stock-footage--silhouette-of-man-digging-a-hole-with-a-shovel-and-wiping-the-sweat-at-the-end-slow-motion

Mukondi, they did not tell you? in the morning you will be hungry again.
That the pot is empty before it is full and that it is full before it is empty.
That you will work for your pay only so you can pay for your work.
That from the lives of your children will yield the pain of your death.
That Chikomba, your friend who was the witness at your marriage, will be the cause of your divorce.

Mukondi, did they not tell you that in the morning you will be hungry again?
That what you eat today is what will eat you tomorrow.
That the birds that sing beautifully in the bush will tear at your corpse when you are dead.
That the sun does not chase the shadow but that the shadow chases the sun.
That the egg did not bring the chicken but that the chicken brought the egg.

Mukondi, they did not tell you? in the morning you will be hungry again.
That dogs can only bark at what they cannot bite.
That the tree can only grow when the seed has truly died.
That the pen that spoils the paper can put no mark on stone.
That the wind that carries the gentle butterfly can draw the harshest floods.

Mukondi, did they not tell you that in the morning you will be hungry again?
That you will celebrate to gain the courage to mourn, and that you will mourn to build the hope to celebrate.
That things are not what they seem, for to fail is to succeed at failing, and to succeed is to fail at failing.
That in the end one is all and all is one, food for the stomach and the stomach for food.
That as they dig they bury, that as they live they die

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