Tuesday, 16 May 2017

Insídia do tempo - Tina Mucavele

The chorus to the song says:
I just wish you were in my shelter during a storm
I just wish I could walk down the street holding hands with you
I just wished you could care a little about me

Dream 1:
I dream you human
swelling the belly of a woman
and then I dream you, ripping her flesh
and through the warm blood, slide unto
the wind and be kissed by sun
and then I dream you, camouflaged
as the people’s guerrilla
running through the guts of the forests
demanding an independence that is only for
aspiring black bourgeoisie
but I hear that voice from far away crying

I just wished you could care a little about me

Nightmare 1:
I flew in a time machine and ZAS!
you are here insidious killer, a machete on your hand
mercilessly dividing every piece of golden land
and forests, hostage of their precious wood
and seas of crustaceans, and networks …
networks …and shark net works
islets and heavens
you set these on your table, as succulent appetisers
but coming from the dust of the ghetto
the voice that for 500 years complains, is singing:

I just wished you could care a little about me

Nightmare 2:
you, your offspring and parasites, diving
with bloody hands in the banquet
result of the carnage of spirits of a people
while it outside your palace
the corn is dry and the drum is dumb
plays only a pandza
that helps celebrate
the misery of consciousness, blindness of the mind
but, from the sea breeze, that anguished voice comes closer:

I just wished you could care a little about me

Nightmare 3:
You are a bogeyman, walk with
xipanha-uswa shoes, hoarding
all that is in your way
swallowing from every orifice of your body
bridges, rivers, national dams and multinationals
I see you fat and smelly, oblivious
to the vibrations of the lava drenched with tears
tears of these people consumed by ignorance
and complacence

Dream 2:
I dream you again, taken by the curse
of suffering spirits
ghosts tear your meat in fillet for dogs
ghosts perform obstetrics in your bowels
rip a kidney, rip a liver, lungs implode
and finally, tractor tires on your solar plexus
matches and

amidst the debris and stinking smoke
my son will only know it’s you because …
he will find the golden pipe

But I told you, I warned you

all I wished was that you could care a little about me

Tina Mucavele (20th century) Mozambique
Source: Badilisha Poetry

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