Friday, 7 September 2012


And so I write…
Because writing is all I do

When nothing else can make me see
Beyond today’s damp dew.
When nothing else but words makes sense,
Not words from a dictionary,
But words so intense.
They flow not from pages,
But from within the dense,
This dense ruffled up paper,
That has seen better days
Left thin like a vapor.
You think you can swim,
Try drowning under my burden,
That only ink has bothered to lift,
Or rather to shift.
Laid down on a surface once pure,
Made impure by my pain,
Scratched by hands turned insane.
And so I write…
Hoping that one day my words may fly,
From the depths of my gloom,
To the sky like trapped fireflies,
That they carry with them a piece of my doom.
But until the day I can sit amongst stars,
On my way to mars, strumming guitars…

By Rutendo R Chabikwa (Zimbabwe)

photo credits; 

fiirst published on

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