The Armchair

Poems about pining for the past and appreciating the values of little things in life — from Malawian Nixon Mateulah

For a Poor Man

For a poor man every drop of sweat from his brow every drop of water from the well every drop of spoon of sugar every drop of tea from his cup every drop of milk from a cow every drop of oil onto a pan every drop of maize flour every drop of his last coin from his pocket every drop of rain from heaven every drop of light from the sun every drop of seed into the fertile soil every drop of night every drop of clod into the grave of life every drop of his good deed and every drop of his knee in prayer reminds him, how fortunate is he to be alive?

The Armchair

He sat in you alone at a conference in his head. You always faced the open window curtains parted ways, a cool breeze flocked in and tied around his hot head. He watched the outside world at play, with the eyes of a bird perched on a pole.

Where’s your friend now? He, who tied your legs with nails to one place, denied you the movement of a tree. Did he ever feel the comfort of your pain? Will you endure the loneliness of emptiness? Or lose your arms and gain another name?

Kawale Township

kawale, you will never be the same again the death of my father expelled me from you twenty years ago but you still look the same like an old man with grey hair wearing the same babyish face where are the girls who played in the dirt streets at night? when the moon had killed all the stars and given out its enormous light? two girls dancing in the middle of the circle, hems of their dresses tucked in their panties and gyrating their tiny waists like a wheel in motion? where is uncle george ‘dancing’ nyirenda, the boxer? mr. che ndagala, the grocer? mr. aleluya, the street pastor? and chadza, the soldier, who wriggled out of his uniform turned his gun into a drumstick serenaded and flirted with the house wives? when I walk in the dirt streets now no one recognises me only the houses and trees wink acknowledgeable smiles at me men and women look suspiciously at me most young girls flaunting their trophies on their laps after an orgy of promiscuity i look too foreign to belong to their misery

Nixon Mateulah is a Malawian writer and poet. He moved to South Africa in 1996. His writings have appeared in Munyori, Jungle Jim Magazine, Storymoja, Aerodrome, Kalahari Review, Tuck Magazine, Stanzas Magazine, Paulet House Stories, Too Powerful Word Magazine, Nkgwana Magazine, Africa Poetry Magazine. Some of his poems appears under pseudonym, Chichichapatile Mangochi. He is currently finishing his Masters in Creative Writing at the University of the Western Cape.