Burning Bridges

https://www.samanthamash.com/burning-bridges

I built a bridge of trust towards you
As many others before and after me had
Some looking up to you;
All caring for you;
But all it dies in vain
As you burn these bridges.

I watched from afar as our bridge crumbled.
Time and distance had pulled us apart.
Time made me realise I had to expect more from you;
The morsels of attention and supposed love,
Just were not enough anymore.
Distance said I didn’t need you
I was far better on the other side of our bridge
Loving you from afar.

I still needed to get to you,
I still cared
But I stood by as you drench your side in gasoline.
And as you prepared to strike the match…
“Don’t do it! Please, don’t do it”
You heard me as I shouted
I would still need to get you
I said I cared.

Yet you struck the match,
And looked into my eyes as you flung it towards me.
Our bridge, at least your side, became engulfed in flames.
Flames that incinerated each memory we had,
Every moment we had shared,
Each inside joke we had laughed at.
You watched it burn.

But I watched it burn too.
As the flames slithered towards my side,
I watched it burn.
I had learnt the lessons that Time and Distance had taught,
So I watched it burn.
It burnt until only ashy remnants of what we had were left,
You had burnt our bridge.

…Yet I still care,
I still love you,
But this time you are the one building the bridge
Building it back to me.
Because now I am content loving you from afar.

Talking About Forever

Looking at you through rose coloured glass
You were the epitome of men.
Handcrafted to be perfect.
Void of all the flaws like many others.
Imperfection but a notion to you.
In my head, you were built on all my insecurities,
Made perfect by all my shortcomings,
I did not deserve you.

Taking the rose coloured glasses off.
Seeing you in a new light,
In the colour of day and night
The cracks in perfect appeared.
I saw the seemingly seamless stitches
Frayed from being worn out.
I saw your shortcomings untainted by my insecurities,
Yet still I could not see you loving me.

Shedding the naivety of my youth,
Nothing is black or white
But rather it all exists in shades of grey.
The grey where you exist.
With all your flaws and shortcomings;
Meshed with my insecurities and imperfections
Making the best combination for unconditional
Love.
Because you thought you didn’t deserve me,
You could not see me loving you,
Yet here we are talking about forever.

The Chronicles of an Over-Thinker

Maybe, just maybe, if I write this tomorrow
I will remember all the things I have to say.
But wait, I’m likely to forget anyway.
I don’t want to seem vulnerable though…
Exposing my innermost thoughts to strangers,
Do they even care?
But in the same breath, I think, it’s not for them.
It’s for me, so why not?

 

 

Okay,
Breathe, take a second!
Okay, okay…
Maybe I should rephrase my sentence
I don’t want to sound needy or weird
Fingers-crossed he responds…
Okay, that was too much,
Two days later, no response?
I must have said something wrong.
Shoot! There goes another one.
Oh well, it’s not something I’m not used to.
*laughs at self*

 

 

 

As I fall asleep, all the pieces of my work come together.
Argument set, substantiation found, point made.
Wait, but does it make sense?
All the consolidation planned,
Now lost in the utopia of the Dream Realm
Never to be retrieved
Let the stress begin!

It’s 3am…
Great! I can’t sleep.
I slowly lull myself into an existential crisis.
Will I get out of bed tomorrow?
What is the point of life if you are going to die anyway?
Oh wow, that got really dark
I wonder where that came from…
I must be deeply messed up.
*again laughter ensues at self*

 

Did she mean what she said?
She can’t seriously think that.
Maybe that’s the impression I gave her
Clearly she never liked me
I’m a likable person though..,
Oh well not everyone will like you, deal with it!!
But I want her to like me!

Taking a step back,
Regrouping.
Reconfiguring.
Resetting.
Breathing exercises.

Okay! I think I am okay… or am I?
Why did I have to be an over-thinker?

My Zimbabwe

By Tanaka Chikomo

Your beauty widens day by day.
You’re glazed with the most impeccable and alluring attractions,
Your beauty lies in your originality and the unity of your people.
You were once physically admirable,
But the extensive destruction to your environment has stripped you of that rightful description.

You are one of a kind that yields the finest and most refined delicacies.
You have a wide range of cuisines and mother tongues.
Economic plights and vicissitudes have made them talk, further degrading your worth and potential.

But you still lie there, in Southern Africa, unflinching
And resolute to hold your head up high.
Each day you only inspire
And embolden me
To endeavour and work for your name to be restored to the majestic and glorious connotations it once possessed.

I love you, Zimbabwe!
Regardless of the hate that is constantly thrown in the midst of all your wonder.
You are unique, portraying vibrancy and rhythm in the people you birthed.
You are forever our Zimbabwe.
You are forever the people’s Zimbabwe.
You are forever my Zimbabwe.
Forever and always in my heart.

This beautiful piece was written by Tanaka (above). She is currently doing her O Levels at Dominican Convent High School in Harare, Zimbabwe. She is a delightfully spirited young lady who is going to do great things. Do watch this space!!!!

To the Girl I Used to Be

 

2013

To the girl I used to be,

I’m sorry I held onto you for far longer than I needed to.

In your fears I found my comfort,

There was nothing wrong with staying just as I was.

I didn’t know that you would one day haunt me;

In the missed opportunities,

The forgone chances.

I’m sorry I didn’t let you go in time.

 

2015

To the girl that I am,

I promise to let you go

When I have learnt all the lessons I need to learn with you.

