Joseph Cimanuka Poems

I am Joseph Cimanuka,
A son of hope and humble light,
Born where hills embrace the morning,
And rivers sing both day and night.
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Half-dead people, hearts turned cold,
Conceived in shadows, in theft enrolled;
Born in crime, in darkness fed,
On stolen wealth their spirits bred.
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The start will always come, mediocrely;
Voices in your back will whisper dismay,
Trying to make you feel black, to bring you down.
Every voice will rise, a word to say,
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You should learn to live without the ones you love;
It will help you stand when they are gone.
Learn to live without your partner while she's there;
It will teach you to stand firm when she's gone.
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O, Death! I curse you,
For you are impolite,
You don't knock before you get in.
Death, where is your pity?
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I am fond of you, Lord,
Yet I despise my neighbor.

I preach your word with delight,
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Africa, cradle of nations,
Land where strength and wisdom meet;
Across your vast horizons rise
Brilliant minds and untapped dreams.
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Are we children of the same world?

If you claim we are,
Where is our brotherhood—
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Congo, my only one,
My only heritage from my forefathers;
From your womb, I am fed and nourished,
On your land, I dwell and breathe,
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A dream or an overdream? Out of it, I am a student, single, and living with my parents. In it, I am a traveller, a stranger living next door to a middle-aged couple. The husband is also a traveller. I dwell beside them without their notice, as though I have entered their world without leaving a footprint.
One day, the woman sees me through the window of my house and comes near to introduce herself. It is a silent introduction; hardly a word passes between us. The only words I manage to utter are, "I am your new neighbour." After that encounter, I become her friend. Whenever her husband is away, she invites me into her house. Yet there is something strange about her. She is a witch, and she is less young than my mother.
One day, while we are together, I suddenly feel the body of a serpent pressing against my chest. Ouch! Before I can understand what is happening, the woman transforms into an enormous anaconda lying heavily upon my bony chest. I cannot breathe. I tremble. I become speechless. Fortunately, there is a hunting spear in the room. I seize it and drive it into the serpent's heavily scaled body. The creature struggles, then begins to lose its breath. At last, it dies. I sigh heavily, drawing endless air from the depths of my lungs, as though I have just returned from the edge of death.
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