Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Hatchet not buried

Enlarge poem

I am the true human resource
The source is golden knowledge from old and solid
Historical Afro centric scrolls
I read the passages that tend to revive times and essences
Abolishing lies with relevant, relieving historical Afro centric references
Retracing the roots, the master key to unlock mindless minds from Eurocentric labyrinths
I broke the chains of damaged brains, shames of taking blames
Like aunt sallies,
I took my psychology back from Mr Lynch unlike brothers’ minds and bellies
Teeming with poison, fountains of poison
I delve deep into history books unfolding hidden truths
That poised my youth, perused about the Khoi and
The san nomads, wanderlust Bantu, wondrous ancient paths of living
Kept a place for humanity, a space for giving forgiveness,
Forgiving ways of interest
Uplift-ment of pride commences with the investment of saving time
Spending energy making great strides in the lessons of self-discovery
Ditching debates that debase the Bantu tribes with phony derogatory stories told by white folks
Recovering what has been removed by Europeans ruthless rulers who were foes
Published lies, established rumours that rallied to ravage our courage
to carry on the wisdom
culture and knowledge given by the source giver
Lost pillars, cost the lives ‘of leaders
in attempts to bring back the properties of ancient black men philosophies
But I know itineraries to travel backwards
back into history and rearrange some facts that are awkward to grasp
No jiffy to spend in galas with right wing whiteys
I’m in the past like alas expressing grief with alacrity
You cannot second guess yourself
When the enemy hits you below the belt
You cannot be fickle in the middle of these pickles
Like riddles truths are clad with trickle of trickery
Trimmed with thorns and prickles
My hatchet is not buried I carry it
To remove flies from the foreheads of the black cargo merchants
Identity fragments, handicapped traces
The solely remnants from blackness
I just chuckle over some churchmen who urge men
To turn the other cheek
Still get unpleasant hints
Too many elders preach wisdom yet minds are limps
I pledged to find the links
From the past to reconnect what’s lost
Clusters, musters of rebels got crossed
But the cause remained unchanged
Combating with words untamed
To axe the actions of white supremacy and the legacy
It creates, it’s no great shakes
My brain be fuming with rage each second I contemplate the brutal killing of emmit till
This unfolds tragic outcomes like the national suicide
Of the fabricated pseudo prophesy of the young Xhosa female
It absolutely fails me how the chiefs got led up the garden path by tales
Over power and avarice, took the thorough risk
Betrayed fraternity and fellowship
No longer candlesticks, we bent to become bandits and man of tricks
Went amiss, the saga lingers but still peace don’t exist
Social destructive mutations, insignificant events evoking tension
Like the war of the axe
Black houses are cold and vacant
White areas teeming with our mothers domesticated like bantams
We are the paupers
Social security the charity ensuring clothes, food and shelter
like Muslims during the end of Ramadan
When does this karma comes upon these robbers?
Boycott senators; disobey the orders of officers like mutiny
Suffering repercussions of former family felonies
Living a brief life, like a feminine bikini
our lives are short
It’s not enigma, they are rich of your flesh
The rich reach your ass like enema
to take blacks for rides like rickshaws
The jigsaws are whole,
the biggest pictures are shown
Vividly exposed
How they made mockeries of the Nguni like caricatures and coons
Scary matters loomed
to sweep the chiefs and substitute them with magistrates
plotting our doom
Like the framing and execution of Mr Troy Davis
The governments’ are excellent
when dealing rebels who be boycotting their service
The media can con and individual
with trivia through facades that are convivial
They gave me, they gave you, and they gave us
the privilege to free speech
So to discover what’s going on inside our minds like psycho analysis
You are just a punching bag who doesn’t fight back like mannequins
But I shield the stones with thorough knowledge of my roots and origins
Even though the facts of life be throwing tantrums
In attempts to bring me down
But the energy and knowledge I own is bound
To keep me upright like my foremen magnum
My psyche sinks 50 fathom deep
you cannot fathom the venom it causes
Like the effects of weekend orgies
Either you get robbed by evil ass tsotsies
Or get mugged by ghetto convicts who cannot be convinced
To bother and rather conflict their guiltiness with common sense and conscience
Even the therapy couch could hardly handle this programmed callousness
Out of my social amorphous
I came through granted with a special calibre
To mend the broken pieces of freedom and democracy
Politicians in a position to ruin my discussions and decisions
You are in the middle of getting pissed like urine excretion
Slaves’ ships have sunk, prisons bars fractured
I fell over backwards to grab this
If the rainbow nation means that we are all in the melting pot
Consider this, why is it that whites are relaxing at the beauty spot?
While blacks are sweating in the kitchen doing the filthy job

