By Richard Chirombo
Yes, Fergus Cochrane-Dyet is now gone with the winds
Which winds propelled his flight home,
A frightful pack-home,
A frightful landing.
Expelled from the land that warms to the grave.
But, at least, Fergus Cochrane-Dyet has somewhere to be 'expelled' to:
But for us, Malawians
The moment one big mortal decides,
To 'expel' you
He will send you to heaven!
The one thing about heaven,
One troubling thing about going,
When the Big Mortal speaketh
Is that they squeze you around,
Getting the air outa you
Until you, like
Floating into the air from you squeezed
To push you beyond lands far and wide
Where to perch,
Without arms or limbs and trees
Somewhere beyond the blueless sky.
Fergus Cochrane-Dyet has somewhere to be expelled to:
For the Malawian,
Gone with the winds from the throat,
Squezed into worlds unknown.
To be hugged by the rain clouds,
Ferried by the welcoming back of the spirits.
To stumble into peace more felt than known,
More hoped for than planned.
Where Fergus Cochrane-Dyet does not go as yet,
Only propelled by the winds to London,
Somewhere he disgracefully calls home,
Hit by a hand that sounded black