Hacked Horizons – The new Zimbabwe

Zimbabwe was once home ..a place where cresepular rays of the golden sun pierced the deep forests of Mutare…
The dusty winds of Chirumhanzi whistled in tranquillity as the dirt brown grass waved from side to side in harmony. I sat on the Mhunga bus and made my way to my dream holiday ..with scattered thoughts of THE December bliss ..All that a child desired ..the child bought!

I remember the Christmas clothes too that gogo bought with her own salary from her passionate work at the general hospital. The scent of fresh mukwa in Nyore Nyore Zimbabwe furniture..our very own

.. Remember the warm glow of pride that spread all the way to your toes as your tiny feet found comfort in the indigenous leather 3 leaf raven black school shoes”
Talking about school …remember the Care porridge served from the government that cared about the children .. it watered the seeds of a definite tomorrow.
The smiles that beamed hope and faith on the faces of a success hungry youth.
Remember when sanitary wear matters mattered the most, when women went to the maternity ward and brought back fruits of the womb and not biltongs of stillborn babies.
When hospitals afforded care and healing at no cost.

Look at home now… A cabinet of cabals and prodigals
Huge ministers with bellies protruding like an overdue baby bump.
Old masters that drink scotch stronger than their courage.
A band of thieves choked on Versace ties and hie on lies.

Home, from field to thicket.., a people that have mastered the art of loosing, lost jobs, lost pride, misplaced trust and a leaking bucket of souls.
Stolen peace, swollen buttocks and bloodshot eyes.

The road to the bread bin is littered with bruised civilians.
Hunger games and dices of prejudice all on the tables of a casino of the state’humour house “.
What have we become ..remember when the hungwe bird flame lily and the melody by Eliot Mutsvairo gave you chills of respect in “Simudzai mureza” ..as you stared at that multi-coloured flag embraced the air and danced in waves at the centre of Your primary school

Freedom was all we had .. now its all we yearn for …perhaps with the pangolin coin that bought bread and the balancing rocks on a paper that bought jam to dress the naked Baker’s inn slices.
We have been stripped of a voice
We wear masks to muffle our concerns…
Covid and concerns .. beatings and bruises
We are tired people
Oh, Mr Government lifts up your countenance and gaze…
Zimbabweans lives matter
From the non-advocate feminist tired of the deafening silence.

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