Thorned life the Parable of The Sower’s seed,
Whose rot fertilises mind’s garden weed
Were doubts orchard fruits,
Them,we would munch bore worm,
Like the deceased’s killer disease.
Outside looking inside at
Madding crowd’s art
Of other poet lemon squeezed
For alien ale.
His now a marinated winter chicken
On nobody’s kitchen,
Its rear river banks lends no loan,
We deposit and withdraw a blankslip
Whose currency pillow a sorrow asleep
To horse race sheet abandoned on vagrant’s cavemat,
Scratched horse grazes Punter’s guessmate,
The dimple sore with a pimple
Yearn for but life simple
Of whisky and dessert
In Harare’s economy desert!

By Collen Kajokoto

-The author is a Harare based vibrant protest poet and human rights defender.