You can tell by a pale shadow of former self
And shape of the scattered pieces
You can tell ,
From the pieces of the once bread basket of Africa
That someone is slowly
And artistically looting the store
I can see,
The trailing blood and the aura of warmth
That there was once,
Electrical pulse of the heart
As povo cry,
For broad-based
and inclusive Dialogue to rescue,
Yes!
I could hear,increasing calls for precipice
And wails to avert further implosion
And the winds of memory floating by
The crescendo in the calls for sound talks
Yes sound dialogue,
In the wake of an increasingly restless citizenry struggles
Still dustbin of a golden history
You can sense from the tremble of the chambers
The undying pulse and the scent of a beloved
That the heart once danced to a dreamers' beats
To them tears are,
The horse pipes they use to water their worth
To multitudes,tears are words the heart can’t express
As the black cloud sheds rays of hope
Still leaves “imminent light” behind
As the mass bank hope
In our eternal message of hope
Ushered by Martin Luther King, Jr.
"One day dawn will come".
I can see traceable traces
Of corrupt foot prints
And traceable track record
Of 'prominent' looting finger prints
As the influential turn aside the needy from justice,
Rob the poor Chimanimani people of their right,
Making widows their spoil,
And *****-nilly making the fatherless their prey!
Dear LORD!
Why your wrath upsets not these moral monsters?
Who are by no means worthy of following
Those that deprive the afflicted
Those who because of their hard and impenitent hearts
Attract your necessary reaction to objective moral ill
Dear Lord why has your wrath not fallen
On rightful time?
How can hell be just?
I