by Alison Mujati
Thursday 12 September 1985,
Time to uproot though not a destroying way.
The offspring of January the same year.
From known ground a bouncing baby boy is born.
We look forward to a great future,
Words were said, like everyone else at birth.
Infancy brought an ugly type of a child,
Deprived of all privileges a decent child.
Not called along cute one but still a child
In all differences, to others, I remained a human child.
Time flies for everyone to escape being a child
A child, an offspring of year 1985.
Losing a mother to ailment moulded a fragile future.
Despite glimpses of brilliance in a tiny mind,
Fate pledges everyone's sustenance.
Even in distress, everyone hasthe edge to moving.
When everything finally settles, the tally remain in our hands to bear.
This is life, a product we can own,
But powerless to control what it brings.
I rue that day in 1985
Childhood is a place every grown man has stayed.
Adulthood is ground of inevitability.
If God keeps you around, you will account for the two.
Eyes broadening to see clearly,
Ears hearing lousy squeaking sounds even of tiniest creatures.
All in unison to learn of the formula to success.
Some ways worth not stepping upon.
And beyond our vision of sight to foretell.
Lamentations pinned on 1985.
Riddles will always raise eyebrows,
Saying much yet every ear seam deaf.
Behind, whispers are noisy,
Some wish for my life.
I wonder why?
Because I salivate for the life of other people.
It will never make sense,
Such a left behind life had admirers?
Still it will not change me from being a product of 1985.
In spite ofall loopholes over my life,
Everyone aroundhas shortcomings.
It is inevitable to lament in life.
The world have seen my works,
A remnant acknowledged that work..
Though not perfect, pride is what I have.
And to those who see a misfit,
It is not my fault,
You may blame the year I was born in 1985