I came, son….

 

I came, son, I came. . .

I came, but I did not go in

There were many already, many of them

I saw their limp faces, dulling eyes

They were waiting, maybe even hoping

I pushed my head through

I shook my head, I know not why.

 

I had heard, I heard

Words spoken in haste, with passion

Baskets full of words arrayed, some

Writhe and spit

Others prone in supplication

Words shooting straight, my earth moved

I could not believe

I had to feel for myself

The sound of pain had not moved me

 

I reach my hand to you

In the ground, I came

To press your body to mine

You had your piece of country

Pressing you

For now.

 

 Farai Madzimbamuto

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