poem 4 Zimbabwe

This poem is dedicated to the people of Zimbabwe and others around the world who have been threatened, hurt or killed in the struggle to be free from dictatorship.
May their sacrifice not be forgotten.
This poem was inspired after reading a book titled The Fear by Peter Godwin.

The Struggle for Zimbabwe

A long tear drop falls,
For the country of Zimbabwe.

Let my prayers rise too,
Into the smoky air.
So far away by body,
Yet close to eternal spirit that cannot die.

Opression. The oppressive regime.
Many have never known the other side.
Violence beyond measure.
Destruction of a person, physically, mentally.
When much else is ripped away,
A kernal of spirit holds fast.
The light of a nation that will not be cut out,
Burned away, beaten to bits, run out of town,
Or shot dead.

This too shall pass.
Many shudder in its wake.
How long must we wait?
What will turn the tide?
What cannot be seen:
A rhythm of hope surges underneath,
Zimbabwe has already found peace,
But it will not be under
The stick, rock, gun, or blade.


Stick rock gun blade

Stick moves quickly to face.
No sound as bones crush.
Bruises don’t show as well on dark skin.
Snapping of stick fetches a larger one.
How many repetitions to the face to break the spirit?

Throwers have no resistance.
Small sound when the mark is found.
It’s hard to defend with 20 rocks whizzing at you.
“Hold still. I have a big rock to crush your hand.
You will never hold that banner again.”
How many rocks does it take to crush the spirit?

 
Boom. One falls over.
Boom. Another body falls.
He had a wife and four children.
The gun is strong.
Makes bodies fall over. Not move.
Spirit is stronger.
The spirit of the people cannot be silenced by a gun.


Cutting deep to sharp whiteness of bone,
Blade is dull and rips the flesh.
Blood flows out of the body,
Splashing on the ground.
Red puddle spreads on the ground like the venhem
And violence spreading again and again through
The body of Zimbabwe.
How many gashes of flesh does it take to break the spirit?


Break the spirit

Much blood and tears spilled,
Bullets sprayed,
Prayers rise.
Mind and body hurting,
Spirit will not break.
The dance is strong.
Song washes for as long as it takes.
This is our land, our heart.
The heart of Zimbabwe beats with a never ending
Song and prayer of hope.
A hope that rises as hands and voices raise high
Looking toward tomorrow and a new beginning.

A long tear drop falls for the country of Zimbabwe.
I too will add my prayer.


--Matt Crichton
08/11/11