Unathi Slasha

Featured Poem:

Black Paint

Enlarge poem

Since I am black
I am still knocking on closed doors
with broken handles
Begging for a small change
submitting thanks and praises
To God for nothing we got this far
Sounds strange
Like believing crime pays
When you benefit benefits for the day
To get by without having to buy by coins
Make a living of the daily ordinary don’ts’
By collecting all the bad points
Mobilize them
To get food into storage
Like food residues
We remain the rejects from the throne
Been blown
Thrown
Beaten by sticks and stones
Pistols and batons brought bruises
Broken backs and bones
Moans and groans
Were daily poems
However
We are still strong
Standing tall like a grandfather clock
Trying to live clean but they offer filthy jobs
To be done soon
Gave us goons
Took away the books
Like we are only good for hewing wood
And fetching water from the river
Rivers filled with filth and absolute filth
How could we possibly build firm homes
With sandstones
When you took away the flesh
And gave us dry bones?
Nowadays my streets and corridors
Are sprayed with a stunning graffiti
Called blood spills
My sisters are steelworks
They manufacture infants that are steel
Not still born but born to still stay stable
Steadfastly stand the storms with stances
That are stone strong.
Well according to my ancestral traces and traits

I am not a stranger to the planet dubbed blacks
Liable to preposterous attacks
Caused by the rugged rags
I rock bottom from top to bottom
That’s how I blossomed from riches to rags
The tall story goes on. . .
Commenced by the veterans
Who voted for this freedom and democracy
You enthusiastically proclaim
Well this is not 76
I insist this is not 76
But in the streets
I am still rioting, boycotting prejudice
And skin colour bribery
Police brutality
Human rights violation
Public harassment callousness
Where is black consciousness?
When we are susceptible to reliance
Poor domestic servants and peasants
each year
we are there
to dare
voting for the black Verwoerds’ and Malans’re incarnated
Let’s vote for the black Verwoerds’ and Malans’re incarnated.
We cannot just rest
we need a fresh installation disc
of black consciousness
my consciousness and conscience calls
what about yours?
My spirit sobs
When my time machine slide shows me
Of how blacks were taken to the dogs
They think it’s nice to live a dog’s life in a dog’s house
Lost touch with much
Now
I only have poetry to spout!
Poetry of blacks!
Black concepts forsaken
This was taken
From the recycle bins of your daily trivialities
Of unspoken forbidden realities and mysteries
Of blacks who gradually dragged their
Identities & histories into the deep gloomy
Rooms of non-existent western philosophies
From the cocky coons
Who casted their customs
For common commodities
My poetry is a photographic slideshow
That constantly
Play video tapes of unsung
Forgotten heroes
The tip of my tongue
Is a host for Sobukwe’s and Biko’s ghosts
Spitting tantrums
Like who the hell marked our
Traditions and cultures with dark spots
Like dominoes?
The question is intended to be rhetorical
But only if you view with one eye like a monocle
I hold the answers to ransom
until you open Your Third Eye vision
so envision what’s missing. . .

unathi

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (0)
  • Pride (0)
  • Optimism (3)
  • Anger (4)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (1)
  • Reflection (1)
  • Captivation (2)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (0)
  • Sadness (3)
  • Fear (0)
  • Jubilation (0)