In you I find courage and hope;

Hope that there is a better tomorrow,

There is so much more in store for us.

 

To the girl I will be,

I’m excited to meet you and be you.

Though our introduction is a future one

One thing is for sure,

You will grow from strength to strength.

So in you I seek completion,

But still in you I seek joy

Whatever it may look like.

I know there will be many more of you to come.

That won’t stop me from loving you every single time.

2017

 

 

Dear Woman

You, woman, are everything to me.

I hope you see yourself as I see you.

Strong and fearless,

When life comes at you,

You handle it like a master of the craft,

No matter how hard it may be.

 

Fierceness and elegance you exude;

The epitome of all I wish to be.

You, woman, are my inspiration.

Lyrically deficient is my gratitude

For all the laughs, hugs and smiles.

Thank you for seeing what I could not see in myself

Your love and encouragement continues to spur me on.

 

No one will ever understand what we have

Like an inside joke that needs no explanation.

My best moments have been with you, dear woman.

My prayer is that I grow to love you more and more every day

With the same fierceness you have shown the world.

God-crafted you are, never forget it!

Wear your Crown of Majesty with pride

Because you, dear woman, are darn worth it

And so much more.

 

Dear Woman,

You are loved!

 

Mama Zimbabwe

I sought you

I sought answers from you

To questions I knew you should have answers to.

“Mama, when can I come home?”

“I’m not sure, mwanangu” you said.

Yet you knew.

 

You knew that the place I called home crumbled to oblivion;

The shadows of past suffering crept gingerly to the light

Revealing what you knew,

What I knew in the deepest parts of my heart.

But Mama, being away from you has been hell.

You thought keeping me away from you would help

I am not of here, nor will I ever be

For with you is where I belong.

 

I cannot voice for you what you know, Mama

Because thinking of you,

Speaking of you,

Feeling you places a vice grip over my heart.

I choke on the tears I have cried;

On the tears I am too tired to cry still.

Because my hope in you is where my future lays

But the dream is once again shattered

Snatched from my infant grip by those who have abused you this long.

I thought it would end,

But at this point I see no end.

 

So Mama Zimbabwe, I ask you again.

When can I come home?

 

One of the few hidden gems in Zimbabwe, located in the district of Mhondoro in a place called Cycle G.

Broken Record

Before she could hold herself back

She found herself entwined in the rhythm of his speech.

Coffee table set outside,

Yet it felt like only she and he occupied this scene.

 

Her laughter rang in a melody she did not recognise.

Disembodied,

She did not seem to know the person who claimed her body.

For in that moment she knew she was happy.

This was a moment she would forever remember.

 

He had a way with words.

A way that translated words into action,

Something not many could claim credit for.

His presence magnetically attracted her guarded pole.

She felt drawn to his curious aura.

She knew that if she stayed a little longer,

It would be over…

 

It would be over.

She would give up to selfless abandon,

Let love and let live

Give up on her “independent woman” mantra.

And so she drew back…

She wasn’t ready.

 

She wasn’t ready to let love and let live.

That record had once been shattered into pieces,

She wasn’t ready to buy a new one.

What if it became worn like the old one?

And like the old one, shatter into unrecognizable smithereens.

 

She wasn’t ready to pick those pieces up again.

 

So she let go.

Let go of that glimpse of happiness

Because the fear of sadness worried her more.

Maybe in another life she would be able to let him in,

Allow this particular song to play on repeat.

Then maybe they would have danced all night long.

Black African Woman

Black.

African.

Woman.

Three harmless words not meant to provoke.

Three words seemingly unrelated.

Three words not meant to make my heart skip a beat.

 

Black. African. Woman.

Three words start to explain the feeling.

Three words invoking identity

Yet benign on the tongue

And timid to the taste.

 

 

Black African Woman.

Strength begins to emerge from these three words.

The centuries long song wells in the hearts of many.

A continued song of oppression and struggle

With it the Song of resilience and conquering.

A Song burning bright and light in Her heart,

Putting rhythm in Her step and admiration in the hearts of others.

 

 

I am Black African Woman.

My story will be told for generations to come.

You may not feed me but like a tenacious weed I will grow.

The enchantment stored deep within me

Will be the magic that heals the world.

For on my shoulders I have carried the world.

I am stronger and fearless because of it.

Because I am Black African Woman.

Imbokodo.

Ndiridombo.

I am a Rock unshaken!

 

 

Yet as Black African Woman

I am foreign.

Foreign to home, foreign to here

Never quite fitting into any space.

I may be black african woman,

But my voice does not count

No matter how much I scream.

 

I am Black African Woman

You will listen to me!

 

Unravelled

I became unravelled as I sat there,

A personal experience I never knew possible.

Watching from the side lines as lives changed,

I realized I had falsely clothed myself with righteousness.

A righteousness I wore as a mask even I did not believe.

 

Who am I that He is mindful of me?

That He loves me and cares for me?

Even with my numerous facades and countless masks

He has known me!

 

I thought I had it all put together

What lies I had told myself and you.

I was more lost than I let on.

I tried to lie to Him that made me,

But He keeps finding me and seeing me when nobody else does.

Inadequate I have felt,

Yet He continues to whisper in my ear,

“You are loved.”

 

I am unravelled!

Unravelled by His love for me

My numerous masks have come to bare

The real me at my most vulnerable.

Him, I choose to trust with my worst,

For in Him I can be made whole.