Norman Mwale [The PenPusher]
Beyond that mountain
Is where my umbilical was buried
My wife is cooking sweet melon
Porridge
My daughter is fetching water
From the nearby river
They will not die for many years
After l visit the after life,
I know they will rot
In this defiled life
Where hope won’t kiss the morning
Sun
They will decay like a carcass
Whose price smells and not fetch
The market price
They will enjoy the bleeding home
To far distance
Whose beautiful cushion was long
Written in buried memories
And my wife will cease to cook on
The numb firestones
And my daughter will thirst at the now
Bleeding river!