Lost Generation Poem by Peter J White

Maiwe, Zimbabwe! Maiwe, our country!
Maiwe, Zimbabwe! Maiwe, her people;
Mourn for them, you who have written
The story of moral decay
With the blood of your own children.

A blind, malignant improbity,
Rooted in rust, with no present
And no future has dishonoured them,
Consumed them. Maiwe, Zimbabwe!
Maiwe, our country!

How shall we write new poems now
In our search for the flower
Of our freedom, continually destroyed;
For our soul’s spiritual drum, cast away
And drawn into silence?

Summoned to a Feast of Death,
They ravage and rape their sisters.
Our children beat the bare buttocks
Of their own grandmothers;
Ignore the screams of their fathers.

Blind to its splintered deriliction,
Her sons watch our land weeping.
Handcuffs, bullets are what they know best.
The naked fist, symbol of anger,
Shall ever be their inheritance.

Maiwe, Zimbabwe! Maiwe, our country!
Maiwe, Zimbabwe! Maiwe, our people!