Tuesday, March 1, 2016

A Poem by Learnmore Edwin Zvada

Diary of a Maddened Woman

When I depart from these walls
My eyes will not see across the table
Behind which your image hung
The manner of your arrogance stinking like the rest of you
I will not hear your reprimanding voice that carried itself like a god
Terrorizing my ego, dressing me down to a faceless apparition
Making me feel less of an animal than the rest of them that you tamed
When dichotomy becomes of a vine upon the tongue,
Treacherous as it goes down on me
I will drink liquor the way a dam swallows up a river
Up to my hair and down to my feet
Till your face looks funny in my eyes
With my face looks funny in my eyes
With my face a safe distance from your fist
I will remember how to cry
Against the floor that leads to the loony house
And you, my husband, will laugh like a copulating hyena
Then I will remember how you broke me
Like one of your useless coffee cups
On that chair where I used to sit, like a dumb cat
Whilst you wove a dream for me
But all that won't be a part of the story
The one I will narrate before the real lunatics
Down at the loony house
No, to them I will be the mad woman
From sun rise to sun set, I will sing bush
Biting and beating the crap out of them all
There I will stay, till I am grey in the head
Someday I will hear about it from the man on the radio
That you maddened another one of your bimbos
Then I will laugh and laugh
Till all the lunatics join in my laughter
And the pedophiliac shrinik will throw in a remark,
"Holy cow!  The gawk is getting better!"
The Girl With Roses In Her Hair
The first time my heart was broken
UPon the heart of a dead wood, I dug myself a shallow grave
Then I met Molly abreast the tall-stalked loquat tree
She was the girl with roses involved in the strands of her hair
And the eye that was shy to my regard
She made me believe in sunsets
The slyly circumvention of stars shooting through the daytime sky
I slowly grew into this art
Fluently, I relinquished to such romance
So we strode into the dead of the wood
With us a shovel, a smile and suiting kiss
In a minute's lapse our sorrows we buried amongst the wood's dead
Twoscore years I remained at her bosom
Centring on an undulating rise in her form
Woman filled, a seasonal grade in the craft of perfection
Such arrogant sport for the libidinous eye
In her I happened as she gradually happened to me
But upon a cruel summer Molly shoved a knife through my heart
She left me to bleed all the love I had fed on for so long
There we were again, my shovel and I
Bound for the place where they bury wounded hearts
To this date, my journey is not ended
I'm still to find her among the loquats
Sowing herself onto some lad's collar
And if the galaxies orient us into the same milky way
I shall whisper this one thing in her ear
"I will love you to my grave"

Learnmore Edwin Zvada is a poet from Zimbabwe's Harare Province where he is currently studying towards a degree in engineering.  He fell in love with poetry at a tender age.  Some of his poems have appeared in locales such as, The Literary Yard, Tuck Magazine, Duane's PoeTree, POEBITA Poetry Magazine and Whispers.  At the present moment, he is working on his first poetry book.  Apart from poetry, Learnmore is an ardent lover of photograph and music.

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