Freedom’s dream in cell 46664
27 years had passed, and the skin
of prison cell No. 46664 stank of a
human right denied
Feebly, the freedom fighter
gazed at the light that beamed from a dream he had carved in his spirit,
In that prison, his dream to fight man’s domination over another still glowed
The freedom fighter lifted his left fist into the air,
As though seeking heaven’s answer,
Cherishing the idea of a free society
In that dark and cockroach-infested space
Deep in his soul he desired to pluck a seed of faith from the sky’s womb,
To carry freedom’s struggle another day,
And whisper to the winds of time
To plant a fire in his people’s bosoms
So they could gather courage to rise beyond the confinement
Of man-made silverly chains
In spite of his faith, the heavens remained still
So he put his head down, and tore into the
depth of his guerilla-skin with freedom’s spikes,
Then suddenly, his voice cracked and filled the void,
Traversing the gaping distances
Like an angel run amok
Till it reverberated across the mountains and valleys
Of the dictator’s oppressive rule
Our blood jumped hot at the sound of his call
And in our silenced oppression, we found ourselves muttering
vowels of freedom:
“Freedom Now, Freedom Now”
Even though the tyrant’s chains remained stuck
Round our necks
The freedom fighter’s dream burned deep in our hearts.
Then, one day, the ripples of our hope
Grew into a crest-high wave
That tore through the dictator’s barbed walls
And made us believe again
In freedom’s cause -
Not just for ourselves
But for all humanity.
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Great job, Biriwasha; you are a superblogger and poet. Zimbabwe needs more bloggers like you.