Poetry, Tale Africa

Wrapped up horns

By Takaedza Madzikanda, Zimbabwe:

As a certain saying goes
You cannot conceal a horned beast

For the horns at least will always reveal uncertain but existent danger

A certain fire exists at the core of my soul that I endeavour not to show

But with each moment of neglect it seems to grow

Who knows of this ironic negative nurture
The more ignored a thing it seems the more it yearns to be seen

I struggle and I fear to see what lays in the depths of the sea of my soul

Ages of suppressed aggression
Aged aggression radicalised by suppression

The bubbly surface is but a mere impression
Covering the bubbling that presses to surface.

Rising and rising is a spiky sensation in the shape of anger

Beneath the worked smiles and forced laughs, beastly emotion thrived and survived

That ugly thought I had thought I killed now stands revived;

“Just let it go”, “forgive and forget”, “it's the way it is, sorry”

“There’s nothing you can do”, “that's unfortunate”, “it happens so don't worry”

– hurry, go! I'm about to explode
Enough with the sorryisms

I'm sorry, Sir, but we need to iron out this crap

Enough with the toning down
The only way is up
The bubbles pop and hot air rises
It would be wisest if you backed away from the raging fires
That have consumed any reason  giving rise to violence
Sharpest of rage forged to annihilate
Forcing all to fade or migrate
Enter dystopia
Oh my soul,  home of danger and carnage
I love it, the bloody image
Place of decimation, red flows and heads roll
Its Ancient Maya incarnate

The doom and the gloom is scintillating
Flying orbs of fire imitating the scorching sun
In form and in action as things sear and burn and twist and turn
Churning and yearning as blades come surging
Spikes and bayonets pierce and emerge from the other side

Skin and clothes merged by the raging blaze
A pyromaniacs dream of raised Fahrenheit for height of flames
Whose razor tips raze the high risers
Felling all to leave not a trace
But soot and sorrow
Simply put there is no tomorrow
Death, death, death everywhere
Burnt bone marrow blood and flesh forsook
Silenced wailing and screams blurbed during the cook

A sadistic air looks on
Lifeless pleasure a measure of which remains of the mystic

Welcome to the misty marshes of my mind
Which will remain a mystery because nothing survives

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