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Phillip Zhuwao

ODE TO GOD

ODE TO GOD

ODE TO GOD

...Whose children burn mercedes tyres
for heart warmth in Spring's Spite... the
words are beautiful promises
that fell thatches undone
for his hand, bane, smites
the man's words in the fields (forests)

To watch the horroizons swell
on my forehead this bee
busy with a fly, hope's omen
and
When Gods tumble in defeat
               What!

Chance to Afrika is man to hold tight

The moon drops two gourds
one with clean knives
the other poisonous kilts
to drape the Virgin Soils blowing
to the hectic desert winds

Lioness's roar whirlwind of the rivers
Shake the skyscraper of foul
On a single hill of clotting blood
to scatter, smithereens of Spirit's anger
and his Denial

Nothing is what it seems (looms)

We wrote many poems in the floods
And sought shelter in the leopard's claws
Nobody was hungry yet
Death lived to age and to young
to watch smiling
as
we cannibalised the ruins
of the history's time.
Phillip  Zhuwao

Phillip Zhuwao

(Zimbabwe, 1971 - 1994)

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ODE TO GOD

...Whose children burn mercedes tyres
for heart warmth in Spring's Spite... the
words are beautiful promises
that fell thatches undone
for his hand, bane, smites
the man's words in the fields (forests)

To watch the horroizons swell
on my forehead this bee
busy with a fly, hope's omen
and
When Gods tumble in defeat
               What!

Chance to Afrika is man to hold tight

The moon drops two gourds
one with clean knives
the other poisonous kilts
to drape the Virgin Soils blowing
to the hectic desert winds

Lioness's roar whirlwind of the rivers
Shake the skyscraper of foul
On a single hill of clotting blood
to scatter, smithereens of Spirit's anger
and his Denial

Nothing is what it seems (looms)

We wrote many poems in the floods
And sought shelter in the leopard's claws
Nobody was hungry yet
Death lived to age and to young
to watch smiling
as
we cannibalised the ruins
of the history's time.

ODE TO GOD

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