A Girl named Zimbabwe

Wrapped in a black dress that caressed the curves of her hips and hugged the outline of her thighs she exhaled. She was Beautiful and as I gazed into her hazel colored eyes that seemed to mirror the reflections of a damaged soul she told me the story of a broken heart. As she gestured I would hear the rattling sound of the red, green and yellow bracelets fastened to her wrists - a calming jingle that seemed to accompany the soft but passionate tone of her voice.

She said "I loved him". Loved him like a poet loves a beautiful metaphor. She said "I needed him". Needed him like a blooming flower needs sunshine. She said "without him I was incomplete", like a belt without a buckle. Her feelings for him were like a river of affection; silent streams of loyalty, adoration, admiration and trust that flowed over smoothed-out pebbles that speckled the river bed. She said "But with time He took me for granted. He abused my trusted and never returned my affection. With time, He neglected my needs and ignored my expectations. With time, He began to belittle my sacrifices and abandon his many promises."

Wrapped in a black dress that caressed the curves of her hips and hugged the outline of her thighs she exhaled. She was Beautiful and as I gazed into her hazel colored eyes that seemed to mirror the reflections of a damaged soul she told me the story of a broken heart - the tale of a country and a people betrayed.

Sincerely yours,
Kwapi


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