This hole is a grave where dreams toss and turn,
Touch the wind and sway with it.
See the taller defecate on stunted grass,
Dare peel a wall and greet the paint within.
The girl wishes to delete her scalp so hair will bud.
The boy’s mind is a breathing ghost; a man touched it and saw light yonder.
Is it time?
To chase the sea and gulp its shore?
To eject emotions and turn them into guns?
The streets are bloated with nuanced melodies of a broken childhood.
Can a man shrink to reach the boy? Raise him up and let him dream?
Can the sun descend? Beak the girl and let her dance?
The sea brimmed with tears.
But I, your devil, shroud my defects,
Twirl your emotions up in the sky,
Like hollow batons detached from the palms of a drunken chorister.
A gaze in my eyes thawed your alpenstock
While love departed our coven.
Your tears at night convene
To plough the broken terrains of your soul.
Boundaries grew between us,
And I grew cold.
Like a mannequin beneath a molten grave.
I grieve not.
I hurt not.
I remain still.
About the Author:
Elizabeth Semende is a student at the Midlands State University in Zimbabwe. She enjoys writing and reading both poetry and fiction. She discovered her writing abilities after writing a letter to her mother in 2013 and since then she has found it hard to resist the urge to write. Her poetry has been published in anthologies online and in print in Zimbabwe.