Thirsty Sounds For A Nation's Drought Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

When the news crawls down the
Mountain on the stony village
Staircase where news is rare
Our grapevine comes to life.
The village huts look skyward
Letting out smoke at the top
Like mushrooms with chimneys.

The news gets down the slope
From the mountains and the people
Crawl out of the huts like ants
Coming out of grass topped
Ant heaps.

The village runner has news
We want to hear and that is
There is a donation of food
That has come from abroad in
Some country over there where
It never ceases to rain like
Here where we never get snow
Followed by another season
Of rain.

The women go and get ways to
Get the bits to be given out
And talk about this the whole
Week until the truck comes
For we have indeed become a
People in need.

Days were when women would
Go out and get seed in bags
From far away neighbors and
Days where when the storage
In the ground was full food
Lay hidden so deep that in
Times of war the enemy would
Not know where the storage
Was and even if the enemy set
Fire to the land, it would not
Burn. People lived on and life
Was not in the hands of fate.

Now the whistle is not blown
To dance steps of maidens in
The arena. It is blown to call
The village to line up for the
Ration from abroad has come and
Food to last a few months must
Be taken to huts where it will
Disappear in a week or two.

This announcement rare gives
Hope that never lasts and takes
The same story back to the stomach
Which will retort in grumbles
Frequently heard and ignored.
This starvation that hits the land
With a drought leaves us with
Mouths agape to ever be agape.

We seek a page to write a story
That returns people to the days
Of plenty in these days when the
Heat seers every plant to shreds
Leaving it shaking in the wind
To die a fruitless death with
No harvest to talk about. A solar
Story to hit the solar plexus
Of a nation and help people
Regain their pride for deep
Down water can gush out if
We only but try.