By Tichaona Zindoga
Sweet innocent youth,
Broken by some moments uncouth.
Growing in a village
Where fires of dry season rage
Not with malice;
Perhaps to prepare the land for a summer chalice
Of cool summer rain – the long wait has not been in vain.
Plenitude.
Poverty.
Plenty.
Want.
Seasons: a life’s course
Bobbing back and forth with natural force.
A people owning all:
The mountain, the valley, the waterfall.
Caves.
Paintings: some great times past
A history in and on stone cast
Mystery.
Drums beating in Ngomakurira
Free booze in Musungwa.
Not red not black:
Something in between,
A rock, a dome so coloured:
Domboshava.
© T. Zindoga, 2011.
All rights reserved.
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