Written on a fall day by a statue of Stalin in Kishinev where a large rose bush grew and having watched it from spring bloom to fall.
As the shaft of the stem rose from the ground Upon the break of spring, and stretched to the sky Forming a bud, enclosed by natures protective skin It suddenly opens, by the rays of the sun, Into a beautiful, colorful, poignant flower. It will stand until the fall, and in the fall this flower, Shall upon a certain day, begin to die and fade away Leaving behind, only remnants and seeds to grow.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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