Opinion / Columnist
Zimbabwe: A place I used to call home
22 Feb 2017 at 05:26hrs | Views
Lemme tell you something about where I come from:
I come from a place where the river of love and compassion shallows and leaders turn to rulers
A place where hearts turn to crazy eight hearts pierced with darts fragmented to parts before the day starts the stats are against you and hearts become hollows
A place where quietness is mistaken for peace but piece by piece all the souls crumble yet some pockets double with no struggle just get your data bundle and you will see all the trouble...oops I forgot there ain't no dough the door closed, bakery closed...so no bread for the breadwinners then
A place where the witty end up withy losing their dignity..stay with me, see, brains count for nothing just know somebody who owns everything and you own your own by dawn you spawn you grown an ego swords drawn to defend what you got on uneven grounds
A place where having a driver's license is an achievement, getting married an accomplishment and having a job an establishment
A place where free thinking is encouraged but they incarcerate and deliberate on thinkers, truncate, anihilate, obliterate and intimidate free thinkers
A place where standing up brought a revolution but if you stand up now you are termed a nuisance, you supposed to be tamed not termed...
A place where liberation lost its sense, meaning and value no need for valor: the same liberators have become the oppressors and new slave masters..
A place where the masters blast us and cast us, don't trust us and put us in clusters though with a master's we get smart we end up in plasters, for starters I ain't trying to be pompous but focus I wish I was the POTUS and my FLOTUS would be part of real doctors and little less treacherous, look at where they brought us what really have they bought us, soon they will boat us too and float us, no thought for us they really forgot us, poverty is what they got us, starvation is what they bought us, we want food but still they close the borders, sons and daughters have become maids and potters, at least i'm just rogue these guys are really rogus, next thing you know they be mobilising mortars
A place I used to call home...
Barnet Benjamin Verena is a social commentator based in Cyprus. Memoir appears on Khuluma Afrika
I come from a place where the river of love and compassion shallows and leaders turn to rulers
A place where hearts turn to crazy eight hearts pierced with darts fragmented to parts before the day starts the stats are against you and hearts become hollows
A place where quietness is mistaken for peace but piece by piece all the souls crumble yet some pockets double with no struggle just get your data bundle and you will see all the trouble...oops I forgot there ain't no dough the door closed, bakery closed...so no bread for the breadwinners then
A place where the witty end up withy losing their dignity..stay with me, see, brains count for nothing just know somebody who owns everything and you own your own by dawn you spawn you grown an ego swords drawn to defend what you got on uneven grounds
A place where having a driver's license is an achievement, getting married an accomplishment and having a job an establishment
A place where free thinking is encouraged but they incarcerate and deliberate on thinkers, truncate, anihilate, obliterate and intimidate free thinkers
A place where standing up brought a revolution but if you stand up now you are termed a nuisance, you supposed to be tamed not termed...
A place where liberation lost its sense, meaning and value no need for valor: the same liberators have become the oppressors and new slave masters..
A place where the masters blast us and cast us, don't trust us and put us in clusters though with a master's we get smart we end up in plasters, for starters I ain't trying to be pompous but focus I wish I was the POTUS and my FLOTUS would be part of real doctors and little less treacherous, look at where they brought us what really have they bought us, soon they will boat us too and float us, no thought for us they really forgot us, poverty is what they got us, starvation is what they bought us, we want food but still they close the borders, sons and daughters have become maids and potters, at least i'm just rogue these guys are really rogus, next thing you know they be mobilising mortars
A place I used to call home...
Barnet Benjamin Verena is a social commentator based in Cyprus. Memoir appears on Khuluma Afrika
Source - khulumaafrika.com
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