Like a broken skirt button

Fallen beneath earth

I do not want to be forgotten

I want to rise each morning

With the certainty of sun

That between seasons carefully chooses

when the world should glow

Look, look at me some more

Under the skirts of my mind

In the private parts of my thoughts

There is a black ant, big

It bites my thoughts, bites

Endlessly my thighs twitch                            

Harangued by never-ending

Restless careless words spread

between the untouched inner lips of my soul

The same ant that will, when I am buried

Build her home with my broken thoughts

Of sand “manured” with my flesh and blood

She will unbury me to the ground where

My thoughts once danced and I will be

Ploughed, shaken, moved

 and on other people’s feet

I will be carried

And in my dead silence speak

Of the reawakening spirits of the underground.

©By Batsirai Easther Chigama

18/01/08