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Biography

Unathi Slasha under the nom de plume ‘Dark-blood the bard’ is a spoken word artist, performer, literature enthusiast, poet, short story writer born in 1989, emerging from a small township named Dispatch in the Nelson Mandela Bay, infamous of its extremely high rate of illiteracy and dearth of artistic activism. A glimmer of hope carried out by this well-read young man determined to be a positive model and a trendsetter among his peers and set a perfect example for the up-and-coming young people in his community through performance art, with an undisputed aptitude.
His love for performance poetry commenced when he got introduced to poetry sessions by a friend who was a poet. From there, he got influenced and imbued with passion to start writing. He consistently contains an influential and enticing manipulation of words, with a flawless poetry and a unique phraseology and diction. On stage he is known for his spirited and energetic delivery and controversial style that comes out as a blend of street style yet literary poetry that involves socio political issues and historic events that tend to take any audience aback.His love for African literature is evidenced by the allusions and complex metaphors and intertextuality prevalent in most of his poetry – spoken word.
He aims at using his writings as an apparatus to inform and to instigate social reforms: to individuals who wish to be products of change in the society at large: he creates a personal pressure that frog-march them to do research about their identities and roots. Since he commenced his journey of performances and circulation around the different parts of the Eastern Cape, KZN and in the Western Cape, he has been receiving respect and love from each and every single person that has witnessed his pure talent and energy on stage.
One of his short stories and a few of his analytical poems have been published in an annual literary Journal called Ntinga, and as well as in the publication called Expressions within both of these publications were/are initiatives of arts and culture and the Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University’s department of language and literature.  During the operation of the 2013 Africa Cup of Nations, when some of the matches where held in PE, he was one of the performers that kept the crowd intrigued with his revolutionary  and unconventional poetry at the PE Opera House theatre.
He has performed in East London at one of the most prominent platforms known as the Soul Clap Sessions organized and hosted by Ipoetry KaNkqo. The Bard was one of the indelible artists that had an outstanding theatrical performance at the annual Grassroots Arts Festival held in Motherwell. He was one of the four first PE artists to make an appearance in the yearly Hip-hop event – The Final Touchdown in Alice. The bard has performed as a guest poet at the Love Life Music is Life mini Festival that was held In Uitenhage at Willow Dam in 2013. In 2012 he was one of the poets that were chosen to facilitate and demonstrate spoken word to high school pupils during the poetry workshops that were held in September during the National Book week at the Red Location Museum in New Brighton. The Bard has performed at the 2013 Nelson Mandela Bay Book fair that had the likes of Ntsiki Mazwai, Don Mattera, Lesego Rampolokeng, Niq Mhlongo, Motsoko Pheko, Ayanda Billie and other remarkable renowned authors and poets.
He has also co-founded NMMU’s foremost spoken word and poetry society called the Resonance Poetry Movement, along with Sisonke Papu and Azola Dayile – which they have successfully managed to launch.
He has also worked with the NMMU International Office and the Centre for the Advancement of non-Racialism and Democracy (CANRAD) in the NMMU Africa Week in a public lecture delivered by Prof. James Ogude (University of Pretoria) in remembrance of the late Chinua Achebe and his impact on the African literature landscape. He has been featured as a one of the performers at the first ever two days poetry festival in the Nelson Mandela Bay: Praat Poetry Festival, which hosted Lebo Mashile and Lesego Rampolokeng as guest poets.
He is a regular performance poet at the Elements of Hip-hop sessions that are monthly held in Motherwell and at the Culture Consciousness weekly sessions. He was once headlined at the PE Opera House YiYo (An Opera house initiative that focuses on solo artists granting them a platform for discussion, performance and constructive criticism on their respective art forms.)
Every single person who claims to love poetry and is an art enthusiast is obliged to show respect to the craft of this young wordsmith as he continues to make major moves. He believes to be the embodiment and the rhetorical speaker for the neglected poor through his spoken word that he enthusiastically utters.

