Svosve, Zengeza Afternoon: 20 October 2019
The old man whose heart gave up. Like the quiet that has left this ghetto’s streets. As cars, bicycles, pushcarts line its edges. The old man who conquered an accident. That took his wife, children, a friend
He has now traded ceremony for distance from us. Championing for us a winter of hot ceremony. The old man whom he used to joke with. Buried his name and the path he chose. He wants to dig out the dirt where his seed came to rest. He wants, he, wants, he wants to burn it to ash and forget the laughter they had together. The old man who was his father’s friend. Begun to hum a tune of a trail song of wear and war and waste. The wife of a friend, he grew up with in the streets. Eased away from what he knew of her
His sister’s boyfriend of over two decades ago. She cannot wait for time to touch her with old ways of loving. The father of his neighbor his mother. Beginning with a riddle of silence. The old church girl he was friends with since she was 12. Eaten by bp at 20, he whispers her name Karen, Karen, Karen….
Who said angels have white wings only? The tens he hasn’t seen since he returned from the world of people. He looks around himself to see their shadows. He looks inside himself to hear their voices
An open mouthed roar containing secrets he cannot tell!