Poetry Bulawayo

They must write of fears, Of politics and tears, Of the election that nears Of the silenced voice each hears They must write despite jeers Of the wrong that is not right Of the wrong that will never be right That which makes evil bright That which violates any human right Writers must write We must all write On paper; in hearts Of foes and sweethearts Of the wrong and the right Of what might not and what might Writers must write.

  Image - http://mockeryoflove.wordpress.com On the seventh morning when I woke I found your letter on my pillow and when I read it, my heart within me was like a stone. You had taken back the promissory ring and now, in spite of the ambient light, I felt numb, dimmed with grief, that you had left me to dwell alone. My life is like a broken bowl that cannot hold a drop of water for my soul, nor is there a cordiality to lift me when I'm low. All I ever see is the barren dusk, no bud or greenness; and without you, I am a frozen thing, a falling leaf.