Young

By Vimbainashe Mangoma

Little juvenile; infantile you think?
There is just too much tension!! Oh why not some retention?
Can you search why you cringe? Or is that too much to release?

Trying to revolutionize, modernize and transfigure?
It will not be re-laid, refashioned, reformed to conform
What did you say the other day?
Should I mould you.. Style you.. Put a mile or tile? Why?

It is not my place to tie;
Leave my heir and die!
Nor my race to leave that trace!
But yours and yours alone to pace,
Consider and retrieve the space,
To comply and if you like reply,
Live in denial and cry?

Like the revolution silently will it reign?
Unspoken it will vent, only then, will it weigh!
But when it happens like a bomb it will drop; pop!!! Dope! Ah neigh!

Young and one, loud and proud
Do be careful of thy ally

Vimbainashe is a volunteer Community Reporter and co-editor of HAT news based in Nottingham. In July 2009, she graduated in BA Honours Mixed Media Textiles design at De Montfort University Leicester. Her most prominent work called ‘Child of our time’ was exhibited at the 2009 Graduate show at the same university.

Child of our time

By Vimbainashe Mangoma

Child of our time in a world full of technology not one to help you;
How do I help thee when I cannot help myself?
In a system with no direction, no erection or injection;
Full of frustration, impatience and greed; How are you to grow?

Full stop, an exclamation not even a comma,
Came to that fundamental road or to the rescue
Who am I to trust and put all our energies and pride?
When dear child of evolution whose growth has been stunted
Sensibility and sensitivity come from knowing,
Now who will teach thy tender mind?

As with greater the sacrifices come with greater gains
Through those people we cherish the most
Mother, father, brother; woman or man,
Only love and honesty will prevail
But even then, they are fighting for their dear lives!

It is not the action that makes things right or wrong
But the purpose behind the action
For a dream not pursued is a dream forsaken

The difference between ordinary and extra-ordinary is a little extra
With no logic! Nothing makes sense anymore; with endless agony time passes
Wisdom is only as wise as knowledge as there is always more to learn!

Who will nurture? Who will teach?
As they all flock out in their masses,
Child of out time with no chance!
Only the hand of healing will save.
Intervention will not stand!

Waiting to soar at the next opportunity!
What break? Or make? As you take and make!
Wake the sores of endless agony?
Have I seen the shining?

Feeling choked and poked,
Caged in a world you cannot break out of,
What kind of world is this with no compassion, with no remorse?
Breeding dependency then death, being on someone’s conscience!
Life with no purpose, born to suffer and of suffering!

Tireless with no power! Tower
You run the race standing still!
Time moves but the rest is still!
There is no point! No hope! No strength! No faith! No joy!
No success, just failure!
No value! Like the “Zim” dollar!

I have had enough! …but Wait! …we laugh!
There is a new day dawning, in mourning, corny?
As history, a mystery to a straight visionary

Forward marching with no destination,
No direction! Erection or injection!
Far-sightedness with no substance!
Prediction with no matter; what a tatter!
No essence! No spirit!
Just effervescence, eating you in the core!

Vimbainashe is a volunteer Community Reporter and co-editor of HAT news based in Nottingham. In July 2009, she graduated in BA Honours Mixed Media Textiles design at De Montfort University Leicester. Her most prominent work called ‘Child of our time’ was exhibited at the 2009 Graduate show at the same university.

Death of a Dog

By Mercy Moige Mecha

The night was hot like a desert day
As I lay in the heat half in death, half in sleep
Tossing and turning, finding no comfort in
My preferred sepia colored setting
My mind refused to find respite
My heart could not let go of the hurt
Responsible for the unceasing pain
Yet
His cries they pierced it, reached me
At first, I thought it was me that groaned, only to realize it
Asserted another.
It was a dog, my dog yowling
A-Who-OOO! A-WHOO-OOO…
Awake! Awake!
A listen! A listen! I Dying…

My mind screamed,
Quiet Dog!
None of that A-whoo, A-wa-wa business!
Trying to sleep, roost, and forget
Hear me dog?
Dye silently, die your own death…

Naughty dog
Could not hear my silent admonishing
He carried on groaning
Woke the cricket to an early rhapsody
Catbird began to me-who, me-how
Rain bird to Too-too-too-too!
And the dog he went in crescendo
I die! I die!
All the neighborhood dogs
Joined in the concerto
Do-You? Do-You?

Dog Eyes

I saw his eyes
Used to be brown and fuzzy, now teary, needy
Appealing for a piece of myself: I had none to give
I, flying high on the wings of depression, empty, emotionless
Quickly veered from the needs of this dying beast

A paw! A paw!Paw!( I heard?)
A paw? Is that what he wanted?
To shake paws as I had taught him in life…
Buster! Buster! Sit down
GOOD DOG
Buster! Shake Paw
GOOD.GOOD.DOG

Dog,
Go away, let me be
Wake that snoring guard
Call on your guardian angel
You are a dog, can’t be afraid
You-who watched over us every night,
Surely can walk on Hades Highway alone.

