Letters From My Deathbed:Dear Hip-hop

Man where do I even begin.You have been such a constant in my life keeping me company,inspiring my life choices,my dressing and being the soundtrack to the B Rated movie that is my life.I went from discovering you at a tender age via dubbed cassette tapes,Radio 3 and Coca Cola on the beat to attempting to replicate what my idols did so effortlessly on wax ridding myself of my shyness and finding an outlet for all the words forever floating around my head.

Sanity is a myth but having a support structure that helped me still the voices in my head is a blessing even the Pope and his court of cardinals couldn't possibly bestow.From hating on what I then termed archaic musings of souls past their prime (sorry dad the beauty of sungura was hidden behind a veil of antiquity then) you taught me that art transcends sonical boundaries as well as clock work by way of sampling.Instead of crass uncalled for attention seeking stunts to gain the attention of pretty lasses you taught me to dress fly and get my twang on separating myself from mere mortals and dazzling would be Mrs Dodgers with my twang and ability to weave words together into a beautiful tapestry that betrayed my love in rhyme.

Late nights at the studio daydreaming of stardom while foregoing sleep.Reverb nation uploads and fist bumps from hood OGs who swore I was Zimbabwe's next export to the Americas not to mention charged up perfomances in front of paltry homecrowds taught me the virtues of patience,hardwork and swimming against the current to make my dream work.Instead of deterring me the kickback from the then gatekeepers taught me to consistently work on improving my craft and diversifying from a failed rapper to a cultural connoisseur determined to make the dreams of other small time boys and girls a reality.Through blogging I got to meet many of my local rap idols and revel in their aura first hand.I have lived long enough to become the poster child of heroes who live long enough to become villains.I wish I had the time,resources and patience to put every talented motherfucker on but listening to 100 bum juice excuses of a song to get that one special song takes its toll on any soul.

Being from a predominantly 3rd world country which equates creativity with penury and practices negativity as a hobby it gets hard to do the things you love.So many have quit only to reemerge again because the virus is too strong and can only lay dormant for so long.For the friends I made,enemies I invented out of dust and memories across cities,platforms and stages I will forever be grateful.That my demise comes at a time when now more than ever your beautiful self is finally getting the reaction it deserves from my country is the perfect dirge to a life lived in your service with everything else coming second.

Such is your power and exceptional gorgeousness that even the most painful moments of life are made bearable with a bar and such is your relatability that the whole spectrum of human existence,emotion and feelings can claim a lyric that mirror that truth.As such my goodbye to you doesn't read like a suicide note but an ode to a great movement that has saved my life more times than Ciara has dated rappers.If reincarnation is a thing I wouldn't mind foregoing eternal sleep and coming back as a rap song.

Your Son Donald Dodger Marindire