Broken Shadows
By Norman Mwale ‘The PenPusher’
Disorientation is the emblem
Of this a generation
Which stands still with no console,
Watching bites of a once masterly home
Where mother used to prepare
A balanced diet of her ethical code,
They neither remorse
For the lost paths and their vivid impressions
Nor their mother’s lost virginity
Lost to the hoggishness of her own children.
In the passing wind
They swim following the tide
Which hurl them
To ethicisms of moonless nights,
And become dead ringers
Of more than ane credo,
In the midst of cultural dilemma they fuddle,
With mouths slurring their own Mother’s tongue,
And never have they self-reproofed!
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