Parhaps dark grey..
We were there,
Across those terraced hills and valleys,
Cows mowing all the time,
Amidst goats melodic yell and laughter,
An interlude of some chicken shouting,
The Cock regulary crowing,
Time ticking unobserverdly..
The kids had runs, down the woods,
Then banana plantations,
Then climbed grandpas’ oldest coffee tree,
Often taking hand made tea and coffee
Then we gazed at the hollow empty valley,
Veriry,
Strings of pain ran through our veins,
Remembering those sleeping dead…
The kids played zomba, butida, catapault,
Then they aimed at each other,
Then they hit kakwisi and all teared…
That long mouthed hound,
Smiling all the time,
Even while upset
The array of shining terazo tombs,
That swallowed the wombs,
Like zombies on luwombo…
Then the kids learnt to whistle,
And even wrestle,
With small calfs in the kraal,
Through thier teeth,
Then through thier fingers,
Crafted as V,
They loughed,
Coughed,
We watched,
In awe..
Cows gatitating,
Moving thier jaws,
As burnt dry cow dung released thick smoke,
Cows loved it, then,went amoke
Like Nshama, with long horns,
That hit my head…
In one of the stampede..
We were there last December
Now our spirits, lost in disarray
