The reality of my being today,
Sorrow, solitude circling a hapless heart.
Penniless, as broke as my spirit is
Broken outside and inside .
Reality is there is no food in my house,
No water to quench my thirst.
Nothing to quench the pain I feel deep
Within the marrow of my being.
No lighting, I cannot see.
Groping in the dark for answers so elusive.
What do I tell my children?
Orphans birthed and schooled,
In the sorry art of poverty.
Ravaged by corruption,famine and more.
Reality is I have failed my kids.
A progeny conceived in a lie called hope.
I mourn for a lost generation,
Whose destiny is ash and dust.
Born of strife and disease in this land.
Dafur? Zimbabwe? Africa,its all the same...
Paripo paya paunowetsa shungu dzose
Wofemereka wokwira mupata
Kudakara wanoti kota-kota panhongonya yaGweshumba:
Ndiyo fundo yavakatipa vakweguru.
Emmanuel Sigauke (Zimbabwe). Docente de literatura en Estados Unidos. Poeta y autor de relatos. Periodista freelance. Sus poemas han sido publicados en periódicos y revistas.