Tell me,
What it is like, on the other side…
where the stream of consciousness
ceases to flow and silence ensues
where thoughts of shared joy and
sorrow, song and verse,
are carefully tucked away
in memory
burying it all in a sandy heap,
where ‘nothing’ reigns and
everything is forgotten,
And You
into ‘The Fading Sun’ you disappear
leaving behind a trail of
blank-verse, whispering…
‘I Don’t Know Why She Weeps’
And I, torn,
turn to look at the weeping Willow
‘A Moment Of Clarity’
I realise, I too, like it, am spent
and bent in deep mournfulness
Teacher, ah, teacher…who will
teach me now, more about the
Sonnets, ballads and rhyme with
such passion?
God forbid, if I should
‘Begin to Forget’
all the things you did that exalt you,
now that your evening has come
and you’ve gone away to become
one with the night.
I know, the midnight-hour still
listens for the sound of your
writing…
unaware that the master has
packed away his notepad and
pen,
leaving behind some poems
halfway written,
“2a.ms are for the Poets obsessed
with unmatched creativity!” You
used to say and that “sometimes
few words are enough.”
A poem by Catherine Magodo-Mutukwa, tribute to the late Zimbabwean writer, David Mungoshi. 31/08/2020
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