The evening sea-dusts of tearful eye
before the rain
I did not see
what was it like to lay this heavy head
on the delicate pillow barely,barely able
to anchor the butchered soul in your heart.
Inflicted by the pin pricks of the mercurical sea.
Pain is the house
I showed you pointing with my finger
while we chewed toasts and drank coffee.
And you told me about your sweet dreams.
Blank may have gone my face
when I saw the bridge disappearing in the mists.
You said:
I don't have manners
You better got to teach me.
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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