Tragedy

Closed eyes Lashes interlaced Closed mouth Lips tucked into each other Pale face With no emotions Upper limbs Straightened at tension One on either side Lower limbs Motionless Byamu lies on his back Dead Stone dead Swabs of cotton wool Stuffed up in his nostrils In his ears In his rectum Two and twenty years And he has outlived his short span I saw it coming When he sat by the door to Keshato's bar Morning and evening A bottle of mwenge-bigere at his feet A cigar clutched between his dry lips And an expired condom in his fury wallet I knew he would not live To recount his own deeds To seat his offspring by the fire on a cold evening And hurl (g)olden stories into their ears And watch them thrive And grow like grass To repeat the life he has lived His are a people Whose minds are stuck in the past Whose minds are clogged with ridiculous ideas Whose minds are thirsty And dark For lack of knowledge His chest shall be split into two equal parts His flesh, served to mourners Tomorrow at the funeral And his bones? The dogs are chanting a thanksgiving Thou shalt waste no meat