Long distance relationship
There are oceans and seas that stand between you and me,
and the story of our love is an old forgotten odyssey.
And I know it’s odd to see me be held him,
be encompassed by a new set of arms, I feel like I’m forgetting the shade of those ruddy red palms and that deep, drumming voice, religiously reciting foreign psalms.
Your heart, radiated a heat that hugged and honed my youthful body, and I never quite understood why your voice rushed when reading, or why psalms sounded sorrowful,
but it was because you knew, I wouldn’t last long in your arms.
Being with you was like loving someone who only kissed me in public, you wore your name on my passport for the world to see,
but behind closed colonial doors,
We were strangers.
That was the danger of long distance relationships,
we had latitudes of land in between us, and the lies of our love had been left to marinate for too long.
You see, I had heard of you, but only through televisions that told tall tales of your tribulations,
I was taught that I had to leave you if I had any chance of an education,
that you were no good for me, and I should feel nothing but gratification.
It’s been 18 years since I left you,
18 years that I’ve been calling for your rescue,
So those 18 years, I had to find a place of refuge.
But now he who holds me hates me, sells me dwindled dreams of democracy,
I see that he’s looking at me through his colour blind prism, which is why he doesn’t understand when I speak to him of isms,
because my native tongue is a self conflicting prison.
He who holds me, prays for our continued separation, he laughs at my inability to say no more than \'wuri sayi\' as a form of feeble communication,
it’s like I’m watching myself, losing myself but I’m still struggling to change the station.
The murmurs about my motherland have turned into echos in my eardrum,
I have lost home in this not so United Kingdom.
This must be what they call Stockholm syndrome because I had fallen in love with my abductor
The reason and the remedy for my Rhodesian rupture.
And I knew this, but I still called him home.
You my home and him my harbour have a complex history, so I have to choose,
I have to choose between the love I have now, and love I once knew,
but if home is where the heart is my heart resides with you.
We encountered each other again,
and only then did I understand why the fruits of your labour tasted so bitter.
We were by the Zambezi river,
I told you about how my lip quivers each time I utter a word in my mother tongue...
but i\'d rather stutter and stammer your sentence, than speak his English with ease.