Could have sworn it was you

I could have sworn it was you,
Saw the tears in the eyes and said to myself true

read the hurt on the face and the shake in the voice
felt the hate seething up and the rage fill inside

Thought of what once was, I felt so much delight
Bundle of joy and warmth all wrapped into one

Could have sworn it was you that I was holding in the rain
Then I woke up and started to caress the pain

JG

In Memory of those making life work outside Zimbabwe

Today marks one of the bloodiest days in diasporan life, when Zimbabweans and other refugees and job seekers in South Africa were deliberately sought out, beaten, got their houses and property confiscated, and were made miserable.

The story is not unique to the region. It is indicative of communities adapting to changes in their environment, which they perceive, to a great extent, as threats that must be dealt with savagely.

I ask myself whether the treatment of Zimbabweans in South Africa has changed over the two year period in question. The stories reported in the media do not say anything rosy.

There used to be a time when segregation was loosely translated to something denoting definate colours (if we can call them that) white and black, yellow and in between... now I guess there is a different kind of movement, one that says there are different shades of black.

Traveller's Curse

So the diaspora,like the great choo choo train sang of by Hugh Maselekela, comes and sucks away men and women from their loved ones, drags them down deep deep deep into the bowels of the earth.

Here where you see no sun, see no light;
The lucky ones come out alive, they bring bread and food to their wives;
The unlucky ones, well, they remain unlucky,
they return as if to hives, with nothing else to come to but lies;

There is a thing that comes with working outside.
You work outside because you are working for someone, for something.
It don't matter you living in a tent, you getting stung by freaking mosquitoes, you speak English everyday, you miss the local brew... you know you will come home to someone, to something, to somebody outthere...

The heartbeat of a lonely heart working out there in the lands beyond the horizon,

Beats in unizon with the heart of the one that is out there on the other side of the horizon,

As you breathe, so shall she,

As she yawns, so shall yea,

Discord makes life vile should another disturb the rhythm,

Chaos rules rampant when foreign breath cuts across your own...

But, such is life, and such is love.

Woe to the love struck traveler who sets his foot out on the tracks to travel,
He shall not look back lest he starts to grovel,
At the nice things he has left in his roundavel,
Even though he knows other miscreants will be having it by the shovel.

The Returnee

It is,
The one who suffers pain
that cherishes healing

The one who,
looses a child at birth
that leaks milk from her breasts...

It is,
The one cast out
that understands family

The one who,
sings out of tune
that glorifies singing

It is,
the heart of one bleeding
that writes poetry

Hugging feeling;
kissing misery!

JG