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A Verse For Father By Chanda Medley Chongo

He’s a reflection of men who  went and came back

to teach our limbs how to walk in the dark.

He taught me how to burn bodies

of people who wrinkle linen of peace.

Not by peeling off their skins

and burrying their bones in burning lava,

but by burning their hearts with love

and carving bliss in the cleavage of their minds.

Last night,

I learnt how light in stars dwindles into the dark

when man breaks the virginity of humanity.

Father dipped his tongue in a pot of enraging pain

and trickled his rage in a four-four folded terrace

just to remind my eyes

that the world has its anguish gnarled

for people like Jum-jumbo, Jessy and Betty

who cuddle streets with naked thighs.

Singing songs of unrythmic chords,

his gullet never ceased to convey beats and melodies

which twirled between his toothless gums,

sending out echoes in circles

to remind my ears

that the world only consumes voices

that pay homage to the rich

and not the poor.

My eyes whirled around his teary lids

and touched his feet,

for my life will always seek warmth in his words

and lick widsom from his palms.

In awe let me dip my pen in boiling ink

and scribble on wet paper a verse for him.

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