Nameless… For now

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.

Nameless

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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