Chirikuré Chirikuré
Smoke, dust, tear gas
Smoke, dust, tear gas
imi amai – mother
in the solid, thick, choking smoke
there in your leaking, tiny, rickety hut
you could still stir the black, cracked pot
nourishing the burdened family’s future
imi amai – mother
in the heavy, belching clouds of dry dust
there in your tired, barren patch of rocky land
you could still tender the grey, shrivelled crops
weeding the way to the starving family’s future
imi amai – mother
in the crude, suffocating thunder of enemy tear gas
there in your tense neighbourhood turned into battlefields
you could still see the damp, blood-socked secret paths
shuttling to give direction and inspiration to the cause
imi amai – mother
in the perfume, tobacco, alcohol and laughter fumes
there in the extensive, excited victory celebration parties
your eyes could stretch beyond the beaming rainbow
knowing that this only but a seed germinating
imi amai – mother
after all the blinking, coughing and panting
shall the lungs of your battered, strained soul
continue to live on a diet of smoke, dust and tear gas?
shall the soul of your srained, watery eyes
remain clutching the straws of blurry, convoluted dreams?
*(Imi amai = you mother. Shona language.)