Walusungu Kateka
بواسطة Walusungu Kateka**Broken-Hearted**
I am broken-hearted when I talk to myself,
I lose control,
like a calabash slipping from trembling hands,
spilling secrets I meant to keep buried.
My voice echoes in the hollow of my chest,
a drumbeat searching for a dancer who left the fire long ago.
They say, *"A tree with sweet fruit always has stones thrown at it,"*
but what happens when the fruit rots before it’s tasted?
What happens when the stones are my own thoughts,
hurled at the reflection in the river,
shattering the face I once knew?
I am broken-hearted,
like a cracked clay pot,
still holding water but leaking memories,
drop by drop,
until the ground beneath me is a map of my sorrow.
They say, *"The moon moves slowly, but it crosses the town,"*
yet here I am, stuck in the shadow of a love that set like the sun,
leaving me in a darkness so thick,
even the stars refuse to visit.
I am broken-hearted,
like a bird with a song too heavy to carry,
its melody tangled in thorns,
its wings clipped by the weight of what could have been.
They say, *"If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together,"*
but what if the one you walked with
turned into a ghost on the path,
leaving footprints that fade with the morning dew?
I am broken-hearted,
like a drum silenced at the festival,
like a story cut short before the lesson is learned.
But even in the breaking,
there is a whisper of wisdom:
*"The river that forgets its source will run dry."*
So I return to the roots of my being,
to the soil that birthed me,
to the hands that molded me,
and I remember:
even the broken calabash can hold firewood,
even the cracked pot can cradle new seeds,
even the bird with the heavy song
will one day find a tree strong enough to bear its tune.
I am broken-hearted,
but I am not finished.
For the heart that breaks
is the heart that knows
how to beat again.