Poetry from an emerging Zambian poet. Poetry is an expression, and as such I implore you to consider, interact and identify yourself with these expressions I echo.Above all that dare see the world with new eyes and challenging even what you know facts of life.
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Scribbles of a root is a platform where words and voices; echoes of desire, virtue and life are ranted out.
If you love life, if you are of a wandering mind, if you enjoy seeing life in more than one vantage point, if you like daring facts and beliefs. Then aboard this train, come right on in and interact with voices I echo.
My village is very, very small, But my father, mother and all, It supported till their death. I am equally small, young, But my womb will bring forth great men, strong, To till, plant and even grow the earth. Small but not for the earth.
We spoke words, We sung our emotions loud, We felt fiery feelings for each other, We shared smiles, we shared frowns, We played in the rain, we wrestled in the mud, But today we are against each other, Today we are pointing not only fingers of accusations but actual machetes, My folks why are we at war? * Remind me please, why are we fighting? Is it because Ngwenya's son stole a cob of maize from Chona's field? Is it because of hunger found in our own brothers household, that we choose to spill blood? When we were young, remember, we stole not for hunger but for pleasure, Even then, our parents never in a moon wished to shed blood, Our parents never sworn enmity, never disowned each other because they knew that children are children, Now our son has stolen for hunger, a noble cause, Why then should we fight, men of one house? Why my brothers should blood be shed? Why should blood of our very own be spilt? * Is our blood of equal value with maize? Should our blood be of equalled to a cob of maize? L…