The Transition Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

Though courage sailed me through
The quest still molds bitterness.
Hostile was my father's gods be ridiculed
And vindictive my ancestral spirits scorned
Scourged my priests viciously, destroyed
Our shrines to enchant his wiles so deceitful.
Enslaved this black blood and yoked the comrades
Terror sought to ease my agitation awry,
In reaction to the lashes- my back bent
To the weight of humiliation
Yet I admitted to the sjambok
For the struggle spelt a ceaseless brawl
And Nehanda prophecy to have clinched woe.

Though courage sailed me through
The quest still molds bitterness
As the liberty secrets bitter tastes.
Now the brother lures me into submission
My emancipator turns the persecutor
As I question the serenity he claims
To have brought, a blot on escutcheon is he
Who rules his own with an iron bayonet
Laments in exchange of exults how blunt
The deed to have instigated no dissimilarity
With the mission so gloomy, tis a shipwreck
Unattended and the rudder in rotation
To where we came from, victims of circumstances