Wowe! wowe! wowe!
Tuffudde ffe.
abaagala okuzimba eggwanga.
Zitusanze ffe.
It’s a long walk to freedom.
A journey started off with one foot
Whether you wear boots
or carry guns to shoot.
Whether you hold the mic
and speak with spite
Or wear foot socks
Not to suffer from foot pox
Zitusanze ffe.
We pilgrimage to nowhere.
Yet hope to get somewhere
Like children playing in dust,
we roll in circles-
Tossing like rolling stones.
Climbing hills of bones.
Valley’s of skulls
Because eggwanga is built by merceneries.
Our tongues are blistered,
Burning coal-red.
Our speech is seived
Or- we seive it
Our eyes carry dust
Our mouths are stitched with masks.
Our hair erects with misfortune.
In a home, rough and scrubby
Or hands aren’t smooth but rather-
Twisted and entangled.
We are afraid of our shadows
Zitusanze ffe…
Yet another beautifull piece. Thank you for the appreciation of language and keep it up.
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I like the poem though it gives a deadend vibe, like there’s nothing more people will do. But even when there seems like there no hope, there is but a way to get it, even if it is from dreams of a child and the experience of the old becomes tales of the new generation
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