I saw you Yellow Walker.
You came to me ,momentarily,
with kind eyes and turmeric skin.
Your reticent laughter betrayed a humility I could not expect.
You are not a shadow,
Do you not see you Spirit?
With your knotted hair dancing mattedly in the sun,
and the faint scent of tobacco on your lips
I noticed that your hands were covered in dirt and nails caked with clay.
threadbare shoes barely clinging onto their soles from all that walking.
Where do you go and what do you create when you are there?
In your smiling cheeks and furrowed brows I see the memories of
the places you have lived and the women you loved.
All folds clicks and wrinkles,
laughing heartily with breasts borne to the moon
and trunks firmly planted in the ground.
Tell me now,
How do you feel your earth in this land of steel,
where life is created from bolts and concrete,
and streets are haunted by hollowed out souls waiting to be sold.
You seem uneasy in your cotton and denim,
an enigma waiting to be free.
Unable to touch the sky beyond the lights,
imprisoned by the tar ,
creating an alienness within you.
In this foreign land,
which core pulls you to you?
That place where God ,surely, surely lives.
Check out Tatenda’s Blog- I am Queen Nzinga