Nembudziya kinda loving

As I sit under the Mutondo tree

Awaiting your arrival

I get anxious, get a bit of goose bumps

My heart is hastened into calm

You always there when you say you will

I feel you close, nothing to worry

The African sun dried the red roses you meant to give me

Poverty left the watch in the shop display

The one meant for your birthday

You sneaked up behind me

Your grubby fingers notched across my eyes

I was not startled a bit

Your natural scent of sweat and much interaction with the motherland

settled my nerves, to simmer the fright inside

I turn around to embrace you

I inhale the toxic smell

I close my eyes

Squeeze them tight

In your blessed assurance, I do not want to let go

I know this is where I belong

You caress my sun-baked skin with your scaled hands

I look down to my jagged edged toe nails

My bony hand runs through my ginger hair

Stylish in the west

Poverty in the south

Evidence of lack of utensils

You speak of my dress

I dare not say compliment

For it was once yellow, now it has patches of all colours

But you still see past all that

You are that warrior for me

We walk in the light

That supposedly gives headaches elsewhere

We stop in the shade

To let our dry, cracked lips meet

To let the dry breeze revitalise us beings

We are young and in love

Amateurs in an art of intrinsic strong affection

Now as the sun sets beyond the horizon

The tall dry grass no longer swerves

We have to part again

Tomorrow we will commence with this forbidden art

Which tastes so bitter so sweet

With half our legs clustered with red dirt

I turn to take my leave

I let your hand go and feel my heart stuck motionless with you

Lost in the memories we made

One day I will be old enough to make our great escape

To just love as that is all we have

To live our African dream through our Nembudziya kind of loving.   

 

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