#THURSPOETRY: Dumisani Ndlovu – But I Once Told You

#ThursPoetry makes a return this week in partnership with Gourd of Consciousness.

Today we feature Dumisani Ndlovu, who is a renowned journalist with experience as editor of Zimbabwe Observer online, he is a published poet, arts director, playwright and widely published scribe and anthologized poet. Ndlovu is founder of the Dorset Performing Arts, Midlands Poets and High-voltage Poets, all being affiliates of Hodzeko Arts and Culture Association where he is the board’s Information and Publicity Manager.

He is a rural development advocate, people’s rights defender and founding member of the Dorset Development Association. His uncompromising arts and humanitarian news reporting is typically charged with community development and social order promotion.

Dumisani’s Shona, English and Ndebele works were published in different anthologies, magazines, national and international newspapers and journals. As a poet, Ndlovu’s debut collection of poetry is featured in two Ndebele anthologies titled “Izinkondlo ezinhlobonhlobo “and Izimbongi zikaMthwakazi “which explores the reality of living through self-crafted poverty under the weight of socio-economic and political mistakes.

Born in 1980 Dumisani Ndlovu did his primary education at Bumburwi Primary school before proceeding to Dorset Secondary School and Matinunura High School in Gweru. Dumisani is also the co-winner of the 2004 Harare International Carnival performance Poetry Prize.

POEM

Title: But I once told you

Author: Dumisani Ndlovu

The street of I don’t care leads to the city of had I known
I knocked sense, but was taken for granted
Only if they had given an ear
When I whispered and bellowed forth warnings
My land should have not been sobbing
Warning shots is forewarned!
Forewarned is forearmed!
Shedding tears of agony,
Today we cry the loudest
But this voice never got tired of warning you
Hey you!
Don’t let that baobab tree tap roots, and grow too deep, the deeper it grows the deeper we all sink.
See now, no one can uproot
For its tape root has grown too deep for comfort
Cracking our once smooth surface
Nothing, but perhaps excavators can try.
Fast shrunken,
The wrinkled baobab tree
Its roots fast rotting,
Terminated by termites beyond repair
Yes, free falling!
The core cannot hold
Gradually slipping and losing grip
Desperately it gropes,
Its fingers pry and claw
Accidentally detects a despotic survival grip