But then there are unliberated lands –Mufakose’s cracked taps cough dust,Mbare’s children fetch rusted buckets of hope,Chitungwiza waits for funerals to quench its thirst.
Are we in independent Zimbabwe,Where water flows only for graves?
Where dignity is rationed in burial rites,But stolen from the living every dawn?
I ask as a poet with no army,No office, no convoy of tinted dreams,I ask because words are all I own:If independence is freedom,Then why are some still chainedTo dry taps, dark nights, and empty plates?
Cry out, Zimbabwe, your pain is heard,Even if only by poets and God. 🔗 Read Full Article
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