Unathi Slasha

unathi
unathi

Biography

Unathi Slasha under the nom de plume ‘Dark-blood the bard’ is a spoken word artist, performer, literature enthusiast, poet, short story writer born in 1989, emerging from a small township named Dispatch in the Nelson Mandela Bay, infamous of its extremely high rate of illiteracy and dearth of artistic activism. A glimmer of hope carried out by this well-read young man determined to be a positive model and a trendsetter among his peers and set a perfect example for the up-and-coming young people in his community through performance art, with an undisputed aptitude.
His love for performance poetry commenced when he got introduced to poetry sessions by a friend who was a poet. From there, he got influenced and imbued with passion to start writing. He consistently contains an influential and enticing manipulation of words, with a flawless poetry and a unique phraseology and diction. On stage he is known for his spirited and energetic delivery and controversial style that comes out as a blend of street style yet literary poetry that involves socio political issues and historic events that tend to take any audience aback.His love for African literature is evidenced by the allusions and complex metaphors and intertextuality prevalent in most of his poetry – spoken word.
He aims at using his writings as an apparatus to inform and to instigate social reforms: to individuals who wish to be products of change in the society at large: he creates a personal pressure that frog-march them to do research about their identities and roots. Since he commenced his journey of performances and circulation around the different parts of the Eastern Cape, KZN and in the Western Cape, he has been receiving respect and love from each and every single person that has witnessed his pure talent and energy on stage.
One of his short stories and a few of his analytical poems have been published in an annual literary Journal called Ntinga, and as well as in the publication called Expressions within both of these publications were/are initiatives of arts and culture and the Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University’s department of language and literature.  During the operation of the 2013 Africa Cup of Nations, when some of the matches where held in PE, he was one of the performers that kept the crowd intrigued with his revolutionary  and unconventional poetry at the PE Opera House theatre.
He has performed in East London at one of the most prominent platforms known as the Soul Clap Sessions organized and hosted by Ipoetry KaNkqo. The Bard was one of the indelible artists that had an outstanding theatrical performance at the annual Grassroots Arts Festival held in Motherwell. He was one of the four first PE artists to make an appearance in the yearly Hip-hop event – The Final Touchdown in Alice. The bard has performed as a guest poet at the Love Life Music is Life mini Festival that was held In Uitenhage at Willow Dam in 2013. In 2012 he was one of the poets that were chosen to facilitate and demonstrate spoken word to high school pupils during the poetry workshops that were held in September during the National Book week at the Red Location Museum in New Brighton. The Bard has performed at the 2013 Nelson Mandela Bay Book fair that had the likes of Ntsiki Mazwai, Don Mattera, Lesego Rampolokeng, Niq Mhlongo, Motsoko Pheko, Ayanda Billie and other remarkable renowned authors and poets.
He has also co-founded NMMU’s foremost spoken word and poetry society called the Resonance Poetry Movement, along with Sisonke Papu and Azola Dayile – which they have successfully managed to launch.
He has also worked with the NMMU International Office and the Centre for the Advancement of non-Racialism and Democracy (CANRAD) in the NMMU Africa Week in a public lecture delivered by Prof. James Ogude (University of Pretoria) in remembrance of the late Chinua Achebe and his impact on the African literature landscape. He has been featured as a one of the performers at the first ever two days poetry festival in the Nelson Mandela Bay: Praat Poetry Festival, which hosted Lebo Mashile and Lesego Rampolokeng as guest poets.
He is a regular performance poet at the Elements of Hip-hop sessions that are monthly held in Motherwell and at the Culture Consciousness weekly sessions. He was once headlined at the PE Opera House YiYo (An Opera house initiative that focuses on solo artists granting them a platform for discussion, performance and constructive criticism on their respective art forms.)
Every single person who claims to love poetry and is an art enthusiast is obliged to show respect to the craft of this young wordsmith as he continues to make major moves. He believes to be the embodiment and the rhetorical speaker for the neglected poor through his spoken word that he enthusiastically utters.

