Tendekai Mugonda

Rookie - 0 Points (17 April 1988 / Mutare)

Just A Robber In The Street - Poem by Tendekai Mugonda

Fierce like a roar of a hungry lion and strong as hyena jaw.
Even maturity has given up in trying to make him grow.
His ways were pitch black as darkness of dawn.
The only son of his single mother yet he chose a different road.
Destiny abandoned him waiting for fate to take control.
Sheebens and highways were places he knew to patrol
His only resource centre and only served him more than
a cartel.
Change failed to transform him and it given up
the battle.
A master in reaping were he did not sow and believed that the
harvest was plenty ready with a sickle.
He was nothing to everyone but just a robber in the street.


His experience was strange to everyone but not him.
As a child he wondered if a boy with no father was completely a
human being.
Echoes of past laughter's by other kids still
fills his mind.
The only history he had enough for him to put on rewind.
Was his mother to blame for negligence or his father mistakes
and selfishness to reject his seed.
Maybe he was nothing but just a robber in the street.
Perhaps he had quickly accepted defeat and that he refused
to listen to his uncle Pete.
One rainy day he robbed and injured a catholic
priest.
Took the loot and discover a book which made
his heart beat.
About a story of a man hanged on a tree with pierced hands and feet.
Maybe he was nothing but just a robber in the street.


A story he have heard his entire child hood
but has never appeal to him like now.
Sweat dripping off his forehead and his eyes like oasis
in an place were tears themselves feels uncomfortable and strange,
fingers are heavy making his hands numb.
Slowly reaching for his pocket and he took his knife a friend he knew
try to stab his chest.
His hands so fragile now sluggishly unable to let him fulfills his quest.
The only brightness about him is his shiny cufflinks of
his blue blood soiled shirt.
Caught up with reality he has been fighting and trying to forget.
A thought of suicide has left leaving an accommodating
room for regret.
Sirens of approaching police vehicles now fill his head but his body is too
weak to move up with the speed.
He was nothing but just a robber in the street.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 2, 2012

Poem Edited: Monday, April 2, 2012


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