Two Bleating Kids

A blessed Sunday to you all. I hope you’re doing good and keeping safe wherever you are.

Today I have another piece to share with you, and as usual, it is an extract from that book of mine which is yet to be published.

Here is what my heart has picked for you:

***

Two bleating kids on the farmland
wander up and down in the forest,
mightily searching for their dear mother.

Climbing up and down the mountain,
they fondly miss those high moments
when they drained milk from her…

The day they escaped her womb,
it was her crying…
Now she has left;
they lament from dawn to dusk.

Two bleating kids on the farmland
wander up and down in the bushes,
but can’t find their dear mother.

Lesson

Crying is just a matter of time. We all tend to cry when fate changes tides.

***

Poet: Born Bright

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THE UNCANNY PICNIC

Part 4: The Breathing Grave

Spending all my time laying on the bed,
It feels like I’m living in an enclosed castle
Seeing blood come out every time I cough,
I can’t deny that I’m just a breathing grave

Fruits of all sorts displayed on my table,
Only my eyes can manage to feed on them
My taste buds no longer functional,
I’m left with only four senses

My memory now an unredeemable treasure,
I can’t remember how I got into this state
My brains totally drenched in confusion,
My intuition wallow in despair

Being called ‘a man’ is only a title now
For I cannot do what other men do
Neither can I do what women do
Because I’m just a breathing grave

If I could walk, it would be better
Maybe I could be a moving grave
Unfortunately, I can’t walk or talk,
So I’m just a breathing grave.

— Bright Madziva

THE UNCANNY PICNIC

Part 3: My Heroine

After groaning the whole day,
The situation turns bitter at night
Covering myself with warm sheets,
Nothing feels better but worse

Panting like a dog, I feel throttled
Every part of me in deep anguish
Sometimes I wish I could perish
Maybe the pain would relinquish

Everyone has given up on me
No longer useful, but only a poor
and burdensome valetudinarian
Waiting for nothing, except his day

Only one thing gets me going
No matter what I’m going through
She keeps the flower blooming
Because she knows, I’m her hero

— Bright Madziva

THE UNCANNY PICNIC

Part 1: The Trap

A wild wind driving flocks of dark,
grey elephants across the sky,
Her fingers are perfectly fitted into mine
My charming eyes locked on hers,
Love is the only thing I can see

Dressed sprucely for the outing,
The colours she wears amply match with mine
The birds singing from the trees above,
A zephyr blows in a cheery motion

The sweet pecks, she deliver to me
Sweet enough to stretch my wings
Closing my eyes like a baby in slumber,
I feel as though I’m lightyears from earth

The picnic is unarguably novel
For the first time, we have chosen the woods
Yes, it’s an uncanny place
But to us, that is just a trifle

The grey clouds bursting out,
We sit inside the car and fog the windows up
Holding her hand and making some promises
A strange creature breaks in and pull her out

Running behind, following this devil
Thorns and logs rip my bare feet
As the screaming becomes unclear,
I take a second to scan the place.

Suddenly, a rod strikes me on the back
And I’m trapped in the subconscious mode
A voice I hear knocking my ears
“My hero, I’m so proud of you.
Man up and fight back to save our life”.

— Bright Madziva

Buzzing Bee

A million flowers in the garden
One blooms brighter than others do
Its soft petals unfurl in morning wake
Smiling blithely at the gleaming sun
The buzzing bee finds its raunchy scent
On the perigone it lands
Draws out the sweet nectar
To make the sweetest of honey
— Bright Madziva
© 2020