Jacaranda Crown - Zvisinei C. Sandi

In the burning heat of September

Amid the rank smell of garbage

Anger, the acrid smoke of racing cars

The Jacaranda, a glorious royal crown, blooms

A lavender crown over the Sunshine City

The six-year-old girl on the street

Knowing already the value of a well-placed tear

Jostling for the attention of a likely benefactor

Bare, desperate feet dogging each passer-by

A determined childish voice calling 

‘Only a cent, my brother! Only a cent!’

Soon traces of womanhood will appear

And some brother will catch sight of her,

Teach her the things she can do for a cent

Still, the Jacaranda blooms, the emblem of hope

The homeless man wandering along First Street

Stooping here and there to forage among the bins

A pitiful, tar-painted figure, devoid of hope

Ignored by all, by all abandoned, near starvation,

Harmless, until you look at his right hand

His walking stick, a heavy lead pipe

Gnarled, with tell-tale brown marks

Till you see how well he can wield it in a dark street,

Till a child, engrossed in aromatic burger, 

Passes him and you can see his action

Hungry and embittered and uncaring

Stripped of caring by an uncaring world

He is desperate only to live on

When all the reason to live has been removed,

Yet the purple blooms cover his hand with fragrance

The aging whore, ghastly smile stretching red mouth

Though a desperate sorrow lurks beneath

Laughing to loudly at a punter’s joke

Staunch to the of plastic hair on bare shoulders,

The chafe of distressing heels on tired feet

Pregnant school girl suddenly homeless, penniless,

Evicted from home at axe point

Sitting on the pavement outside Sugar-Daddy’s office

A Sugar-Daddy suddenly no longer so sweet

Worst of all, who is suddenly no longer there

The Jacaranda’s fragrance wafts about her

A reminder of better times, before Sugar-Daddy – 

And a bloom falls on her tear-stained cheek

Making the tears – truly bitter and painful – 

Seem to all the world like the sweet nectar of life

The mugger on the Street corner – 

Furtive, callous eyes darting about in frantic hurry

As he searches out and chooses his next victim,

The rich expatriate all suited and tied up

A polished phenomenon with slicked hair and oily lips

From the luckier parts of the earth,

He is the moving epitome of success

Besides whom everything seems insignificant, ineffectual

Yet before all the Jacaranda spreads her blessing, 

The fragrant lavender carpet under their feet

Overflowing garbage cans in the street

Placed in good faith but now a festering wound

Representing at once excess and dire want

Yet among the garbage and all the flies

The refreshingly sweet blooms of the Jacaranda

Through all the sorrow, the grief, the utter heartbreak

Through the poverty riding on this unlucky city

Through the disappointment, the ruin, the despair – 

Harare still wears her lavender crown,

Broken, yet regal, like an old queen

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Zvisinei C. Sandi (21st century) Zimbabwe

Source: Crossing Borders Issue 12