Ruins Of Great Zimbabwe
By Frank Bana
Porcupines hunted by eyes in the forest
Big men have made off with all the pangolins
In Masvingo, eggs and bacon are served
The last tourists leave, pursued by secret police
The hills of Chipinge were once green with coffee
The plains of Mozambique lay fallow beneath
The Sheraton Hotel was built golden and high
The Party HQ rose up higher, nearby
Desperation seeks refuge in the arms of neighbours
Each fugitive branded a traitorous child
Newborns dying, babies stunted if surviving
Immunity lost, reverence misconceived
What father, once loved, devours his children?
What parent, in madness, eats its own young?
They were all his soldiers, his devoted veterans
Giving bodily fuel to the state-run machine
Good old Uncle Bob, the colonials sang
To put their trembling daughters to sleep
He understands, with his good heart and plans
Under the mask, wants the best for the land
But Bob Marley was wrong, prophets need not be sung
The moderates are revolutionaries in the long run
Now prosperity’s tides beach on empty shelves,
Presidents building wastelands to themselves.
