Gedicht
Chris Magadza
Not Far from Here
Not Far from Here
Not Far from Here
There is a land
Not far from here
Where the blind
See for the sighted
A land
Not far from here
Where the deaf listen
For those that
Can hear
There is a land
But a stone throw’s away
Where the starving
Feed the gluttons
There is a land
Close by
Where the dumb
Speak for the eloquent
And the lame
Dance for the obese
And march and march
For the soldiers
Yes
A land where beggars
Beg for the rich
And the poor
Make the rich wealthy!
Not far from here
Ten year-olds
Are household heads,
And eleven year-olds
Are mothers in city sewers,
And their children will grow
Into the growing nation
Of street dwellers.
In a land
Not far from here,
There are aged widowed
Grandmothers
Who are now mothers
Of their grandchildren’s children
But there shall be
A land . . . oh yes . . .
That land
Where the dead
Shall bury the living.
Yes there shall be a land
Where street kids
Will be judges, judges
Forged in the crucible
Of streetwise society
Kids who have ransomed
Themselves from
Institutional condemnation,
Survivors born in Zimbabwe.
Not far from here
Where the blind
See for the sighted
A land
Not far from here
Where the deaf listen
For those that
Can hear
There is a land
But a stone throw’s away
Where the starving
Feed the gluttons
There is a land
Close by
Where the dumb
Speak for the eloquent
And the lame
Dance for the obese
And march and march
For the soldiers
Yes
A land where beggars
Beg for the rich
And the poor
Make the rich wealthy!
Not far from here
Ten year-olds
Are household heads,
And eleven year-olds
Are mothers in city sewers,
And their children will grow
Into the growing nation
Of street dwellers.
In a land
Not far from here,
There are aged widowed
Grandmothers
Who are now mothers
Of their grandchildren’s children
But there shall be
A land . . . oh yes . . .
That land
Where the dead
Shall bury the living.
Yes there shall be a land
Where street kids
Will be judges, judges
Forged in the crucible
Of streetwise society
Kids who have ransomed
Themselves from
Institutional condemnation,
Survivors born in Zimbabwe.
Harare, 2005
© 2006, Chris Magadza
From: Father and other poems
Publisher: Poetry International Web,
From: Father and other poems
Publisher: Poetry International Web,
Gedichten
Gedichten van Chris Magadza
Close
Not Far from Here
There is a land
Not far from here
Where the blind
See for the sighted
A land
Not far from here
Where the deaf listen
For those that
Can hear
There is a land
But a stone throw’s away
Where the starving
Feed the gluttons
There is a land
Close by
Where the dumb
Speak for the eloquent
And the lame
Dance for the obese
And march and march
For the soldiers
Yes
A land where beggars
Beg for the rich
And the poor
Make the rich wealthy!
Not far from here
Ten year-olds
Are household heads,
And eleven year-olds
Are mothers in city sewers,
And their children will grow
Into the growing nation
Of street dwellers.
In a land
Not far from here,
There are aged widowed
Grandmothers
Who are now mothers
Of their grandchildren’s children
But there shall be
A land . . . oh yes . . .
That land
Where the dead
Shall bury the living.
Yes there shall be a land
Where street kids
Will be judges, judges
Forged in the crucible
Of streetwise society
Kids who have ransomed
Themselves from
Institutional condemnation,
Survivors born in Zimbabwe.
Not far from here
Where the blind
See for the sighted
A land
Not far from here
Where the deaf listen
For those that
Can hear
There is a land
But a stone throw’s away
Where the starving
Feed the gluttons
There is a land
Close by
Where the dumb
Speak for the eloquent
And the lame
Dance for the obese
And march and march
For the soldiers
Yes
A land where beggars
Beg for the rich
And the poor
Make the rich wealthy!
Not far from here
Ten year-olds
Are household heads,
And eleven year-olds
Are mothers in city sewers,
And their children will grow
Into the growing nation
Of street dwellers.
In a land
Not far from here,
There are aged widowed
Grandmothers
Who are now mothers
Of their grandchildren’s children
But there shall be
A land . . . oh yes . . .
That land
Where the dead
Shall bury the living.
Yes there shall be a land
Where street kids
Will be judges, judges
Forged in the crucible
Of streetwise society
Kids who have ransomed
Themselves from
Institutional condemnation,
Survivors born in Zimbabwe.
Harare, 2005
From: Father and other poems
Not Far from Here
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