Mai Vemwana

My children are slain!
My children are slain!
Ndafirwa nevana, yowe!
She weeps as before her the desecrated bodies of her children lie
Caught in the initial process of putrefaction
A great people
Dark skin
Taught with sinews knit together
Warriors descended from the great tribes of the likes of Monomotapa
Cain has slain his brother
He has raised his hand to put an end to his existence
And now his mother weeps as she gathers her dead son to her bosom
Her child whose back has been broken to bend to the selfish
ambitions of colonizers
Haaaaa unonyepa iwe
The child she formed from the soil
A mixture of her saliva and mud, which she moulded
Mud which she rubbed against her beautiful thick lips and never wiped off
Mud caked on her in wisps
His taste is always on her lips
But you shall live again my son
And she breathes life into him
Nehanda the maternal life force
She breathes life into him
And dry bones live again
And an exceedingly great army
Zimbabwe lives again
“Arise, my warrior,” a mother cries