A few years back, when hyper inflation first started rearing its ugly head in my country, witnessed backyard money lending quickly establishing itself as also one of the country’s leading business ventures. The other businesses of this ilk that were also thriving in this environment were dealing in foreign currency on the illegal (black) market, human trafficking, and, if you were a government employee, just plain old corruption. This poem is dedicated to all unwitting victims of the Shylocks of the world
Pay Day Hell
Today is pay day
But for poor me
It is Hell Day –
So I have lived to see.
It weighs heavily on my mind this day
So sluggish and suffocating is the air
Even the vocal birds are not singing this stormy morning
They sit on the electricity line
Shoulders hunched as if in mourning.
The telephone squats at the corner so silent
A sickening punch to the tummy
Is its ring on this day sometimes so funny.
And the unannounced visitor
Standing at the doorway
To hell and back
Takes the frightened heart wildly racing.
But, despite all the adversity that we sometimes are faced with, God gave life a gift called Spring, where the mopane tree shall give bud, and from where all our dreams shall spring forth, and the world resound to love, song, and dance…
And buds swollen tight
With all the aching agony
Of a new spirited life
And the sweet laughter
Of fresh petals in infancy O!
When frail butterflies iridescent
Daintily flutter past with the gay scents
And all the invigorating bursts
Of the vivid sunlight of my spring…
….singing down the beaten dust track
Softly coiling into the sunset mopane trees
Their wafting petticoats a luminous green
Stiffly pointing at the blue sky
With erect spears of echoing melancholy
Of nice sunny days gone by
Of more pursuing
Of more sunny days still to come by
Of dreamy creamy petals floating
Of heavens showering misty confetti drizzles
Of green fantasies wildly sprouting out into the roseate light
All the heavenly birds not singing the beauty of nature
But shrieking for all life’s worth
Transcendent beyond earthly song and dance
You laughing and whispering –
Be the mopane flower of my spring
It truly was good to be blogging for the Poetry International 2008. I am humbled, not to mention the spiritual enrichment that I feel part of in the higher creative arts sphere that all lovers of literature, be it writers, performers, or the audience, all belong to. Ngiyabonga.