Details |
Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho Poem
Jail was the land of my sojourn
for a decade
Now out of it all
building my life anew
I meet you dear woman, woman of the green breeze
Your mom is so illogical, thoughtless and heartless.
She pours a bucketful of human excrement
on my face, and expects to hold
the child of my blood in her arms
calling him her grandson
I am left grappling
with tremors of prejudice.
Copyright © Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho Poem
I try to strike a relationship
with you
The next thing you approach my wife
in a vengeful attitude
telling her everything
about us
You've become
a plague I so fear
to associate with
Copyright © Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho Poem
Hard times taught me how to walk.
Toes of my feet grew sore, slowing my climbing
But since the sacred duty of progression
Kept fondling my ear I had to keep going.
Humble ideas and thoughts
Brought about principled ideals
To be established.
In the wilderness I met
Old sages who unconsciously revealed to me
That longing is a pain concealed.
And I had no choice but
To agree with them.
Copyright © Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho Poem
He still sleeps with
Languorous hands tucked
Between his thighs
Screams from his frightening nightmares
Wake mother to come investigate.
She places her soft fingers
On his sweaty, burning forehead,
Asks if everything is fine
And that’s how mother is
To a son with a troubled sleep.
Copyright © Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho Poem
I rush into your arms
for vibrations of warmth and comfort
I turn my back to go my way
now the whole world knows
about my tribulations
It tells me
you're no friend
in whom I can confide
Copyright © Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho Poem
On February and March
I had two similar dreams
In which I saw live fish
Slicing up the surface of water
In a less inhabited pond.
I managed to catch three large ones
And a number of small ones
Which clung onto the fins
Of the three.
To me this dream is obscure.
How do I begin to reconcile
With the past, when that very past
Keeps reminding me
Of human frailty?
But if you want
To make me fisher of men
Like you had made others,
Well make me at your will.
And teach me how
To snap out of desperation
In this season of malaise:
To remedy the anger.
Copyright © Tshifhiwa Given Mukwevho | Year Posted 2012
|