Mother Africa chronicles series
“When things fall apart, the children of the land scurry and scatter like birds escaping a burning sky.” NoViolet Bulawayo, We Need New Names.
I can almost see it through hazy memories.
Showers of purple indigo blossoms,
flowing like a Persian rug on the hard grey grovel.
The season never did tarry;
Like the lost children of the diaspora,
Visitors in the motherland and
All but strangers in the foreign lands.
Today my heart is homesick.
It yearns for the birth-land,
For the rugged dusty terrain I called home.
Lined with majestic purple Jacaranda trees.
It longs to sit on the veranda and feel the reverberations of laughter,
To sigh in contentedness with a sweet rooibos tea;
In the city of kings,
The city where the sky is always blue.
Yet the echoes of laughter have become cries for justice,
Oh that freedom would prevail in my beloved homeland.
Then I can behold the jacaranda tree once again.
image citation of Bulawayo Jacaranda trees @ frankiekayfotos