Many weekend afternoons,

( That time when cats take a nap and dogs mate) When silences hang on the ceiling above our heads like omens,

I sleep on the couch and think of

The swish-swish of grazing cattle on the plains that serenade the Ndenda River,

Mother's sleeping form looking like a discarded bundle on a sagging hospital bed,

Father's pained look at the sight of Mother's shredded lips,

The Nyuni Mountains kissing an autumn blue sky, Grandmother's mango orchard teaming with angry wasps,

Dreams learning to strut in the dust of my birthplace, Hazy visions taking form and becoming vistas of future glories,

The Mutirikwi nodding slightly under the caresses of a gentle wind,

A baboon's palm connecting with the cavernous face of a mischievous o spring,

The sinking moon gazing wistfully at a receding village, A donkey running berserk at the village mill, A mosquito executing relentless raids into the ear of a sleeping herdboy,

A crocodile's nose gliding on water like otsam on a lazy afternoon...

Under the sceptre of afternoon silences I remember many things,

Like praying voices shredding the thick blanket of a summer night,

Like rotten yarns of revelation being woven into a triumphant narrative,

Like Mother's whistling sending her chickens scuttling for cover,

Like the smoking tail of a passing bus engul ng us in unimaginable euphoria,

Like tattered shorts giving girls glimpses of the horrors of adulting.

I remember many things,

Right there as I lie under the sceptre of afternoon silences,

Yet, the road that leads back to words,

To afternoons where the laughter of children tickles the heart,

Remains hidden from the eyes of my mind