred & bitterness
flee,
as grace adorns
hearts with forgiveness.

I see hearts of stone
melted by flames of love.
Change is in the
atmosphere-
trust has replaced fear.

I see brokenness healed
as dignity is restored.
From the North and the East,
the South and the West-
All are returning to rebuild.

Violence and bloodshed
are coming to an end-
people stand hand in hand,
as they rebuild their land.

I see people in battle,
slaying sin & corruption,
Fighting AIDS, division and poverty
with unity and with dignity.

I taste the sweetness
of liberty; a new ZIM-
May this dream
become reality.

Posted by Shilla Mutamba

Friday, December 5, 2008

Near Tugwi

Walking, sometimes running,
To the pastures, near Tugwi--
That's what it was, Tugwi,
On the other side of which,
If the water was friendly,
Was a place you could like.

But this walking, this running,
With sekuru, the young uncle
Who has friends who have other friends,
This has stuck over the years,
And I don't know why
The running never stopped.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

BRAIN

I remember back when they said,
"Use it."
When we smiled, and stampeded
the landscape of youth, aware
we were already using it,
that using was so common a process
no one would one ever
have to remind us....

Now I see, now I see.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

YESTERDAY AND ALMOST NOW

The dream, it has been taking refuge;
now all I can do is sit and reflect,
see Angwa and that vestibule of opportunity
when he said, "Go, go to town."

Back then you stood on Market,
chewing popcorn,peanuts, sucking Freeze-eats,
cared little about what awaited you at home,
no worry about gaping fireplaces,dry-throated pots,
even where your stomach could growl.

Not now. We wouldn't just up
and got to town, would not even look
for the shoulder-burdened boys
who used lug joy for single coins;
now pot and person swallow air
to appease chirped throats
before the dream roasts ambition.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

WHERE WE STAND

Do we crawl when others walk?

Do we sob when others roll
in the ash of laughter
with donkey assurance about granite
tomorrows that defy the fury of dynamite?

And now we say we are not those
who sit and remember to spring up
when the clap of thunder
splits the tailbone of indolence!

Friday, October 3, 2008

CONNECT

You blink only your one light
as if you save the other three
for a dry day, so blink on,
sparing no second,
until I begin to see
why you cannot stop.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

SOMETHING

Give us something
simple,
something with eyes,
ears
something that can walk,
run--
something that carries the day's mood.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

FLASHES

See a tree,
leaves like ears
listening
to whispers of the heart
smiling
in the sun
as if they can hide
their green
a green so grim
it insists on
shining.

Under that tree,
boys and girls, one adult
and a drum:

then years later
a voice on the phone
says half of these are gone.

The tree stands still
in the imagination of one
so far away that his dreams
cannot leave it alone.

We sang and praised under that tree,
pursued hope until the sun stumbled
and regiments of the nights
thundered.

No, not that serious,
but before the sun rots
see the group stomping on time
because they are determined to win
the race before a new day
yawns.

Maybe this is serious:
Two drums, seeking hands
whose fingers ooze art

until we know
this is not about art
out there, but that in here.

The tree is a home,
the boys and girls are sheep
and rain dreams of setting foot here

until the sun stumbles
again, a night without
regiments.

The hooves of time
don't thunder, rather slumber
when throats free imprisoned sounds.
Drums wake,feet hammer the red earth
until it sobs with joy.

If it shines
it's the grim green
smiling in the sun,
a tree with leaves like ears
that listened to things of the the heart
before departure extinguished innocence.

GET UP & GO

If you can't arrive
it's because you never departed;
so you will wind down
the ghost of a path in your imagination
Warn-out once by adventerous feet
overgrown now by the weeping grass
that refuses to sing
when destination confirms
no more that someone
left one place & arrived somewhere.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

READY FOR CHANGE

Swift-hearted muckraker
help us feel
how
the day sobs,

how
the sun's rays
protect
themselves
from our eyes,

how
the receding moon
wobbles
along
its warnout
path,

how
the stars
peer
through the sockets
of their maligned
universe.

SIX, SEVEN, SIX, SEVEN

Here, where the land sobs
and rivers chew livers
while helpless mothers watch
we have learned to laugh
even when the steel doors
have been permanent-locked.

We still remember those days,
so, no sir, no madam,
We don't fault Mandebvu
for his T & R days
but a little slap on
the wrist even, could
have sent a message.

We have already seen tomorrow
and live not to remember
even where nightmares
continue to throw rocks
when the wasteland we call sleep
rouses us again.

You come on here
scarred land of forgetfulness,
where now our hearts
are dry rags
that can never be wet,
even when the river
offers to quench the thirst.

YOUR RETURN

Three-legged bed
after two decades there?

Why did our ancestors
mock us by making you
the one who could ever cross?

Friday, July 25, 2008

PUNITIVE MEASURES

Two bulls decide
to lock their horns
just as we are on our marks
to sprint to a resolution.

So now we either understand,
or stand confused
now that our people
are really facing it...