Didn’t you say we should trace
your footprints unmindful of
quagmires, thickets and rivers
until we reached your nsolo tree?
Now, here I seat my gourd of beer
on my little fire throw my millet
flour and my smoked meat while
I await the second coming.
2
Why does your mind boggle:
Who will offer another gourd
Who will force another step
To hide our shame?
The goat blood on the rocks
The smoke that issued
The drums you danced to
And the rains hoped for –
You’ve chanted yourselves hoarse
Chilembwe is gone in your dust
Stop lingering then:
Who will start another fire?
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