Poem
Chris Magadza
CLEAN UP
CLEAN UP
CLEAN UP
I can see clearly now
The shack is gone
I can see the stars
Quivering as if
Afraid of the dark
I can see
The baleful moon
With clouds blowing
Across its distraught face,
Lonely as if
Bereaved
I can smell the freshness
Of the garbage
The persistent breeze,
Like the tax man,
Insistent on its demands
On my body warmth.
Now I can see the dawn
Painting the sky
Blood red
The early warning
Of the visiting hunger
I can feel the sun
Teasing me
With its morning warmth
That soon turns
To a scorching hate.
Now the compound
Is silent and mute,
I can hear distant calls
From lost children: a generation
With no past nor future:
A mere memory lapse.
The shack is gone
I can see the stars
Quivering as if
Afraid of the dark
I can see
The baleful moon
With clouds blowing
Across its distraught face,
Lonely as if
Bereaved
I can smell the freshness
Of the garbage
The persistent breeze,
Like the tax man,
Insistent on its demands
On my body warmth.
Now I can see the dawn
Painting the sky
Blood red
The early warning
Of the visiting hunger
I can feel the sun
Teasing me
With its morning warmth
That soon turns
To a scorching hate.
Now the compound
Is silent and mute,
I can hear distant calls
From lost children: a generation
With no past nor future:
A mere memory lapse.
Harare, 2005
© 2006, Chris Magadza
From: Father and other poems
Publisher: Poetry International Web,
From: Father and other poems
Publisher: Poetry International Web,
‘Clean Up’ refers to the demolition by the Zimbabwe government of so-
called “illegal structures” mainly in poor urban suburbs and rural areas.
It resulted in thousands being made homeless, and was condemned in a UN report.
Poems
Poems of Chris Magadza
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CLEAN UP
I can see clearly now
The shack is gone
I can see the stars
Quivering as if
Afraid of the dark
I can see
The baleful moon
With clouds blowing
Across its distraught face,
Lonely as if
Bereaved
I can smell the freshness
Of the garbage
The persistent breeze,
Like the tax man,
Insistent on its demands
On my body warmth.
Now I can see the dawn
Painting the sky
Blood red
The early warning
Of the visiting hunger
I can feel the sun
Teasing me
With its morning warmth
That soon turns
To a scorching hate.
Now the compound
Is silent and mute,
I can hear distant calls
From lost children: a generation
With no past nor future:
A mere memory lapse.
The shack is gone
I can see the stars
Quivering as if
Afraid of the dark
I can see
The baleful moon
With clouds blowing
Across its distraught face,
Lonely as if
Bereaved
I can smell the freshness
Of the garbage
The persistent breeze,
Like the tax man,
Insistent on its demands
On my body warmth.
Now I can see the dawn
Painting the sky
Blood red
The early warning
Of the visiting hunger
I can feel the sun
Teasing me
With its morning warmth
That soon turns
To a scorching hate.
Now the compound
Is silent and mute,
I can hear distant calls
From lost children: a generation
With no past nor future:
A mere memory lapse.
Harare, 2005
From: Father and other poems
‘Clean Up’ refers to the demolition by the Zimbabwe government of so-
called “illegal structures” mainly in poor urban suburbs and rural areas.
It resulted in thousands being made homeless, and was condemned in a UN report.
CLEAN UP
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