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Almost a beginningI hope to see that day come When prophets will tell no more Of strife foreseen neither doom Only peace, bliss, and then… I shall remember no more the tune Not a chord, not a note, nothing I'll remember not the song of solitude Forget the day the song was born That labor, slow but painfully engulfing Sending my heart writhing in pain Calling that sudden golden bronze western horizon Forcing the sun kiss the great lake unceremoniously Leaving my heart castrated There, by the roadside, I cried. There, by the roadside where I cried Yet the whole multitude did not perceive Because a forced smile successfully strangled And quietly murdered the face of rage and grief With little carefully painted smiles and giggles You couldn't help being deceived That I was not mourning but laughing Bereaved by my own decease There, by the roadside Where death caught up with me When my lot was there by your side The incarnate me was being hypnotized Taken through psychic metamorphosis So you could continue seeing the old While the real me was passing on By the roadside, where I stood Oblivious of the drawing daladala I taped and hummed the tune to my song A tune of desperation and abhorrence A dirge, darker than a Chonyi Zumo Mourning the death of my valor, … “You've missed it son of Kaya, Sleep well, the pigeon has flown away” Blessingtone 2005,www.poetrypoem.com/baraka. All rights reserved. Baraka Mwambodze Maidha . Nyasi shortforms publications. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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