Short Writings from Bulawayo

Longings

12 Longings Judy Maposa I long for the wide open spaces Where my spirit soars Forgetting the body Seeing only the blue, the green The intoxicating clear air I merge with the sky Billow with the cool breezes Frolic with the butterfly Drink with the bee Sweet nectar from multi-coloured cups. The rainbow peeping Through half-shut lashes, the sun So bright, so warming, scattering The languor of my thoughts To a delicious ecstasy Green, the colour of life I am a leaf shimmering in the sun, Playing to the wind, Making the music with the wind How I long to be out of this box, To soar in total abandon Like the swallow on wings of freedom Gliding near the heavens, Bathing on the tips of clouds. 13 I long to be the thunder cloud, Full, pregnant, gloriously cascading My millions of diamonds. I roar up my fullness, spilling my frustration And at last spent, let the sun view My accomplishment. I am the root, thirstily sucking The rich wetness from the earth. I move, unseen, unheard, a fragile thing Searching the veins of my womb. I long to be the spirit of rebirth A sprout, inexorably seeking life, Cracking the hard dry earth Ultimately bursting into the freedom And fray of life. The shoot in springtime From the black leafless branch A fist that slowly opens Into a colourful blossom I become the beautiful tree Tartly robed, giving off heady scents Attracting, I am the flower Pleasing the eye, delighting the nose Adorning the landscape, Revelling at my short-lived noon And gracefully withering away. I long to be the happy midday dream Of the lizard basking in the sun My eyes glazed, mere slits And my limbs hugging The warm unfeeling rock. 14 I am the long shadows of the afternoon Cool, inviting after hours of toiling; Lulling, luring Into a perfect dreamless siesta I am the red sunset bringing Ethereal moods of faraway places, Ushering in the twilight world. I rise and become one With the golden cloud of dust Thrown up by a herd of lazily content cattle, Returning from pasture. Rising higher still, I mingle With the shrill voices of women, Deftly balancing buckets Of water on slender necks, Parting at forking little paths Bidding each other goodnight. I am the leaping tongues Of the evening fire, glowing orange Throwing fearful shadows on walls. The intensity of the storyteller, With eye fixed on the heart of my flames Seemingly reading the thread Of my tale in my heated depths I am the hoot of the owl Sending shivers of apprehension Into superstitious hearts. I carry far into the silent dark night, A thing insubstantial, to be received And answered by a female companion Resting in a leafy darkness 15 I am the big silvery eye Of a full moon, surveying A surreal nocturnal world Lonely, different and yet fully alive, If only understood. My glare awakes its deep senses Stirring a recognition of an older world, Of spirits, arousing The strain of madness to fever pitch. I become the whisperings of true lovers, Sweet, fuelling passions Flattering in their sincerity. The secret groaning of carnal desires, Satiated and fulfilled, Finally glorying in pagan abandon. I roam the world like a ghost That has long lost its way Dispassionately viewing man Abandoned in the vulnerability of sleep Bestowing a cold kiss on a ruddy cheek here, Scowling on one insomniac soul there. I am the nightmare of a guilt-ridden soul, Whispering, “confess, confess For therein lies your peace”, Insolent and stubborn, Wrenching out promises made in darkness That dispel with the approach of light. I am the freshness of dawn Full of promise, of hopes And new beginnings. I rise with the morning sun A never ending rhythm, the essence of life. ...