Ruminations of a of a distanced mind

Dog. Why such pain
Yours I thought would be an easy death
You know. How they used to put them to chloroform sleep.
Said it is painless. Could not Buddy.
Let you get so old. Thought was the right thing to do.
Called them murderers, wanted a law
That you were something
Entitled to a respectful death.

Who said that dogs had no place in the hereafter?
Why would you die to nothingness and they rise to something?
Why walk through the shadow of death if it leads to death?
Why don’t my feet hearken to your cry for help?
Dog, do not die tonight, die on a better day
After I have seen the shrink
Got myself evaluated
Will be ready.

Hello, I think my dog is dying and I can’t get up to rescue him

Death of a dog, death of a man
Equal denominator-Death is equal to death
Tell me when I die or how else would I know
Then I will tell you when you died
Let’s share our notes with each other
Ha! A dead dog no better than a dead man
A live street dog’s better than both
He still can roam the streets.

My dream Dogs
Kept me awake that dog
Then stepped into my dreams and replicated into a thousand clones
Dogs and dogs with eyes that burnt like the fires of Hades
Dark, threatening, snarling, spitting creatures
Dogs with fangs like vipers guarding the Gate of no Return
Wraithlike creatures imbued with the rich umbra of death
Dogs that melted into walls and showed up on the other side
They hounded me all night
Accused me for my indolence, my negligence
Till the sun rays pulled me out.

A rotting Carcass
When I finally arose, weeks later
It all seemed like a bad dream
The voices that had offered me solace in ten tranquilizers were gone
And as for the dog business, I must have imagined
Must have been my mind
Playing tricks on me as doctor had said
It would.
Reality came in the form of
Big blue obese flies that fought over the slice I’d smothered with full blooded plum jam
I tried to swallow but was hit with nausea from the smell of a rot.

I sought it
I found him behind the outhouse
His teeth clenched, face gnarled in death
Black ants seeping from his eyes
The scavengers had done their postmortem
A bare skull and an open stomach
Spilling guts were the evidence.

Retching and weeping
I pushed him with a spade into a shallow grave
Leaving behind a trail of overfed maggots
As an all black crow choir sang a protest threnody-
I said rest in peace and tied two sticks as a cross.

The crows continued- Caw, caw, Caw
Food cannot rest in peace.

Talented Northampton based writer and poet Mercy Moige Mecha is part of the Northampton Writers group and on the way to having her short stories and some of her poetry published in their literary journal. This  September she will be pursuing Writing for Children(MA) at Winchester University.

The days of Karichota

By Mercy Moige Mecha

The days were sultry and dusty,
Our faces were runnels and our throats parchments,
Oh what fun we had in Karichota!
Running in the lush forest
Chasing after bush babies
And splashing hurriedly in the stream
One eye on the lookout for elephants
Laughter competed with the sound of gun shots.

Picturesque sunsets,
The aroma of barbecued buffets,
Perspiration and smoke,
Whiff of wild flowers,
Crackling grass,
The whisper of the misty mountain
Silence.

In the mornings the chill made our fingers swell,
Noses blocked and chests whizzed,
Our imagination was stirred
Then ink in our pens froze
We read and communed with the song bird
Waiting for the sun to arise.

In the night we curled together,
Near flames so dear
Expelling conundrums at will
Plucking surprises from fruit filled baskets
As elephants screamed for salt,
A small stream that whispered its own name-Karichota,
Stealthily flowed in the valley below.

Talented Northampton based writer and poet Mercy Moige Mecha is part of the Northampton Writers group and on the way to having her short stories and some of her poetry published in their literary journal. This  September she will be pursuing Writing for Children(MA) at Winchester University.

A letter to a friend

By Mercy Moige Mecha

Dear friend,
I have learnt to hide
Hide my sad face in the closet,
This face you see, this happy face,
I have donned for your sake.

Dearest friend,
You have no need to look away,
There  is  nothing  to fear,
Look, I  have learnt,learnt  to keep
All my  troubles away
Lest  they  should  cause  your  brow  to  furrow

Friend
Today is  jubilation  day-
I have dried my tears,
I have disposed of my worries
I have worn my happy garment’
I look forward to carefree days,

But when you are gone friend,
My face will be sad,
My troubles will be back,
My tears will roll
Till I see you again.

Talented Northampton based writer and poet Mercy Moige Mecha is part of the Northampton Writers group and on the way to having her short stories and some of her poetry published in their literary journal. This  September she will be pursuing Writing for Children(MA) at Winchester University.

A Falling Star

By Mercy Moige Mecha

As the coy crescent hid behind a cloud,
I saw a falling star,
While the others twinkled and twinkled,
It, it fell and fell
Kept falling towards our earth.

I had been searching for a shooting star,
A meteor of fortune and wonder,
But all I beheld, was a falling star
Falling, Falling, Falling
Its destiny unknown.

