#THURSPOETRY: Dalitso Ndlovu – Bride Prices and Vain Sacrifices

#THURSPOETRY returns again this week thanks to our friends at Gourd of Consciousness.

Dalitso Ndlovu is a 20 year old philosopher and a student of the occult based in Harare and hopes to complete his studies in the field of Psychology.
Dalitso has a particular interest in the human condition, thus most of his poetry naturally reflects either his personal experiences, what he observes in his surroundings.

Not every idea or piece he writes reflects his own beliefs, however he does believe that conflict and controversy may help in provoking new thoughts and ideas.

In realizing that his passions are well beyond that which was desired and expected of him, he began pursuing a path regarded by most as “unconventional.”

Dalitso does not necessarily strive for perfection, but rather to cultivate his own individual uniqueness and let it lead him to a more meaningful existence.

Empathizing with the inspiration behind the words he writes may require one to stretch their minds into territories they may not be familiar with, or that may leave them disturbed, depending on the sensitivity of the mental faculties. Thus, Dalitso encourages only those who are willing to expand their thoughts, even at the expense of their own personal comfort, to indulge in his writings.

Dalitso Ndlovu sees himself as a soul, confounded by the fear of death, striving to find a meaning to his existence and create some form of beauty from the suffering he has endured. Poetry is one of the means he intends to harness in order to do so

POEM
Title: Bride Prices and Vain Sacrifices
Author: Dalitso Ndlovu

Roses blossom on her cheeks,
Bruises, not blush.
Fancy sunglasses to cover her eyes,
The irony being in that the sun hides behind the clouds,
And her eyes mimic the sun during a solar eclipse.
The furry scar covers her delicate neck,
Filled with red markings,
But not the ones you find after a romantic caress.
A finely stitched coat colored black,
Covering the stitched scars on her back.
She smiles beautifully with her lips closed,
Having lost count of her broken teeth.
The withering flowers are as frail as her hands,
Yet still, she holds on tightly to her man.
The things we do for love.He wears cotton gloves despite the heat,
His knuckles slightly bruised, but still rough.
He suddenly walks with a limp due to pain in his knee,
And then claims that it is old age finally catching up.
Sometimes he sits, curious as to where all his money goes,
And then orders more liquor than he can hold.
Drunk with poisonous passion and uncontrollable anger,
Usually that’s when he decides to head home.
Shards of broken glass on the floor in his room,
A stain of blood on the curtains.
The finger prints on the glass belong to him
But the blood on the curtains does not.
The broken vase is but a reflexion of his broken vows,
He can barely protect her from himself…
The things we do in the name of love.