hi this is a piece l just typed now i hope you will enjoy it .
my creation ..
l begin as a seed
no blood at my birth no woman bled
in the womb of the soil l crack that is how l birth
my soul manifests after my shell cracks
l rise from death into the after life born to the forests hum
growing up...
my arms reach out my lips kiss the rays of the sun lips locked
l grow tall and sacred unaware of my destiny/
suddenly when my trunk feels strong my virginity is taken by the axe
my foreskin pleasure the carvers knife
/my hollow self becomes depth/
lm crowned with goat skin
/now lm the inheritance that unifys clans/
i send the nation to war sing for the great awaken them
to be the spirits drum
the soul is to the prophecy
my innards and the shavings become the incense used to exorcise ghosts and to rekindle the path of the ancestors
my core......
is my heart that beats to my soul
suddenly i hear a a loud boom
they is chaos and loud screams im awoken from my dreams
l hear screams nightmares suddenly are a reality
l am snatched from my sacred place
the village is filled with smoke and the ground is wet from tears
i watch the young boys and girls bound with bark
,those boys who i watched growing up the same ones that played hide and seek in the forest,
young girls are snatched from the hold of chastity,
their screams muffled
their cry only a silent plea to a God,
hoping for a witness wondering if he is watching and if he is not deaf
hoping his ears where not cut of by his 'sons'
the young girls loose more blood than Jesus on some cross
the black angels weep but the xenophobic god gloats
as his children give deliverence to the 'bearers of heathens'
all this in the name for the man
who was killed by some people that my keepers are not even related to
our conscience tainted to accepted ngozi yewatisina kuponda
i feel silenced but harsh like the language of a mute
the hands that touch me are rough
they do not caress me softly they do not touch me properly and i do not reach that height for the orgasmic release of sound
i hear the pirates tell stories about me ,stories of savages but not their savagery
stories of godless heathens but not of temples they defiled
i ma carried to countless shores and every bearer of mine relates their own story of their heroism and the cowardice of my people
i long for, for the rain dances when my soul was invoked when my rhythm transported the masvikiro into the realms of the ancestors when my voice along side the mbira and the hosho was portal
i long for the mermaids dance.
when my bearer touched me with his palms and i felt the sweet seduction
when i felt the sacred stimulation of his touch when young girls and boys sang danced and ululated
when the old gathered with the young to make offerings
i long to hear the prayer of my people
i long to be played where my people celebrate
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