PENTECOST MATE

PENTECOST MATE

Cry My Beloved Mother!

She wakes up before dawn,

even in the harshest of weathers,

barefooted and trembling,

teeth gnashing and grinding,

basket on her head; hoe in hand,

arms patterned with goose bumps,

thorny bushes caressing her feet,

creepers curling around her calves,

triggering a festivity of fear,

in a field festooned with snakes,

unsure whether to fight or flight,

the mother must…and should

turn over the soil,

as part of her duty,

to get a good harvest

by end of the rainy season,

so that the family is fed in other seasons

A baby is strapped to her anterior

with a porous summer cloth ,

letting in air to the brassiere-free breasts

iced up by the cold but still dangling.

Nipples frosty and hardened,

the baby strives to suck on them.

It gets agitated and howls in frustration

as its numb gums have been frozen by the teats

and cannot defrost the mother’s curds.

The baby keeps chewing and licking;

The little fingers squeezing and kneading,

because it must… and should

strive to devise a strategic method to use,

to suckle smoothly and silently

in its attempt to stay nourished,

and establish its proper space

in its mother’s stern roster…

Habitual in nature…strenuous…

A necessary recipe for survival.

The Race To Survive

The human race is in a survival race

as it braces itself to survive the death quest

from a virus dressed as a guest,

with destructive tendencies of a pest

that gallops gallantly as a wild horse,

stamping its hooves on the masses

with wrath to wipe the human race .

The human race is in a survival race

as it flees from a fierce hearse,

holding in it an enclosed case

with the corpse of a lass

whose smile was to her associates a lace,

stitched to the hem of her face.

Cheerful she was: Charming and chivalrous,

unifying all coworkers with kindness

like a bouquet of white roses in a vase.

Her facial expression took away their fuss.

It breathed into them some zest

through her ability to jest.

Such merry moments have come to pass.

Scary reality makes them hold onto their pace

with masks clad to each face

like superman sailing to space;

Hands washed in water and soap

like Pontius Pilate’s but short of soap.

Hearts praying for God’s grace

to prevent death reaching their base

as all strive to survive the race…

the race to stay alive in peace.

How To Measure Survival Struggles

The human digestive system

is an accurate barometer

to measure one’s social class.

It is a manufacturing industry

that produces goods and by-products.

For whatever one eats

is what the system digests.

It makes use of the vital nutrients

and disposes of the waste materials.

The more the access to food,

the more the body’s urge to get rid of it,

the higher the social class one is in.

The less the intake of food,

the least the disposed products,

the lower the social class one belongs to,

hence the more the itch

to toil round the clock …

striving for survival

in order to stay afloat.

It comes as no surprise then that…

in an economy-class economy,

where the rich extravagantly spend,

the less privileged in the train

hustle their way to survival,

wrestling for limited resources…

bread crumbs spewed to them

from big bellied bigots,

belching the gospel of equity,

when they use three-ply tissues

that effectively soak up their swamps ,

but supply shops with cheap quality

of costly one-ply tissue paper,

ensuring consumers cannot buy more…

To save the rationed paper,

situations force the have-nots to use both sides,

to sop up the littlest digested fragment,

that merely peeps through the door,

as it has less energy to reach the drain…

but much zeal that it has come this far,

to see light at the end of the canal,

after trudging and fumbling,

in bile and pancreatic enzymes,

inside the echoing intestinal corridors…

wailing for decent meals.

P.S. One can only know his social class

After successfully emptying his bowels.

PENTECOST MATE

PENTECOST MATE is a literary icon of rare fictional attributes. He lives in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe’s hub of artistic expression. He won a first prize in the Randalls National Creative Writing Competition at age sixteen. He was also a first prize winner in the nation’s story reading competition during the launch of Short Writings from Bulawayo 3. He is a former National Arts Merit Awards (NAMA) nominee. He has been published in New Delhi (India) and in Southern California, (USA). He presented a fabulous academic paper on Breaking Stereotypes to international delegates at ZIBF Indaba Conference (Monomotapa Hotel). He has more than twenty publications.