Lisuwa litatu li te ko nyangula
(Every day has its opportunities)-

Little thumping and knocks on my door,
my eyes glisten awake like an alert cop.

An ice cream peddler roamed
near my villa. My window view distinguished
him in layers of fog, running his commercial home,
weighed by the "money syndrome" stone.

Soon, my niece and nephew circled him,
looting neon-colored ice pops on a whim,
gesticulating at me as I stood by the window
to pass the pennies and pay for icy rainbows.

I wondered how his new flavors replaced
the hand-cranked ice cream makers we embraced,
and how he satisfies the children's demands
against new ice cream makers running on commands.

Out of curiosity, I reached his cart.
He said, “Traditional flavoring recipes form my art.
I experiment and turn them into children's fancies.
Modern equipment now sits pale;
as my countryside flavors hold legacies.”

"Lisuwa litatu li te ko nyangula," he said,
Opportunities bloom with each new day ahead.
---
Mushitu wa mhadi, ubusa wa liya
(The forest of a lion hides the prey)-

The walls of regret and uncertainties
hide what can become my sweet memories.
I don’t want a graveyard of my own,
with different coffins acting as seeds to be sown!
I am not a carcass without a ribcage,
where breath lingers on a confused page!

My dignity is quantified in my survival
amongst chunks and scraps of my revival.
I will shape what is unrecognized in me,
so that everything becomes mine which departs me.

I will witness enough deaths of my own
so that I can reincarnate without playing a role.
As "Mushitu wa mhadi, ubusa wa liya," they say,
for challenges hold the rewards of the day.
---
Lutukelo lwa mbuyanga lwa lozi
(A hyena’s laughter is deceptive)-

In gravity, I invented my own pull;
they called me rich- the lion with a silver spoon.
I sought to defeat this notion
and launched my startup with renewed motion.

Piles and piles of documents accommodated;
I had the pressure to get things sorted.
The gossiping huddles fueled the chaos,
while business brought ups and downs.

Nothing seemed disdainful in the mundane,
for my passion was characterized by
work having vast value and a broad span.

But one wrong decision emptied my
lobby of deals; now I was in the backseat.
The agreement, a portal to success,
was disguised as treachery, dwelling in a mess.

My ideas were stolen in reckless haste,
leaving my creative eventuality to waste.

For the hyena’s smile, with its gleaming teeth,
this deal was a warning, a tale of deceit.
"Lutukelo lwa mbuyanga lwa lozi," I thought,
For what seems cheerful need not always be fought.
---
U lya kwele, nawu u lya
(If you eat with someone, you also eat with their spirits)-

Reverse infiltration was my mirror
when meeting with slum children,
felt like wearing their skin,
their souls laid bare and sheer.

Conversing and eating with them
was a diagonal look at straight wisdom,
their pain like squawks of a buzzard,
yet their joy held the power to eliminate all hazard.

The exchange, in the rearview of my mind,
personified as a saintess, rare to find.
Their talks, a rosary bead—
each word a prayer, unveiling their need.

No sick jokes filled our mentality by the end,
the weights of justifiable sorrow met their dead-end.

I went underground and mute,
with these children on a different plane,
revealing each other through a hearty flute.

"U lya kwele, nawu u lya," we found,
For in every shared meal, the spirits resound.
---
(Above used is Lozi language_dialect from Zambia_Africa)

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