Poetry Bulawayo

When my I heart throbs to a stop I hope I would have shouldered a cross worth a cause Lived and left an imprint undimmed by another man’s course When I am gone Like Buddha will find peace in my grave To have put myself at the tutelage of the words Learned to string them at dawn When the lazy bone basks in his wet dreams When I am gone Wish some things never remain the same: The learned heads who should have known better But fiddle the strings of tribalism and Put on a spectacle of myopia in the name of partisanship And tighten the nation’s purse-strings to build lasting hegemonies When I expire Let them know I was also vexed with the doyens Who had ‘their heads abroad and anus at home’ Leaving no gardens for the budding bards to grow Upon my exit I will be glad to have left no dreams deferred Saw the world as a page where every man must drop an ink And gallantly defended Poetry as a cult Even if it never paid me much