Face, Winter Face Poem by Paul Mwenelupembe

Face, Winter Face

Face, my winter face, if it was not along with me
I would dry for the next rhythm
Reborn and vanquished I become
If it was in the maize field of little faith
The youth stage of the river I swum and swum
So soothed my soul recovered the twine
My face, I gulped, drawned and smoked my fresh
If the earth was reversed,
my school days crying for a slash
Rattled like formaica I my skin saw
That was me, tis reborn to crawl and sew
Now the winter face, welcome in toothed style
Leaving the store of my shooting youth smile
But what bothers me, bothers me
The winter face has arrived with a dried river-faint
Comes to dress me the thorny hill-tent
The fresh and strongly bolded buries me in the soils
Buries me in deep soils of superstition and witchcraft
You wizard! You witch!
A handful names down my soul
And throw heavy stones in my heart
So frail I, then send the youth to unknown journey
Why not let them cover the root with love
Then choose face to smile a journey in joy
Then, face, my winter face on my head
Heavily remorse then face dwells in the house
While waiting for a sunset benearth my winter face
So tis face, winter face I smell
And rest a walk like an old lizard

It has become a tendacy in most of African countries and far east, even the whole world that when a person is getting old is name so many names, very bad names. An old person is accused of being a witch or wizard. This is very bad, to me being old means hero and need much atention to such a person. Do we really come closer to such people and enquire knowledge, you politians, scientists, historians... and all kinds of displines? Then we despise them, turn them useless materials.......mmmm...too bad. So the poem is all about an old person who is complaining on the way the youth behaves on the personna. Let's love our grandpas and grandmas.
Paul Mwenelupembe

Paul Mwenelupembe

Queens Central Hospital, Blantyre, Malawi
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