Hatchet not buried

Enlarge poem

I am the true human resource
The source is golden knowledge from old and solid
Historical Afro centric scrolls
I read the passages that tend to revive times and essences
Abolishing lies with relevant, relieving historical Afro centric references
Retracing the roots, the master key to unlock mindless minds from Eurocentric labyrinths
I broke the chains of damaged brains, shames of taking blames
Like aunt sallies,
I took my psychology back from Mr Lynch unlike brothers’ minds and bellies
Teeming with poison, fountains of poison
I delve deep into history books unfolding hidden truths
That poised my youth, perused about the Khoi and
The san nomads, wanderlust Bantu, wondrous ancient paths of living
Kept a place for humanity, a space for giving forgiveness,
Forgiving ways of interest
Uplift-ment of pride commences with the investment of saving time
Spending energy making great strides in the lessons of self-discovery
Ditching debates that debase the Bantu tribes with phony derogatory stories told by white folks
Recovering what has been removed by Europeans ruthless rulers who were foes
Published lies, established rumours that rallied to ravage our courage
to carry on the wisdom
culture and knowledge given by the source giver
Lost pillars, cost the lives ‘of leaders
in attempts to bring back the properties of ancient black men philosophies
But I know itineraries to travel backwards
back into history and rearrange some facts that are awkward to grasp
No jiffy to spend in galas with right wing whiteys
I’m in the past like alas expressing grief with alacrity
You cannot second guess yourself
When the enemy hits you below the belt
You cannot be fickle in the middle of these pickles
Like riddles truths are clad with trickle of trickery
Trimmed with thorns and prickles
My hatchet is not buried I carry it
To remove flies from the foreheads of the black cargo merchants
Identity fragments, handicapped traces
The solely remnants from blackness
I just chuckle over some churchmen who urge men
To turn the other cheek
Still get unpleasant hints
Too many elders preach wisdom yet minds are limps
I pledged to find the links
From the past to reconnect what’s lost
Clusters, musters of rebels got crossed
But the cause remained unchanged
Combating with words untamed
To axe the actions of white supremacy and the legacy
It creates, it’s no great shakes
My brain be fuming with rage each second I contemplate the brutal killing of emmit till
This unfolds tragic outcomes like the national suicide
Of the fabricated pseudo prophesy of the young Xhosa female
It absolutely fails me how the chiefs got led up the garden path by tales
Over power and avarice, took the thorough risk
Betrayed fraternity and fellowship
No longer candlesticks, we bent to become bandits and man of tricks
Went amiss, the saga lingers but still peace don’t exist
Social destructive mutations, insignificant events evoking tension
Like the war of the axe
Black houses are cold and vacant
White areas teeming with our mothers domesticated like bantams
We are the paupers
Social security the charity ensuring clothes, food and shelter
like Muslims during the end of Ramadan
When does this karma comes upon these robbers?
Boycott senators; disobey the orders of officers like mutiny
Suffering repercussions of former family felonies
Living a brief life, like a feminine bikini
our lives are short
It’s not enigma, they are rich of your flesh
The rich reach your ass like enema
to take blacks for rides like rickshaws
The jigsaws are whole,
the biggest pictures are shown
Vividly exposed
How they made mockeries of the Nguni like caricatures and coons
Scary matters loomed
to sweep the chiefs and substitute them with magistrates
plotting our doom
Like the framing and execution of Mr Troy Davis
The governments’ are excellent
when dealing rebels who be boycotting their service
The media can con and individual
with trivia through facades that are convivial
They gave me, they gave you, and they gave us
the privilege to free speech
So to discover what’s going on inside our minds like psycho analysis
You are just a punching bag who doesn’t fight back like mannequins
But I shield the stones with thorough knowledge of my roots and origins
Even though the facts of life be throwing tantrums
In attempts to bring me down
But the energy and knowledge I own is bound
To keep me upright like my foremen magnum
My psyche sinks 50 fathom deep
you cannot fathom the venom it causes
Like the effects of weekend orgies
Either you get robbed by evil ass tsotsies
Or get mugged by ghetto convicts who cannot be convinced
To bother and rather conflict their guiltiness with common sense and conscience
Even the therapy couch could hardly handle this programmed callousness
Out of my social amorphous
I came through granted with a special calibre
To mend the broken pieces of freedom and democracy
Politicians in a position to ruin my discussions and decisions
You are in the middle of getting pissed like urine excretion
Slaves’ ships have sunk, prisons bars fractured
I fell over backwards to grab this
If the rainbow nation means that we are all in the melting pot
Consider this, why is it that whites are relaxing at the beauty spot?
While blacks are sweating in the kitchen doing the filthy job

