May 25, 2026

by A MULAMBA CHIBESAKUNDA

The City Wind is Lonely

The city wind is lonely.  

Lusaka has no love.  

He told the Findeco house 

to play with him all night.  

she stood stiff to the mooba dance  

and had no buyombo skirt to sing.  

The city wind is whooshy,  

with no life to give a kiss.  

The city wind is lonely.  

The chief has lost his throne.  

He remembers the rattles   

that soothed a virgin’s songs 

A dusk of dancers clapped 

On hills and not in malls.

The city wind is mourning;  

Prince Lusaka has no place.  

The city wind is lonely;  

his forest is no more.  

There are no rivers to caress  

or secrets to bury in the soil.  

He used to walk with trackers  

and share tales with owls.   

The city wind is whistling;  

Death ignores his dusty call.  

The city wind is lonely.  

Though he flirts 

with palm trees and trash,  

He tried to wink at water.  

But from her breath oozed  

flies and foul odours.  

A cloud used his cloves of air  

to pour her acid pain.  

The city wind is howling,  

He hates his growing home.

*

The Infection of My Affection

Why does my spouse smell like a hangman?

My neck encircled by a noose,  

When it was he who desired another—  

Bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh—  

The battle grows between the virus and my cells.

Why do you expect forgiveness? 

When my children will forget me?

Deep Red is for the diseased,  

Black, a colour of death; 

What is the symbol for offence?

He tasted the poison from her pouted lips,  

She played my role on the top of his lap 

So why do I stand barefoot

in front of a viral firing squad,  

An execution, a beheading for a weathering wife

I wake up in confusion,  

Drugs collide with HIV;  

Voices hopping through my head—  

Crying and panicking, 

Coping and dreading,  

As  the infection of my affection 

Squeezes my soul out of me.