By Frank Chipasula
via the Poetry Foundation
Darkness chained me to my tattered reed mat;
The head of tyranny sprinkled
The soot of ignorance in my eyes, and sleep
Hammered my head with slogans,
Then a nightmare stumbled on my sprawled life,
Tripped on the alarm of my heart,
And set me singing a healing song.
With song I bandage my ravaged land;
With the thread of song I sew the chopped heads
Back on the shoulders of the plucked flowers.
I plug the neck gash with a war chant;
With a sharp spear whose tongue sings,
I rip the veil of darkness from our land,
And the nightmare flees my secret light.
A Note from the Editor
Kenneth Kaunda, Zambian freedom fighter and first president of independent Zambia, was born on this day 100 years ago. His political activism led to imprisonment for “positive nonviolent action” but also elevated him to national hero status.
Source: Whispers in the Wings (Heinemann, 1991)
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