Poetry Bulawayo

In your eye I think I see On your lips when you speak What is this I think I feel? In the nearness of you Is it your body radiation! Is it in the scent of your skin? My eyes glaze like a drunkard What is this I think I feel? In your eye I think I see Although your lips refuse to say There is certain calmness in you It humbles me down to the ground And I'm at a loss for words to say Will it be asking for too much If I asked you to love me And still allow me the space to be me And to be with myself sometime?

And what shall become of you When Time’s hands have done their art? Crayons of hue re-coloured you in shades of dusk, Graffiti etched upon your brow, Flawless grace reduced to caricature, Once impeccable beauty redrawn abstract And the stains of his oils mock your portraits? His fingerprints plastered across the wall of your soul: Your essence withered to the stench of pending death And your confidence shaken to infirmity, Shall these suitors, princes in Chevrolets -if not to dust returned- Still whistle their impotence through toothless smiles? Bite deep into the flesh of youth but wary the stone, Cast by those who perceive themselves sinless Should three words turn to three letters. I do not wish disease, pestilence or plague upon you, Only true fruits of old age, regrets grown To appreciation of possibilities Chastised by the rod of Time for the road not taken, Insolence blossomed to wisdom; Blind valour to meditation. Subtle pencil st...