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| (c) Mgcini Nyoni |
With my cracked hands
The hangover of broken dreams
Phantoms in an unkind enclave
Lifeless idioms of hijacked promises
Oh slogans, how I wish they had been edible.
Now I smile no more,
Now I hide no more
A million deaths have I died,
Used by the savannah sun,
A ragged footnote of freedom
Yes I have waited for this day,
I have longed for this day
Un chaining my chains
Of hijacked expectations
That smoked away my emptiness
The hangover of broken dreams
Phantoms in an unkind enclave
Lifeless idioms of hijacked promises
Oh slogans, how I wish they had been edible.
Now I smile no more,
Now I hide no more
A million deaths have I died,
Used by the savannah sun,
A ragged footnote of freedom
Yes I have waited for this day,
I have longed for this day
Un chaining my chains
Of hijacked expectations
That smoked away my emptiness
I too, am Zimbabwean
In my angry Shona
Lacerated with Bemba , or Nyanja
Crusted exclusion
Have my generations not ploughed for you
Did you then call my sweat alien?
Now is my time,
Resurrected by a new people s covenant,
I am no one’s alien
So I wait too, to alienate, the alienator
My birthright s revenge.
I too am a Zimbabwean.
Born free or free born
Once the spirits were buoyant
Hope then was the currency
We swam in books and degrees
But we drowned, the revolution s carcasses.
Now I weigh and wait
The glittering image of unemployment
Some I will make pensioners,
I smile no more
This is my time.
I too am a Zimbabwean .
From this grave in Makokoba
Where time itself never moves
The more it moves, the more it does not
I dance with the wind
To the soprano of poverty.
I fear no more
The kleptocractic nightmares of Gukurahundi
I fear not Cain Nkala.
This is Joshua Nkomo resurrected.
It’s my time.
I too am a Zimbabwean.
In the dark glow of a caucasian tan
A replica of an uncle that rode the Mayflower
Thirsty of the drink
For generations
This land has captured my soul.
I too am a Zimbabwean.
From Dotito to Odzani, my Bantu heart bleeds
From Mangwe to Dubiladzimu
I catch the mirage of happiness
No more, no less
I seek the oasis of real freedom.
I smile no more,
The sheep to the Sherpherd of fear,
I sing no more,
The morsel to the high gods of greed .
I weep no more.
I too am, Zimbabwean.
Not the redefined totem of derision
Not the syllable of hatred
Not the victim of violence
Not the object of those old beyond old.
Not the static of cholera .
I too am a Zimbabwean.
This Wednesday, I rise.
In the warmth of my stupidity,
The tranquility of my God,
The derailed memories of my lost heroes
The soft morphine of my joblessness.
I too am a Zimbabwean.
I come alive again,
In trailing lines of hope,
Against the shrills of unripe propaganda
The threatening fists of those without love
The demons of a cooked voter s roll.
I come alive.
I will finish it off
Momento mori.
For I too am a Zimbabwean.
In my angry Shona
Lacerated with Bemba , or Nyanja
Crusted exclusion
Have my generations not ploughed for you
Did you then call my sweat alien?
Now is my time,
Resurrected by a new people s covenant,
I am no one’s alien
So I wait too, to alienate, the alienator
My birthright s revenge.
I too am a Zimbabwean.
Born free or free born
Once the spirits were buoyant
Hope then was the currency
We swam in books and degrees
But we drowned, the revolution s carcasses.
Now I weigh and wait
The glittering image of unemployment
Some I will make pensioners,
I smile no more
This is my time.
I too am a Zimbabwean .
From this grave in Makokoba
Where time itself never moves
The more it moves, the more it does not
I dance with the wind
To the soprano of poverty.
I fear no more
The kleptocractic nightmares of Gukurahundi
I fear not Cain Nkala.
This is Joshua Nkomo resurrected.
It’s my time.
I too am a Zimbabwean.
In the dark glow of a caucasian tan
A replica of an uncle that rode the Mayflower
Thirsty of the drink
For generations
This land has captured my soul.
I too am a Zimbabwean.
From Dotito to Odzani, my Bantu heart bleeds
From Mangwe to Dubiladzimu
I catch the mirage of happiness
No more, no less
I seek the oasis of real freedom.
I smile no more,
The sheep to the Sherpherd of fear,
I sing no more,
The morsel to the high gods of greed .
I weep no more.
I too am, Zimbabwean.
Not the redefined totem of derision
Not the syllable of hatred
Not the victim of violence
Not the object of those old beyond old.
Not the static of cholera .
I too am a Zimbabwean.
This Wednesday, I rise.
In the warmth of my stupidity,
The tranquility of my God,
The derailed memories of my lost heroes
The soft morphine of my joblessness.
I too am a Zimbabwean.
I come alive again,
In trailing lines of hope,
Against the shrills of unripe propaganda
The threatening fists of those without love
The demons of a cooked voter s roll.
I come alive.
I will finish it off
Momento mori.
For I too am a Zimbabwean.
