Artist Bleeds

Battle scars bleed profusely, aches from my heart cause soul tremors

My body double bends from the hunger of poverty

I watch oppressors scrape the plate and I'm left with no appetitie except that of destruction

My heart palpitates from frustration of no pennies and I get escorted down corridors of shame with men and women dressed in blue to forever bar me from work of my own sweat

I am kicked like a dog, left to lick my own wounds, as they deliberately blind themselves through their dark hued windows. I see the corners of their mouths slightly upturned, their impudent ramblings a mockery to our art.

The cords they strike reach far deeper than their ignorant eyes, only kin knows the devastation of their in-fighting

Re a lela

Words the artist knows. We die everyday. We will die for the art that chose us.

We are not a bunch of entertainers yet we stand a circus of colourful jokers to serve their perverted satisfactions. Them that are supposed to serve us. Them that steal from us. Them that abuse us. Them that reject us. Them that sit there because of us. Them that don't care.

Battle scars bleed profusely, my heart aches with soul tremors.

I am depleted yet still grateful to be alive. One of us is dead.

One of us whom this injustice touched too.

She lays rested, her soul flies free.

Through her death, I am given hope. My spirit is renewed and I will stand tall, to be seen by those that think their mirage power can make me cower in my proud stance.

I will stand to be seen, along with many others and I will not be afraid.

I have never been afraid.

Let the cries of our hearts be heard in the spirit world where human heirarchies don't exist.

Let the cries of our hearts be heard by the spirits of all the creative powers of nature.

Wildflower 2012 (C)

 

In distant calls towards soul neglect, when the chase of the dragon becomes a repeated reality, therein lies the fantasy fuelled by escapism of a warped mind, battered by bright lights and crackling sounds from the ever-ready paraphernalia, the always waiting to lurch on spirit, to drift away into blissful oblivion, egotistic chatter through clenched teeth.

At a time when things fall apart consistently, the root of the problem waits to be exposed through self-reflective moments, causing only deep seated sabotage borne of an unknowing emptiness. A confessional hypochondriac, viewing life through a one-eyed blurry vision and limping walk, struggles to hold on even when the reach of many pillars stand firm along the way.

Recoiling back into self to scrape the remainders of powdered down goals, to catch them before they blow, for them to come oozing out, as tears roll down and as the crashing echoes subside. Double bended sickle, nauseas belittled, relationships fickle by the momentary strenth of the unrelenting monstrosity that has become the wide-eyed psychosis formed in the mind of a precious flower.

A wildflower turned grey by it's own defaulted strangeness.

Wildflower 2012 (c)

I Apologise / Forgive Me

I never wanted to hold you
I never wanted to carry you
I wished to throw you up in the toilet every mornig
I wanted to eat vile food so you may disintegrate into nothingness
But you found your way and I felt nothing more than loneliness
My nights were filled with nightmares , days were not painless
I never cried. If I did, they were crocodile tears.
I didn't want to cry for you because I was never to know you

The time came and I blacked out
I pushed thoughts of you far aside and smiled instead
Smiled at the old self I would be re- united with
Not the stranger I turned into when you were a part of me
I don't feel sad nor guilty
I didn't say goodbye and your departure I embraced.

Now I lie on my bed and think about you
You that I don't know and can't even make out
Its a strange feeling the feeling of emptiness
I feel like this when I recall the times we were together
This is why I'm asking you today not to hate me forever
It was a mistake, fuck, we could've never walked any further
Further than the glass doors and way in the world yonder
I had to let you go to keep my life going
I do apologise for the red clotty suit I sent you away with
I do apologise for taking away your last breath
Do you think you'll ever understand??
Will you ever forgive me??

In This World . . .

In this world, I am encapsulated in the belly of all possibilities, where my motor functions temporarily cease, my ability to function in the physical world is a non-existent reality.

In this world, I plunge into the realms of insanity, where I feel the most sane, where my nothingness turns into everything. Anything.

In this world, I indulge in the foreign complexities that come with every delivered word, the simple contradictions, the well-structured prose.

I feel most at ease with the intensifying stomach twirls that are borne of the anxiety from the wonder of the next words, where life breathes its truth into my heart.