Featured Poem:

Black Paint

Enlarge poem

Since I am black
I am still knocking on closed doors
with broken handles
Begging for a small change
submitting thanks and praises
To God for nothing we got this far
Sounds strange
Like believing crime pays
When you benefit benefits for the day
To get by without having to buy by coins
Make a living of the daily ordinary don’ts’
By collecting all the bad points
Mobilize them
To get food into storage
Like food residues
We remain the rejects from the throne
Been blown
Thrown
Beaten by sticks and stones
Pistols and batons brought bruises
Broken backs and bones
Moans and groans
Were daily poems
However
We are still strong
Standing tall like a grandfather clock
Trying to live clean but they offer filthy jobs
To be done soon
Gave us goons
Took away the books
Like we are only good for hewing wood
And fetching water from the river
Rivers filled with filth and absolute filth
How could we possibly build firm homes
With sandstones
When you took away the flesh
And gave us dry bones?
Nowadays my streets and corridors
Are sprayed with a stunning graffiti
Called blood spills
My sisters are steelworks
They manufacture infants that are steel
Not still born but born to still stay stable
Steadfastly stand the storms with stances
That are stone strong.
Well according to my ancestral traces and traits

I am not a stranger to the planet dubbed blacks
Liable to preposterous attacks
Caused by the rugged rags
I rock bottom from top to bottom
That’s how I blossomed from riches to rags
The tall story goes on. . .
Commenced by the veterans
Who voted for this freedom and democracy
You enthusiastically proclaim
Well this is not 76
I insist this is not 76
But in the streets
I am still rioting, boycotting prejudice
And skin colour bribery
Police brutality
Human rights violation
Public harassment callousness
Where is black consciousness?
When we are susceptible to reliance
Poor domestic servants and peasants
each year
we are there
to dare
voting for the black Verwoerds’ and Malans’re incarnated
Let’s vote for the black Verwoerds’ and Malans’re incarnated.
We cannot just rest
we need a fresh installation disc
of black consciousness
my consciousness and conscience calls
what about yours?
My spirit sobs
When my time machine slide shows me
Of how blacks were taken to the dogs
They think it’s nice to live a dog’s life in a dog’s house
Lost touch with much
Now
I only have poetry to spout!
Poetry of blacks!
Black concepts forsaken
This was taken
From the recycle bins of your daily trivialities
Of unspoken forbidden realities and mysteries
Of blacks who gradually dragged their
Identities & histories into the deep gloomy
Rooms of non-existent western philosophies
From the cocky coons
Who casted their customs
For common commodities
My poetry is a photographic slideshow
That constantly
Play video tapes of unsung
Forgotten heroes
The tip of my tongue
Is a host for Sobukwe’s and Biko’s ghosts
Spitting tantrums
Like who the hell marked our
Traditions and cultures with dark spots
Like dominoes?
The question is intended to be rhetorical
But only if you view with one eye like a monocle
I hold the answers to ransom
until you open Your Third Eye vision
so envision what’s missing. . .

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (0)
  • Pride (0)
  • Optimism (3)
  • Anger (4)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (1)
  • Reflection (1)
  • Captivation (2)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (0)
  • Sadness (3)
  • Fear (0)
  • Jubilation (0)

