In the carnival of a conspiracy
But a toddler bubbles in-
Nigel, you spent 72 days,
But only gamblers-
* * *
MILK WITH MARVIN, MY CAT
I gave Marvin some milk to drink
I spoke of the D.R.C
I spoke of Zimbabwe's problems
I spoke of South Africa
And I thought it must have been-
Or Marvin had turned into an Afro-sceptic?
* * *
The arrest and slammed doors In a cell, in Harare. The beatings, gorging, choppings And in the throes of a shape-shift- The walls of my cell, in Chikurubi Maximum prison. Slanting backwards with weights- Of a cracked head, gorged flesh and chopped- Limbs of my own body. And my steady howling and gnashing cries. The CIO's beatings, questions, Sexual and psychological abuse Trying to bleed answers from me. Also from my next cell's occupant. Talk, talk, talk, the insistent hammer Of those words repeated again and again. Where are your handlers? Where are the weapons? What was the plan--- that I never had? That I never knew of, and in the next cell- The green bombers rage at the cell's occupant. My lawyer asked for bail and for A doctor to look at my wounds. Which I was granted by the court, but which The police defied the court over And re-locked me back in my cell as They appeal, re-appeal, and re- appeal the appealed Judgments, whilst The beatings continue. Now timed like eating times, three times A day like breakfast, lunch and supper. I didn't have anything more to say I didn't even have the power to say anything To admit to the wrongs I knew I hadn't done. But by the time I had decided to lie And admit to shelter myself from the beatings They were now tired of bleeding me out. So they brought me before the Judge And I knew that I was a free-man That Judge Makarau will not find fault Save for my rotting chopped hands. They charged me falsely with Banditry, terrorism, and insurgency And I was facing a death sentence. But my lawyer agued long and reasoned And the judge saw through their schemes Games and brutalities and- She released me scotch-free but with- A brutalized heart, brutalized flesh. Brutalized soul, brutalized dreams And brutalized prayers. But I only felt sorry for- My next cell's occupant. Who still had to face more beatings and Cut limbs before the judge releases him. Before the CIO tell the police not to- Appeal, re-appeal---, the judge's decisions. And also before the CIO break his spirit. Never again to write and say- Anything against this brutal regime. Or about its brutalities.