You Could Have Left Them Alone

 

“You Could Have Left Them Alone”

You could have left them alone.

Before you came, their world was steady,

days painted with sunlight,

nights wrapped in quiet prayers.

Vainzi mukwasha, asi mukwasha wenhema.

Vainzi muroora, asi moyo wakazara moto.

Where was the tenderness of rudo rwechokwadi?

Where was the song of love our grandmothers spoke of

under the moonlight, hushed in dare?

You came carrying storms.

Late night arguments,

mazwi anocheka sepfumo,

words sharper than knives,

turning walls into graves for laughter.

Ukama igasva, hunozadziswa nekudya…

yet you served bitterness,

fed them heartbreak on clay plates

meant for roasted maize,

meant for sadza shared in joy.

You called it love,

but it was chains.

Blackmail whispered like spirits in the dark,

emotional wounds hidden under bright cloths, 

mbikiza wraps that no longer smelled of home.

You could have left them alone.

Let them dance at mabira,

feet pounding dust with freedom.

Let them wear joy like zambia tied at the waist,

let them sing mavara angu azara nehama

and mean it.

But you did not.

You built a prison inside their chest,

locked it with shouts and silence,

threw away the key in the river of fear.

You could have left them alone.

Not every visitor is a blessing,

not every marriage is roora.

Some unions are shadows, 

stretching long across a life

that was once full of light.

And when the elders ask,

“Ko rudo rwenyu rwakabva kupi?”

silence answers, heavy and unkind.

You could have left them alone.

And maybe then,

their spirit would still be dancing

under the sun of freedom.

Waigona kungovasiya vega.

Mufaro wavo wakanga wakazara,

husiku hwavo husina misodzi.

Asi iwe wakauya nemadutu,

wakavapa marwadzo panzvimbo yerudo.

Rudo harutukwi, vakuru vakataura

asi iwe wakaita kuti rudo rive

jongwe rinorira husiku chete.

Waigona kungovasiya vega,

kuti vatambe, vafare, vararame.