Hatchet not buried

Enlarge poem

I am the true human resource
The source is golden knowledge from old and solid
Historical Afro centric scrolls
I read the passages that tend to revive times and essences
Abolishing lies with relevant, relieving historical Afro centric references
Retracing the roots, the master key to unlock mindless minds from Eurocentric labyrinths
I broke the chains of damaged brains, shames of taking blames
Like aunt sallies,
I took my psychology back from Mr Lynch unlike brothers’ minds and bellies
Teeming with poison, fountains of poison
I delve deep into history books unfolding hidden truths
That poised my youth, perused about the Khoi and
The san nomads, wanderlust Bantu, wondrous ancient paths of living
Kept a place for humanity, a space for giving forgiveness,
Forgiving ways of interest
Uplift-ment of pride commences with the investment of saving time
Spending energy making great strides in the lessons of self-discovery
Ditching debates that debase the Bantu tribes with phony derogatory stories told by white folks
Recovering what has been removed by Europeans ruthless rulers who were foes
Published lies, established rumours that rallied to ravage our courage
to carry on the wisdom
culture and knowledge given by the source giver
Lost pillars, cost the lives ‘of leaders
in attempts to bring back the properties of ancient black men philosophies
But I know itineraries to travel backwards
back into history and rearrange some facts that are awkward to grasp
No jiffy to spend in galas with right wing whiteys
I’m in the past like alas expressing grief with alacrity
You cannot second guess yourself
When the enemy hits you below the belt
You cannot be fickle in the middle of these pickles
Like riddles truths are clad with trickle of trickery
Trimmed with thorns and prickles
My hatchet is not buried I carry it
To remove flies from the foreheads of the black cargo merchants
Identity fragments, handicapped traces
The solely remnants from blackness
I just chuckle over some churchmen who urge men
To turn the other cheek
Still get unpleasant hints
Too many elders preach wisdom yet minds are limps
I pledged to find the links
From the past to reconnect what’s lost
Clusters, musters of rebels got crossed
But the cause remained unchanged
Combating with words untamed
To axe the actions of white supremacy and the legacy
It creates, it’s no great shakes
My brain be fuming with rage each second I contemplate the brutal killing of emmit till
This unfolds tragic outcomes like the national suicide
Of the fabricated pseudo prophesy of the young Xhosa female
It absolutely fails me how the chiefs got led up the garden path by tales
Over power and avarice, took the thorough risk
Betrayed fraternity and fellowship
No longer candlesticks, we bent to become bandits and man of tricks
Went amiss, the saga lingers but still peace don’t exist
Social destructive mutations, insignificant events evoking tension
Like the war of the axe
Black houses are cold and vacant
White areas teeming with our mothers domesticated like bantams
We are the paupers
Social security the charity ensuring clothes, food and shelter
like Muslims during the end of Ramadan
When does this karma comes upon these robbers?
Boycott senators; disobey the orders of officers like mutiny
Suffering repercussions of former family felonies
Living a brief life, like a feminine bikini
our lives are short
It’s not enigma, they are rich of your flesh
The rich reach your ass like enema
to take blacks for rides like rickshaws
The jigsaws are whole,
the biggest pictures are shown
Vividly exposed
How they made mockeries of the Nguni like caricatures and coons
Scary matters loomed
to sweep the chiefs and substitute them with magistrates
plotting our doom
Like the framing and execution of Mr Troy Davis
The governments’ are excellent
when dealing rebels who be boycotting their service
The media can con and individual
with trivia through facades that are convivial
They gave me, they gave you, and they gave us
the privilege to free speech
So to discover what’s going on inside our minds like psycho analysis
You are just a punching bag who doesn’t fight back like mannequins
But I shield the stones with thorough knowledge of my roots and origins
Even though the facts of life be throwing tantrums
In attempts to bring me down
But the energy and knowledge I own is bound
To keep me upright like my foremen magnum
My psyche sinks 50 fathom deep
you cannot fathom the venom it causes
Like the effects of weekend orgies
Either you get robbed by evil ass tsotsies
Or get mugged by ghetto convicts who cannot be convinced
To bother and rather conflict their guiltiness with common sense and conscience
Even the therapy couch could hardly handle this programmed callousness
Out of my social amorphous
I came through granted with a special calibre
To mend the broken pieces of freedom and democracy
Politicians in a position to ruin my discussions and decisions
You are in the middle of getting pissed like urine excretion
Slaves’ ships have sunk, prisons bars fractured
I fell over backwards to grab this
If the rainbow nation means that we are all in the melting pot
Consider this, why is it that whites are relaxing at the beauty spot?
While blacks are sweating in the kitchen doing the filthy job

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