In this world, I can transcend every logic, be free of all human ideologies and create my own ideals that flow like Lake Nyasa, ever-changing

In this world, I gain all strength to question even the most highest of powers, and I berate my tendencies of insecurity. For in this world I can abandon my presumed maturity, my natural fury to all the prevailing injustice, to be appeased by the pregnant silence that lie in the syntax, the light emotion of a character’s soul, making my woes and joys worth it all.

In this world, I am alive. Totally engrossed.

In this world, is where you’ll forever find me, where you’ll forever see my soul, where my spirit has room to travel all the wonders of the earth, even when I appear stationary in your eyes.

In this world, I know the meaning of truth and love, of vulnerability and strength, of reason and faith, of exposure and defeat, of uncertainty and remorse, of forgiveness and pain, of leadership and fellowship, of sexuality and sanctity, of a life-long learning. All of these which are me yet cannot define the eternity within me.

In this world, I can release a piece of my tortured soul.

In this world…this world of books+

Wildflower 2011 ©

Venom From A Pen

Photo from deviantART.com

In the confines of my mind

Where I have allowed myself to dwell for hours stretching beyond a day, hours stretching beyond the many moons of the whimpering night sky, and languid days of the yawning sunshine

I have remained immobilised by the growing awareness of my unavoidable bright light

Yet the fear gnaws at my shameless repeated insecurities, my exhausted excuses of the white line that I‘ve watched mark a cross on my dreams, on my deeply embedded visions that persist even at the resistance towards my inevitable path.

In the confines of my mind I have allowed myself to delve into the throngs of absolute creativity, where the aches of the imaginative mind pierces through self-destruction, leaving behind droplets of blood stains mixed with ink from a paining heart.

The confines of a creative mind that allowed the many doubts of unjustified criticism to instil a tremendous fear on its psyche, distilling all possible realities that only its’ heart continues to fathom.

The confines of the imaginative soul whose spirit knows no bounds no more, whose spirit rages with multitudes of expressive venom that only the pen can dispel, to expose all damaged internal ramblings and reveal the colours of the eternal seeking soul, whose journey remains with no limits, no exits, no goodbyes, no ending.



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The Art of Trekking

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“You need to get out your house, get off your block and see something, go do something, go change something, or else you fall for nothing. You need to travel the world”. No words ring true than those offered by Jean Grae on the song Block Party. It is hard to believe that in these times, there are people who are not open to exploring the millions of opportunities available to them to travel and experience a different reality to that which they know. The general thinking seems to be around the misleading perception that one needs to have loads of money to leave their front door. Planning is of course always necessary, but people need not let the fear of unknown territory and possible culture barriers paralyse them from experiencing the rewards one gains through travelling. Different the gains may be many have sworn to have returned with a renewed spirit.

When Sho’t Left media campaigns spread like the flu germ in a first grade class a few years ago, there was an unspoken yet electrifying sense that we were certainly moving towards a reality that was indeed brimmed to capacity with tangible hope. Attracting young South African people, who possessed gypsy-like souls and had wanderlust spirits, travelling was finally reflected to be one that excites and can be accessible to anyone, anywhere. Nothing reflects better the energy of the travelling person than the words of one of the greatest storytellers from Mafikeng, Mo Molemi, in his sophomore album, Motzamai – Rebel Without A Pause, with the title song Motzamai. His hoarse laced words churn out, “Ntshutele ka tsela ke a itsamaela/ke ya madiso/ ke ya go phudutsa mabele/ Ke ya go phota/ke ya go tlhatlhola ketlele/Don’t matter ko ke yang a ko ntshutele ke a itsamaela (o ska nkemela)//Ntshutele ka tsela ke a itsameala/ ke ya Lesotho/ ke ya go palama dithaba/ ke ya Lusaka/ ke ya go reka dinawa ko Blantyre/ going to a better world suta ke a itsamela/”. The song paints a vivid picture of one trekking along paths with adventures brimmed with mysticism and fun.

Bringing it back from idealistic spheres, there are many opportunities for artists within the country to travel cross-continental and internationally. Art Moves Africa, an organisation that sponsors artists to travel within the continent, has seen many artists go on artistic, cultural expeditions by doing what they love and sharing it with like-minded individuals. Many other avenues are available to make our travels a reality. All we have to do is inquire, research and make the first move to exploring ourselves more deeply, opening our eyes more wider and appreciating the challenges that we may overcome during our endless creative darkness that affects most of our creative souls.