Goodbye, Mugabe

[Looking back at this piece, written in November 2017. The coup that was not a coup. In the current day, there is still an unbelievable resilience and joy that makes a Zimbabwean, Zimbabwean. Yet - ongoing economic turmoil overturns the country and makes it very difficult for any business to survive, let alone prosper. This poem was written with Mugabe's name. But perhaps there is nothing personal in the experience of global corruption, greed and politics. All politicians, and I mean beyond Zimbabwe, seem to wear the same cloak in different shades. Or is it a mask? We call for young leadership, for new systems, and for unity and equality. Maybe the time is not now, but surely, surely, it must arrive; the time when leaders will be guided by compassion, and lead with intelligence and heart.]

Do you hear the chanting voices, Mugabe? Suppression now outspoken.

Standing side-by-side, Zimbabwe, courageous and unbroken.

We call you out old man, we have witnessed what you’ve done –

Once strangled by your terror, now we sing as one.

You stood and spat Mugabe; you stripped a nation bare,

You laughed as people fled – Gleamed satisfaction from despair.

You turned emerald fields to ashes, amber soils to a grey sea of neglect,

Colluded stealthily with greed, then watched it’s poison take effect.

Your feet stamped out hospital buildings, once hives of hope and health;

Leaving operations under flickering lights, while you inhaled putrid, seething wealth.

Families fled to borders and schools crumbled with your reign,

But now a nation rise Mugabe – We hold you to that pain.

You saw souls of hungry eyes, stood back and pulled a trigger;

You thought of us as weak, Mugabe, always thought that you were bigger. 

You turned gold to worthless paper, sunk the economy to a blackened, thieving grave

While you watched from your Mercedes, Mugabe – A lavish, tinted cave. 

Now whispers have turned to army trucks, your pedestal must burn

It’s been 37 years old man, you’ve long out-played your turn. 

There is the tremble of the anthem as thousands of voices chant

For all the things that they have hoped for; on behalf of all who can’t. 

When you leave your feet will sting, Mugabe, they will walk on shattered shards of broken

honour

As Zimbabweans stand together and sing – Ndebele, White and Shona.

For the final time: President Robert Gabriel Mugabe.

Nation, be set free.

Simudzai Mureza Wedu WeZimbabwe

Strong

Down with wayward weeds – we say thank you

And move away from you

And search for a thousand suns in a thousand souls around us.

Like water to twigs, the tides of life will carry us

From the dock where we were stuck

Oh, what it feels to be free!

– See how water flows through and in between

Like wind to the plover, we must let the light lift us

From sands of stinging tears;

Like an oak to a tired soldier, we will rest in the roots 

And draw comfort in pain

Where the bullet struck once –

And struck once again

The truth is 

Our lives, however they seem from the outside

Are peppered with small sufferings – 

Sprinkled with maroon and green 

And amber moons

Here to teach, colour and beseech us with stains of lessons learnt: 

To act more kindly

Anger more slowly

And speak honestly. Always.

It is these moons – 

Of green, and amber, and maroon

That show us to forgive courageously

Not just others, but also ourselves. 

To accept what is and let 

hurt, 

|   |

loss 

|   |

and 

|   |

heartbreak 

Leave marks like rungs of a ladder...

... and keep us ascending.

So, 

Once-stained soul be sure

That though you are small

You are the twigs of Noah

And the foundations of an ark

Now look! 

 As with maroon 

And green 

and amber moons 

Rises another you – 

The same but somehow different:

A little kinder now.

Gentler now.

A little more resilient now.

Full of joy now.

Roaring now – risen where you belong

You are here now.

You are here:

Strong

Sister, Sea

My sister has many moods, in unknown hues she accounts for all - and for no-one at once. 

Oh sea, look at you striding in torrents with your talon-like waves today. Falcon-talons, curling at the edges to grip what lies just an inch away; and still an inch apart 

Tumbling storms heave in your heavy lungs. What do you witness in this breath? Are you breathing, or fuming my sister? Are you angry at the world perhaps? I hear they used to call you a turquoise blanket; that must have been when you were calm. I hear the sailors sang to you? Do you care for their lost bodies and their sunken ships? Do you hold their melodies in your arms?

I saw you once sea; in the quiet of the still night. You were only whispering then. And the moon was dancing on your soft, cushioned tops. You didn’t see me at first. But when you did you didn’t stop. And I cried watching the ways and the whispers between her, between you, between me. It was she; who moved and pulled you – she, the silent moon, with her almost-nothing beams. 

Untameable sister, you account for no-one and everyone. And yet you waltz with her. Two sisters baring secrets in that knowing way. And my own untamed tear, which was made of some salty, wild you - also glistened on my cheek – dancing quietly with the moon. 

Sister, sea.