Julius Chingono

His eyes are see-through.
Through them I see
a yawning empty bread bin
a fridge stands
astounded
by its chilling emptiness
a stove, cold,
sits huddled in a corner
finds nothing to warm up
for mice swept the pantry
before seeking refuge
in refuse pits
in the neighbourhood.
Cockroaches left jackets
on hangers of webs
bills are forming
a small mound
on a formica table.

Yet - whenever I ask
How he is doing
he replies:
'Fine. And you?'
...

I had travelled a
long way
without smelling gunpowder.
You were only a fence
from me, yet far,
for we arrived
when the gate was closed.

No one was going in
no one was coming out.

After a night in the bus
I returned to work
laden with those gifts,
laden with a sore heart.

But I knew
the war closed the gates
but not your heart.
...

Today I was fortunate
to stumble upon a vendor
sorting out grapes for sale.
He separated
the good from the bad
on a plastic sheet
spread on the pavement.
He gave me the ones
that he thought were foul.

I sorted the grapes
in my mouth.
I spat out
those that were bad
but my tongue
did not find
the grapes all that bad.

It's just that
the broken ones
had less juice
and the over-ripe
had an odour.
...

Kudzai,
when your first birthday passed
without a word
without a symbol
you kept quiet;
and when your second passed
without a present
without a party
you kept quiet.
But when your third birthday passed
you made your own car,
a mud car you drove around,
making your own world,
making your life with care
at the closed gate of privilege.
...

Loneliness -
is coming to an empty bed
attempting to share it
with thoughts
of who you are
of whom you care for
reminding yourself
of her nightmare screams
the fragility
she composes
when you comfort her.
Recalling
the night she sparred
in her dreams
sprained her wrist
missed your cheek
to hit the head board.
Reminisce
when you joined her
in a sleep walk
a night walk
to awaken her.
...

Mireza yerudo
Zvitsui zvemba zvinopwititika chiutsi
Kuchemedzana kwezvana
Pachivanze zvotamba zvazvo
Kudaidzwa nezita
Risiri rababa vako
Pamberi pababa vako
Nhumbi kana nhumbu
Dzibnopiwa muchvimbo
Naizvozvo isu vanodana
Ngatisimudzei iyi mireza narini narini.
...

Flags of love
Are roofs of houses from where smoke soars
Children crying, playing in the yard,
To be called by a name
Which is not your father's name
In the presence of your father,
Love tokens and pregnancy
Given in good faith:
Therefore, lovers,
Let us lift our flags forever and ever.
...

We are not parted, Jessica -
Not yet.
I am still hoola-hooping
in your wedding ring.
Tall heels of your sandals
are still stuck
in the gaps of my toes.
Eyes still roam
around your eye-shadows.

I am hanging around
holding on to a swing -
your long dreadlocks.
...

Masi, Jamu and I
wave our hands to the President.
The windows of his limo
are tinted
and are always closed.
The motorcade travels fast
but Masi and Jamu say
the President waves back.

We wave our hands
every time the motorcade passes
in the hope it will stop
to drop a coin.

But we hear
the chauffeur does not know
the 'Give-way' sign
nor the 'Stop' sign.
...

We, the povo,
have been taught
the crack of a gun
shall not be dreaded:
its echo
is freedom
but
we are not told
an echo is a distant sound
that dies out soon
afterwards
...

You were born on Christmas eve,
the carol tide drifting excitedly
on the shores of the year,
shaking our Macintosh huts
which squatted on the market place.



The concrete beautiful buildings
overlooking our shanty home
were good for nothing monuments
ornaments around us, daughter.



When you played in broken glass,
in rubbish and dirt,
and scavenged like a dog, your mother looked after our belongings.
The sun looked after you
during the day, and the stars
hardly blinked at night
while day by day you grew.



All is far away, away,
but the sun, the moon, the wind
and the dirt.
...

