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My heart rains in smithereens like red confetti falling
From the crown of cumulonimbus heights.
Its shredded pieces fall in dizzy circles while
Trying to find the perfect landing on uneven ground.
My eyes are ajar like shutters to a vacant, soulless castle.
I’m not dead. I’m not alive. I’m existing.
A solid presence in an otherwise empty space.
But do not be fooled…
I am powerful.
Somewhere deep within this thick dark mass
Is a volcano ticking and awaiting
The perfect moment to exhale new lava.
Waiting to create continents of thought
Populated by change and reason.
I am a heart still beating after it has been cut out from the living.
I am the African Violet leaf that lives on
After being ripped from the mother plant.
I am the singing voice of an orphaned child.
Frank Malaba © 2015
Frank Malaba is an enigma to Zimbabwe, the country of his birth. Such a distinction is not defined by his talent as a poet, artist, writer, but by his advocacy, as a gay African male. He STANDS, though persecuted, he STANDS, to love, and he speaks his truth. [An excerpt from his voice in his article – A Thorn in the Flesh]. Malaba loves his country, but fights for his “very being.” He invites all gay Africans to stand with him, to fight for the right be treated as a vital participants in African culture that deserve to be respected. His blog, Frank Malaba’s Prosetry, invites all kindred spirits to speak, love, and heal.
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