These Gates

Poetry | By Wadzanai Chiuriri, Poet | 28 December 2016

The gates that keep me from seeing the back of my television set,
The gates that keep me from seeing the back of my television set,
The gates that keep me from seeing behind the back of my television set.

I almost didn’t take a walk in South Africa
It just reeked too much of the blood red
Stained on my newspaper
The stench of exaggerated half-truths 

I almost didn’t believe in her sanity
They made her language sound aggressive
And I never thought I would discover myself
In a language unfamiliar to my tongue
They reduced her to a flesh eating machine

I was afraid to step off the aeroplane
I thought I would fall on a knife and become
A dead sensation with a complicated court case
Hovering over the memory of me

And these borders that God knows who created
These politics and poll tricks
That limit me to specific space, time and mind frame

The gates that keep me from seeing the back of my television set,
The gates that keep me from seeing the back of my television set,
I thought I was too fat for to go to the beach
Too plus to fit in a bikini
They led me to deny my feet the chance to encounter that deep
Soothing soft naked sand
I deprived my soul the waters because of them
I almost didn’t rub shoulders with my sister
I almost didn’t see Azania’s face in Vangi’s eyes
I almost didn’t look at Quaz’s hair
And feel the history of his growth
I almost didn’t see Nigeria’s foolishness in Dagga’s silence
I almost didn’t take a walk with Page
I almost didn’t meet Africa

The gates that keep me from seeing the back of my television set,
The gates that keep me from seeing the back of my television set
I almost wasn’t here.

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