Kuna mai vangu ndiwe wakaenda,
Ukati hatingadyi nhoko dzezvironda iwe uripo –
Musi uya wakandibata mukaka,
Zuro ukandibata magaro,
Ini ndikazviti mwii
Ko handiti taidya kubva muruoko rwako?
Asi kunanzva hakuna kukugudza
Waida kumedza
Inyota rudzii murume mukuru?
Nhasi wandivharira mumba mako,
Ukandiita mukadzi,
Ukandibvisa umhandara zvine chisimba,
Waiti kuchema kwangu kuchemerera?
Waiti kuhwihwidza kwangu kuzipirwa?
Yangu mhosva ndeyeiko?
Yeurombo?
Kubhadharirwa chikoro here?
Ko, wakadii kundikumbira zvakanaka
Kana ndaikushaisa hope?
© P. Chidavaenzi
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The Pain of it
What is that I have I done?
Why do you hurt me like this?
Was it not you who came to me,
Saying that you would lend your support,
When I was in need of school fees?
It was you who went to my mother,
You who said we should not suffer in abject poverty when you were there –
That day you touched my breasts,
The other day you touched my buttocks;
I kept silent about all of this,
After all, weren’t we eating from your hands?
Nevertheless, this was soon not enough for you;
You wanted more
What kind of greed is that in a grown man?
Today you shut me inside your bedroom,
And made me a woman,
Violently taking away my girlhood
Did you assume that my cries were moans of ecstasy?
Did you assume that my tears were tears of joy?
What, I beg, is my crime?
Being poor?
Having you pay my school fees?
Why did you not ask properly for my hand
If I was causing you such sleepless nights?
This poem was written by Phillip Chidavaenzi, a National Arts Merit Award (NAMA) winner, published author and poet.
