Her

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The housing of my tears.
The builder of my laughter.
 I Remember the dark walls
As my mouth bled, face to the ground 

while soil gathered
and formed a second skin on my lips.
I knew I was where I ought to be.

I belonged. 
Now we are ripped apart and the soil here
does not stick to my mouth
no matter how much I bleed.

My Zimbabwe
My Zimbabwe

You saw my tears as I longed for a better you
I watched you smoke up every morning.
I heard the children laugh and cry.
The animals wailed in hunger.
When would those trucks come.
Big gorilla trucks that only managed to feed
Half the village.

They carried inkeya,

( a type of mealie meal, yellow in colour)
They carried beans.
They carried sugar.

They carried cooking oil.
They carried long green soap bars
And when they did arrive,
The villagers would fight to be first
it was a sorry sight.
My own people Fighting amongst themselves
For what was once a pride and joy to have.
It drained my energy, it took away my zeal
I wondered, what could I do to save my people?
the responsibility weighed so heavy on me
There should be another way,
A way out of the poverty.
A way out of the lack.

My Zimbabwe
My Zimbabwe

People flocked in great numbers
Relenting to our Neighbours
Botswana, Zambia, South Africa.

Relenting the furthest of lands.
Who will remain to fight and work?
Who will remain to fix our land?

Cowards I thought, how dare they?
If we leave this land it will grow weeds.
Taking the children away from who they are,
how will they ever know what home soil
Tastes and feel like?
The freedom of being part and belonging,
The joys of showing the kins
How to catch a mopane worm.
How to light up a fire with incwathi -
(little sticks from certain trees that catch fire easily)
How to plant their first seed and watch it grow.
How to harvest grain.
How to grind their wheat.
How to extract cotton from its plant.
How to peel sugar cane without cutting one's mouth.
How to gather water from a borehole.
The unique experiences and lessons that the internet
Can not teach.
All these left behind,
All in pursuit of a better tomorrow
have we given up on our land?
Little had I known the cowards day would
reach my doorstep, my parents could not take it
They brought us to greener pastures
to safer ground, so they believed.
To lights that keep the darkness occupied
To noisy cars that shun the night bugs from hissing
All in good will of course
All in favour of tomorrow

My Zimbabwe
My Zimbabwe

But what about her?
Who would tend her?
Who would keep her air full of fresh hope and dreams?
When all the young blood flees
The long-lived cannot continue
Neither are they strong enough to skip borders
Oh feel the pain of the land
When the young arrive,
In brown boxes
That belong six feet
underground.
Some with rare unknown
Sicknesses
How fragile and poor
when young blood is buried
The soil turns dry
With no fruit to yield.

My Zimbabwe
My zimbabwe

No faith for the coming
generations
My land she cries out
Why do you flee?
My children
Who shall tend for me?
Who shall conquer for me?
Who shall teach about me?
Who shall be there in the years of famine?
Who shall be there in the years of fruitfulness?

My Zimbabwe
My Zimbabwe

Remember your land
Lay her in your prayers
wherever you are
I plead.

Mitney Mitch

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