Poem
Musaemura Zimunya
A long journey
A long journey
A long journey
Through decades that ran like riversendless rivers of endless woes
through pick and shovel sjambok and jail
O such a long long journey
When the motor-car came
the sledge and the ox-cart began to die
but for a while the bicycle made in Britain
was the dream of every village boy
With the arrival of the bus
the city was brought into the village
and we began to yearn for the place behind the horizons
Such a long travail it was
a long journey from bush to concrete
And now I am haunted by the cave dwelling
hidden behind eighteen ninety
threatening my new-found luxury
in this the capital city of my mother country
I fight in nightmarish vain
but my road runs and turns into dusty gravel
into over-beaten foot tracks that lead
to a plastic hut and soon to a mud-grass dwelling
threatened by wind and rain and cold
We have fled from witches and wizards
on a long long road to the city
but behind the halo of tower lights
I hear the cry from human blood
and wicked bones rattling around me
We moved into the lights
but from the dark periphery behind
an almighty hand reaches for our shirts.
© 1985, Musaemura Zimunya
From: Country Dawns and City Lights
Publisher: Longman, Harare
Reprinted here by kind permission of Longman
From: Country Dawns and City Lights
Publisher: Longman, Harare
Poems
Poems of Musaemura Zimunya
Close
A long journey
Through decades that ran like riversendless rivers of endless woes
through pick and shovel sjambok and jail
O such a long long journey
When the motor-car came
the sledge and the ox-cart began to die
but for a while the bicycle made in Britain
was the dream of every village boy
With the arrival of the bus
the city was brought into the village
and we began to yearn for the place behind the horizons
Such a long travail it was
a long journey from bush to concrete
And now I am haunted by the cave dwelling
hidden behind eighteen ninety
threatening my new-found luxury
in this the capital city of my mother country
I fight in nightmarish vain
but my road runs and turns into dusty gravel
into over-beaten foot tracks that lead
to a plastic hut and soon to a mud-grass dwelling
threatened by wind and rain and cold
We have fled from witches and wizards
on a long long road to the city
but behind the halo of tower lights
I hear the cry from human blood
and wicked bones rattling around me
We moved into the lights
but from the dark periphery behind
an almighty hand reaches for our shirts.
From: Country Dawns and City Lights
Reprinted here by kind permission of Longman
A long journey
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