The War
I have decided to leave this city of war. The war has gone out of
control. You never know who belongs to whom,
anymore. What the fight is all about.
The war is still dragging on its
fiery tail through the
dead city like
some
giant prehistoric creature. I take a maze of trail, which threads
its way out of the city, through the unchecked growth
and rubbish. I keep walking, leaving the images
of the city, into the wilderness. The sky
is layers of cotton-thick smoke.
Wild, cross-bred thorny
roses, scraggly
Aloe
plants, hollyhocks, and emaciated chrysanthemums dotes the
trail. Sprigs of tamarisk, sprigs of furze, herbs still
exuding scents, the grass is singing dirges
around my feet, as I pass between
air’s legs, it snakes a hiss,
a bark. I begin to see,
to feel another
war
in these species difficult and deeper into great piles of life
fomenting. An irresistible occasion, this garland of
demonstrations! Morning glories, their
purple flowers look down on the
melee much as generals
observe their wars
whilst others
are
doing the actual fighting. These generals are the ravishment of
their own extending success, a display. The wheat fields
weaving brushstrokes of their pride, they dance
and shout as of people of a ceaselessly
bombed city when it’s freed.
Rose bushes poised
like ballerinas,
a
choreography which gathers them in front of the
forsythia. Quack grass, thistle, cockleburs and
black eyed Susan: are the privates,
sergeants, lieutenants,
and captains;
fighting
the
war for the generals, the morning glories. This war does not
pace itself, space itself…, for it is self contained in itself.
If You Are Going
If you are going
Linger a little while
Like the setting sun’s rays
Touching the coming night
If you are going
Touch the coming night
If you are going
Linger a little while
Kiss me good night
Hold me for the last time
If you are going
Hold me for the last time
If you are going
Linger a little while
Say you care a little
Come for good-bye
If you are going
Come for a good-bye
Tendai. R. Mwanaka is a multidisciplinary artist from Chitungwiza, Zimbabwe. His oeuvre of works touches on literary disciplines (non-fictions, poetry, plays, fictions), music and sound art disciplines, visual art disciplines (photography, drawings, paintings, video, collage). His work has been published in over 300 journals, anthologies and magazines in over 27 countries. Nominated, shortlisted and won some prizes and work has been translated into French and Spanish.
I have decided to leave this city of war. The war has gone out of
control. You never know who belongs to whom,
anymore. What the fight is all about.
The war is still dragging on its
fiery tail through the
dead city like
some
giant prehistoric creature. I take a maze of trail, which threads
its way out of the city, through the unchecked growth
and rubbish. I keep walking, leaving the images
of the city, into the wilderness. The sky
is layers of cotton-thick smoke.
Wild, cross-bred thorny
roses, scraggly
Aloe
plants, hollyhocks, and emaciated chrysanthemums dotes the
trail. Sprigs of tamarisk, sprigs of furze, herbs still
exuding scents, the grass is singing dirges
around my feet, as I pass between
air’s legs, it snakes a hiss,
a bark. I begin to see,
to feel another
war
in these species difficult and deeper into great piles of life
fomenting. An irresistible occasion, this garland of
demonstrations! Morning glories, their
purple flowers look down on the
melee much as generals
observe their wars
whilst others
are
doing the actual fighting. These generals are the ravishment of
their own extending success, a display. The wheat fields
weaving brushstrokes of their pride, they dance
and shout as of people of a ceaselessly
bombed city when it’s freed.
Rose bushes poised
like ballerinas,
a
choreography which gathers them in front of the
forsythia. Quack grass, thistle, cockleburs and
black eyed Susan: are the privates,
sergeants, lieutenants,
and captains;
fighting
the
war for the generals, the morning glories. This war does not
pace itself, space itself…, for it is self contained in itself.
If You Are Going
If you are going
Linger a little while
Like the setting sun’s rays
Touching the coming night
If you are going
Touch the coming night
If you are going
Linger a little while
Kiss me good night
Hold me for the last time
If you are going
Hold me for the last time
If you are going
Linger a little while
Say you care a little
Come for good-bye
If you are going
Come for a good-bye
Tendai. R. Mwanaka is a multidisciplinary artist from Chitungwiza, Zimbabwe. His oeuvre of works touches on literary disciplines (non-fictions, poetry, plays, fictions), music and sound art disciplines, visual art disciplines (photography, drawings, paintings, video, collage). His work has been published in over 300 journals, anthologies and magazines in over 27 countries. Nominated, shortlisted and won some prizes and work has been translated into French and Spanish.