Muse in Contemplation

I tried

to leave home,

but the land knew all the secrets in my bones,

whispered my name in the wind

and knew all the names I buried in the back of my throat.

All the rivers I crossed danced with blood, 

and one day, one day, the ground betrayed me.

I am drowning, trying for an ocean,

yet all the seas turn crimson,

replaying the memories of lost innocence and broken records.

And all the cages I escape breathe life into the grief in my veins again.

A child whom no country will claim,

yet demand reverence, demand obedience,

and call it "holy". 

Am I sycophantic enough for you now?

Is the wildness in my bones loud enough now?

Forgive me; my tongue betrays me,

twists in all the wrong ways,

knows all the languages of a bastionised king — of lions and dragons — and betrays the women who came before me.

Pious women,

Who mastered silence and called it honour,

called it home,

called it righteous.

Women who never tried to leave.

But all the wildness carved in my bones

carries their rage, their joy,

and all the freedom I long for

sings to me in the winds:

“Huya mweya wehutsene. Woza Moya oNgcwele"

And I will not translate!

Have I not translated every part of me already?

Conjured holiness from chaos, interrupted and shattered dreams

Am I righteous enough for you now?

The cosmic rhythm of this woman, wide-eyed and quietly roaring desperately,

sovereign and unburned…

But Saturn returns, and I am feral and feline again.

I am shadow and flame again, unravelled by a bloody peace.

I am the exile and the sovereign;

I am a woman, wild and unyielding,

standing where no kin could return.

— Faith Mashevedze