Written by: Simbarashe Fungurani

It makes a heart sink
To learn one was never loved
But a sinister child 
Begging for bread.
I’ve spent a wet night 
Under a sickening sky
And not a sigh, not a tear shed
But such sorrow as I’ve tasted
Tells of no tomorrow.
On famine the flesh of my face
Shall be fed
And of my blood, no man’s hand
Shall be stained, but to a thousand
Hearts plenty of joys are attained:
Could this cursed world be spared?
Today I turn in cold clay, 
And this ode is read 
Till it takes my breath 
On the lip of youth!