By the rising tides of Rukuru we sat
Gazing at the wild wave from faraway
Flooding memories of yellow piggery
Musings over fickle torchbearers rage
Of resilient liars and mindless mortals
Tossing and rocking dreams into fragments
Down the winding streams of Chiweta escarpments
Waterlogged in spreads of kilombero schemes
With mother dinosaur overlooking the flood plains
Where blasts of riches impregnate kayerekera
The shaken, stricken, cracked huts
Yonder in Mwamalopa village lie
Tents of survival, pyramids of mockery
Buried in polythene podiums of politicks
Tombstones turned and the dead unearthed
A decibel of decimal biscuit disasters
Peppered with virulent verbal diarrhea
Flickers of fiery crossfire over the displaced
As the speechless jostle for kondowore crumbs
The leftovers barbequed promises and hopes
Yet the sun sets and rises and sets and rises
While mouths of the voiceless lick crispy gold
Waiting for the day Rukuru will rise and quake
Soaking endurance into submission yet again
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