For The Wives Of The Lion Of Gaza! Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

The lion turned prisoner,
in a small island far away,
sings the songs of his land,
all to himself and Zixaxa.

Their wives on colonial land,
far from the lowing cattle
and bulls and calfs in kraals,
they chose to remain in Lisbon,
and not go to the place unknown.

These wives said not this time,
on their own ship ahoy.They arrived
at the root of wisdom and let the men,
for once go where they would not return.

Standing for a truth they knew, was
swearing allegiance to their land.
Not to follow the men like shadows,
even after years of being ruled by
these, they chose to remain, and remain
they did.

Sing lion of Gaza. Sing Zixaxa is listening.
The women hear you in the distance,
that separates the love you had, and
give it to the Portuguese, sho listened
when they said, no further will they go.

Miles away from home, the women stood,
for a truth deep in them, that the island
was worse than the mainland. They would
not go.

Like Ndzinga, these women, their strength
in their voices, not afraid of foreign voices,
they added to the past, a voice we uncover,
for it says, the word no, is the beginning of talk.

Mothers of the nation, who have raised it,
still stand. They will not be swallowed, on
the shores of the Azores' Terceira Island.

Speak women, speak! Speak for the nation
torn apart. Speak about the fear of going,
when you have not chosen to get on a ship,
and be taken away from children, who are
the future and life of the nation.

Speak for the kings. Tell the truth,
for you will not go, and you will not do,
what the nation would not do, for
the power had been taken.

Exile is pain, exile is a taking,
a not seeing the usual, but looking
at the distance and waiting for a day,
when home at last one can go.

We are amazed at the audacity of life,
in lands foreign, for when force and power,
push lives to a corner, there lies something,
which will not give. This I see in your eyes,
all eight of you.

We salute your, 'No, ' which resounds in ears,
of women around the world. Violence, emotional,
violence physical, violence social, to these
in one word, we say, 'No! '

Where royalty is not royal. Where
the familiar is unfamiliar, and the
docility demanded is like a bridle,
Let all women join in one word, 'No! '

Two men and their followers went,
uncushioned by the warmth of these
who would not venture into the seas,
that rage and take away, the last shred
of dignity.

Sing to him, people of the land. Sing
for your king sang. Ngungunyane sang
daily, about the land of warriors, the land
he had ruled, till he was captured and separated
from a people he loved.

Widows of conscience, these prisoners of the same,
look in the direction and point, as the ship disappears, .
They came, they saw, they refused, and they remained
standing till today. Their eyes squint like mine, when I
look at the story of their loss.

This loss of country, loss of loved ones,
can be celebrated by togetherness that
passed between these. There is little that
separates people, like the distance between
Lisbon and the Azures. There is a chasm
deep, that tears apart hearts, when those
we love are taken, no matter where to.

That far we should not go, after going
a step in the direction of the one who
cares not about the nation for it
threatens the future of the nation,
which must be powerless.

The history ends with the songs,
the singing, holds souls together,
for in song, memory comes back,
and sits in the center of the heart.

We salute the goodbyes,
the last handshakes, and nods,
for who can dare say there were none,
when the story is not told by the ones,
whose love was torn asunder.

The nations like an old blanket,
atter a dirty wash, remained on the
trees, waiting to be picked up,
and taken into the hut.

We know such could not happen,
for the lion would roar no more.
The end had come, for what are
people without their kings, has
been the lament of the kingdoms
of the south.

Still we hear the talk of strength,
and see the likes of 'amakhosikazi.'
We know when you touch them,
you are touching the grinding stone,
even if the sayings are said in far
away lands.

After years the Lion of Gaza,
lies in the his lands, after years,
this Napoleon of Africa, is back,
once king, now remains of the king.
was blown in the air