The Saints Poem by tinashe severa

The saints of my land never were,
all that was, and still remains
are little devils, dressed in rented suits
living off the suffering
of the sons of the houses of stone,
the hunger of the daughters of their mothers,
the sickness of their mothers,
the deaths of their fathers

The saints that never were
took me to the top of inyanga
and showed me my land free, unchained,
my mother and father alive
money in my pocket,
the sick looking forward to recovery
i told my neighbour.....woke up in jail

They promised to bring,
justice and equality to my land
i sang it to the wind,
woke up in a mental ward

They took me to the top of the RBZ
i looked up and i saw the rivers flowing
i looked down and i saw the clouds smiling