Would it a crater form
Or ash to ash become?
Its light began dying
Its   speed it began dragging…
Till, it was no more.

I gazed heavenward like revelation man,
Wondering what the a gentle breeze blew,
Yearning that the ashes had fallen on me.

The dreams we have build sister
Are higher than the skies
Little we do to make them flower,
Unhooked they come tumbling, crumbling
Thrashing, falling as we stare
Just like that star I saw yonder night
Falling,falling,falling…

Talented Northampton based writer and poet Mercy Moige Mecha is part of the Northampton Writers group and on the way to having her short stories and some of her poetry published in their literary journal. This  September she will be pursuing Writing for Children(MA) at Winchester University.

The Motherland

By Mercy Moige Mecha

O Africa, O motherland,
Land of the rising sun,
Land that throbs with livelihood,
Where golden desert and fecund green reside,
Unfurl your beauty and enthrall the world.

You are no longer a child,
You are a woman of splendor,
Though your umbilical be uncut,
And you are all tarnished with blood
Arise like silvery mercury.

Cleanse yourself till you glow like
Polished ebony,
Anoint yourself with castor oil,
Don yourself in linen black,
And scream out for joy
Let all the peoples of the earth hear,
Make  them stop and give ear.

O Africa,
Craddleland of all man,
Burst to fruition,
May those who cursed and scorned you,
Bless you and chant your praise.

Talented Northampton based writer and poet Mercy Moige Mecha is part of the Northampton Writers group and on the way to having her short stories and some of her poetry published in their literary journal. This  September she will be pursuing Writing for Children(MA) at Winchester University.

Fed On

By Mercy Moige Mecha

Nipple of alien alabaster breast
squashed into ebony thick cupid mouth
dripping lumps of cuddled sour milk
into an eager unsuspecting throat

child chuckles as he suckles

The wise once prophesied:

He who knows not a mother’s breast

Can be even nourished on a dogs

child stealer has a sneer:
gloats her power.
guiltless she reaps
seeds she covertly sowed sown

True mother lies dying
her breasts like empty maize sacks sagging

Sapped of energy she moans
beckons to unknowing child

Come o beloved one
Let  go of the springs of cuddliness
come suck these empty sacs
no milk no curd
just comfort, connection.

ravenous child’s lips

Slacken and he casts
suspicious eye on mom

Questioning on surrogate
Hunger prevails
sucks on

with songs of shake the Spear
songs of Bleak Innocence
songs of cleansing black
to white as snow

The child is lulled to sleep

child cannot hear
the deep throated songs of a dying matriarch
singing of Frelimo and drums
kisumu and bodabodas.

Child is
dreaming of pleasing the one
who feeds him on curdled milk.

Talented Northampton based writer and poet Mercy Moige Mecha is part of the Northampton Writers group and on the way to having her short stories and some of her poetry published in their literary journal. This  September she will be pursuing Writing for Children(MA) at Winchester University.

Dream Snatcher

By Mercy Moige Mecha

The dreams we dreamed…
They are no more

They’ve fled with rooster and sun’s light,
they only lasted the night.

The dreams we grasped-
We thought we did!

They looked so real!
Now we stare at empty palms.

Repression, Is it you?
Trapped our dreams?
lobotomized our dream-memory?

I despair to dream.

Of what use is a dreamer
Who cannot remember?

Dream weaver, weave no more yarns!
Dream snatcher-No more dreams.

The shop of dreams

I want to open a shop
In every street corner
Of every country and border;
To dispense of dreams instead of soap!

The name of my business
Would be ‘The shop of dreams’
And if you think that a mouthful
‘The Dream Shop!  Will suffice.

My display windows would shine like sunbeams
What you would watch would be spectrums
Of dreams bursting out of their seams-
Crying out, ‘Make me a dream come true!

My slogan would be
Come one , come all
Dreams for sale, one price for all
They are free, BIG or small!

My till would print receipts
Reading-It costs nothing to dream

My special offer would be-
Why dream small when you can dream tall
Anyway, the stuff of dreams is free for all.

Talented Northampton based writer and poet Mercy Moige Mecha is part of the Northampton Writers group and on the way to having her short stories and some of her poetry published in their literary journal. This  September she will be pursuing Writing for Children(MA) at Winchester University.

Killing the poet

By Mercy Moige Mecha

The mirror was created for looking,
For self examination.

Hurled in her face, his face
Like a thousand needles,
It causes painful acupuncture.

The mirror falls to the floor,
It disintegrates,
The broken pieces, pierce the feet.

Feet bleeding,
Even the heart bleeds-
They have desecrated her poetry.

They have killed the inner man.

The outer one stares at the broken shards,
Considers- whether they are worth picking…

She walks away.

Talented Northampton based writer and poet Mercy Moige Mecha is part of the Northampton Writers group and on the way to having her short stories and some of her poetry published in their literary journal. HAT News is pleased to publish most of her poems on her own column, Mercy’s Musings. Welcome on board Mercy.

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