Ode to Departed Writers

Ode to Departed Writers

Ode to Departed Writers

Dear fellow writers departed
I hope this poem finds you in good spirits
Heroes of art and self expression
Dear Dambudzo Marechera
If you suddenly came back to life again today
You would not recognise Harare
Not even Vengere Township in Rusape
Where you were born
It was very clean then
It became dirty
Very dirty in the eyes of authorities
Now it is clean again
Operation Murambatsvina came
With a large broom called bulldozer
And the new townships which were blessed
With the cutting of ribbons were all gone.
Africa Unity Square had roses
And now it is clean again
And again you may not recognise it Dambudzo.

Dear Mthandazo Ndema Ngwenya
Babazala, your Bulawayo still exists,
We still have old buildings timelessly
Staring at us with question marks
No investment has come our way
They destroyed G & D shoes
And all and all and all and all
Babazala ziqunywa amakhanda ziyekwe.

We now have developed a culture of queues
Fuel queues, Bread queues, Sugar queues, Salt queues
We have mealie-meal queues and bank queues
It’s queue after queue after queue
We have lots of conmen
Conning people at every corner
We have lots of bouncing cheques
And failing businesses
Banks being bankrupt
Lots of big fish are being fried
Also small fish still face the pan
The police mean serious business
For the corrupt ones.

To fellow writers departed
To Mayford Sibanda, to Dambudzo Marechera
To Geshiom Khiyaza, and to Nandi Xaba
We remember you dearly
To the many of you
To Stan Made, to Modiki Abenia Hamutyinei
To Yvonne Vera, to Ndawana Ncube
To Peter Mahlangu, to Doris Ndlovu
And to Jane Chifamba
With all the passion, we remember you.

To Sodindo Ncube, to Stephen Alumenda
To Obadiah Mlilo, to Tisa Chifunyise
To N.P. Ndlukula, to P. J. Nondo, to Dr Chiwome
To Norbert Mutasa and to Phillios Khumalo
Since you left things have never been the same.

There is no petrol nor diesel
Neither paraffin nor kerosene
People are stressed, strained
People are squeezed, drawn out
Overstretched financially
We now budget in billions and trillions
And zillions
No longer even in millions
We now have a currency called bearer’s cheques.

It’s all jumbled up.
You have little sisters
With little skirts
Standing at every corner of the Avenues
Awaiting their turn to make a living
But the police are also cleaning up the Avenues

Dear fellow writers departed
We now have new farmers
But God is not smiling on us
No rain comes down
So our farms are dry
O all is frustrating man
Some have left the country
And are now in the UK
Looking after old people there
Others are thieving in Botswana
And South Africa
Home is not sweet anymore for them
Home sweet home.