The Sunday Mail
Khulekani Ndlovu, form 4
Marondera High School
My Zimbabwe, the mother of dominant Kings and valorous Queens
Isn’t it that your milk is getting dry and tasteless?
The blooming berries of your beautiful blossom are sulking
What is going to become of you?
My Zimbabwe, my heritage, my golden crown
Should your beauty untold succumb behind masks of false fat?
Oh Mother, anthem of negritude, should you be forgotten like
A love song which has vacated the ears of an old widower?
Oh Mother, nectar of Africa, should you be false dripping
Like a cactus stranded in sand nations and the saffron flames of the angry sun?
What is going to become of you?
Dreams of brighter days are all your children stare into
Hungry mouths uttering words of ignoble comfort
The pitch void of anguish and ambush devouring our melanin
Isn’t it that we are tired of weeping and wailing for long gone days?
When dreams came true and we fed on milk and honey
The way migrant locusts feast on open foliage
What is going to become of you?
My Zimbabwe, the craftwork of artistic minds
Aren’t the damsel hues smudging into haunted graffiti?
My mother, you will surely never be a colon again
But aren’t you becoming a slave to uncertainties and mental miseries?
What will become of you?
Imagine the hopes which overflowed in the spirits of our heroes and heroines
Driven by the thoughts of a moxie Zimbabwe they fought chimurenga
if they were to rise from the sleeping kingdom, hall of the dead
Won’t they wage war against us for your mistreatment oh Zimbabwe!
Reminisce all the indented smiles as they rushed through thorned bushes
For they saw mother Zimbabwe in golden ornaments and diamond thrones
Was it just a hallucination or mother, you are pretending to be one
What will become of you?
One man dining, the other fainting and fading in hunger
One man dancing, the other sweating on forsaken lands for just a grain
One man fat, the other indulging in the imitation of the skeleton
One man laughing, the other crying in the rays of dawn and dusk, even in the twilight
No, no i’m no hero, I don’t seek to achieve equilibrium
But I shall always stand up for equality
No no I’m no opportunist
Waiting to scavenge on the scraps of the mighty
But I shall not stop raising my voice above the mountains
For who will not speak out for their mother
Hear my voice all those who dwell in the womb of Zimbabwe
For after all these pangs, a new dispensation is born
Do not drown in the ruins of despair lovely lilies
For even though we weep, our tears shall water our dreams
A new Zimbabwe is nigh
Such are the torrents of life and we are the life in it
Let’s stand for our Zimbabwe and mighty, is what will become of it.
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