By Seke Bharu
The city of Kings, Mwenemutapa
So long infected, by envious stories.
It has stood for centuries
This piece of magnificent African Architecture
Whose greatness, history has denied
The mark of a civilization destroyed.
Wasn’t it the center of a Kingdom?
The heart of an ideology, so humble
Of a governance to its subjects, democratic
Human coexistence that was peaceful
Source of the gold that graced the Pharaohs
The wisdom that humankind has ignored.
Far from the walls of stone
Spiritual eyes tear
Sour hearts burn
As drifter winds blow
Demonic flames engulf
A hopeless nation in colonial fever.
Gone are the days of grace
When, Mwari, the Creator, the High-most
Could talk to the walls, the wind and the trees
He could hear the drum beat, the songs
The foot stomping, the clap and tap dance
His tears would flow, thirst they quenched.
Those were the days of faith
When food, trees could give
To a traveler in a jungle lost.
When lions could lead, humans
To a destination desired
This is the God that then lived within.
The great House of Stone
The Empire that flourished
In peace ever known to man
Where strangers were gold
Food they would not finish
Just passersby who deserved charity.
The House of Kings, that
Ignored principles, for the good,
Of human kind so selfish.
They used to share with their kin
For they knew, strangers were forgetful.
They winced, and away strangers took their beds.
Isn’t there a road back to that place?
A way to get back in time
To the Empire that shone
To the hearts that cared.
Can WE JUST dig them up?
The bones that carried the weight.
They gathered the stones
One by one, they laid the foundation
Day by day, they raised the walls
Their dreams they locked in stone
That for years an Empire would stand
In stone its strength would be cast.
Do we undo their toil and sweat?
Do we forget the blood that spilt?
For the weakness of our hearts?
For the selfishness of our minds?
Do we let greed devour our goodness?
Do we, for a penny, sell our souls?