When I died
I let a fly do
Whatever it felt with me.
Excited that it had
all of me to itself.
With no disturbance
it danced all over me
flew all over me
wanted everything about me.
At the same time
it looked into my eyes ruefully
ate from my mouth greedily
listened in my ears
smelled inside my nose
dived, touched, circled
but at last, flew away agitated
that I was not irritated
by its celebrations.
...

When you come
to the entrance
of close one zero seven
you will find heaps of rubbish
covering trash bins
on either side of the tarmac, proceed.

Do not be intimidated
by dirt
discharging a terrible smell.
Used condoms, rotting tampons, sadza
banana peels, shelled maize cobs
paper, plastic and cans
encroaching on the road

Proceed down the narrow alley
that has houses on either side.

You will see
a red-tiled brick house
fenced and gated,
a big yard with an assortment
of flowers.
Bear with me
a small stream of raw sewerage
from a nearby manhole
floods the yard, proceed
through the gate.

You can step or tip-toe
on concrete bricks placed, here and there
to serve the purpose
proceed to the door and knock
I will be inside.
...

My friend tells of goings on
In countries of this world
Sometimes he is fond
Of telling lies
He says
There is a country
Whose summer comes
With what he calls
Zhin' zhan' rainfall
That does not last
Accompanied by
Zhin' zhan' lightning
Without thunder
In dark clouds
Seeded with zhin' zhan' chemicals

He carries on
With his fibs
That the country has banks
Zhin' zhan' banks
With zhin' zhan' money
That does not last
That buys
Zhin' zhan' goods only
That do not last

I do not believe him
He can be quite funny
He says
Once every five years
Zhin' zhan' elections are held
To elect a zhin' zhan' government
That makes zhin' zhan' laws
That do not last
And are amended at every seating

I do not know
what zhin' zhan' means
But what I know is
My friend has gone
Zhin' zhan'
...

My father says
"Sorry, my love"
in a four-cornered voice
hurled at me
like a brick.
My father's pat is hard
as if his hand
were in a cast.
My father is like sugar
that has lost
its sweetness.
...

The girl child
I see carries
A plastic carrier-bag
With one or two bundles
Of affordable relish
Green rape.
I see her
Balance on her head
Six pieces of firewood,
Grip by the collar
A bottle of paraffin
For lighting and cooking
I see her
Carry her baby brother
On her small back
Mother has another baby
now
She throws and catches
Her rag ball
To catch up on play
As she runs errands
Mother cannot leave home
Father is not well.
The girl child
Washes clothes clean
Irons them neat
Cooks for the family
Cleans the house
Sweeps the compound
The boy child
Cannot be found
His play is far and wide
A woman of Africa
In the making
Yet certain un-African groups
Are quick to preach aloud
Abuse! Abuse! Abuse!
Abuse of words
...

Mother is now a woman
who is tired of bearing
who has retired
or was made redundant
by divorce.
She rarely beats the naughty
she just glares
as if she had no hands to slap
as if she had no mouth
to reprimand the mischievous.
She is like a soldier
retired for medical reasons.
...

If you walk by
And find me,
Lying on my side, curled
Like a comma
On a street corner
With no blanket
To cover myself
I am not in a coma
It denotes . . .
Stop briefly
And ponder over these times.

If you find me
Lying on my side
Legs stretched and straight
Head and shoulders
Bent forward, towards my loins
Like a question mark
It denotes . . .
Provide explanations . . .
Why certain people
Happen to sleep
On street pavements.

If you find me
Lying on my back
My whole body stretched
At a horizontal attention
like an exclamation mark
It denotes . . .
I am in shock
Do not bother
I will recover.

And when you find me coiled
My head between my legs
Round like a full stop
It denotes . . .
Stop and render first aid
Subject freezing.
...

A skin-tight dress
is skin-tight fashion
that conceals
the skin-tight language
of the body
but reveals
the skin-tight relationship
between body and fashion
...

I force myself
into other peoples' hearts
but often
I realise
it is not worth
the effort
Most people are not in their own hearts
they are crowded into other people's.
...