(To my mother, ‘ Mrs N Chiwala’)

Indeed it’s your fruit
Thus, when young and tender
Was sour and troubling
But when matured and ripe
Its juices are sweet

Mother, let the juices
Quench your thirst
Of hope and longing
And its sweetness
Satisfy your hunger
Of wanting and lacking

For long you have suffered
For the sower
Has answered the creator’s call
No one was there but you
Like a leper
Only you, alone you stood