Life is a River
It spurts and moves
Like a river
Cuts all through the rocky time
Around the unending valley of struggle.
On it’s shoulder it carries
Boulders of responsibility,
And cares to put steps
On the rugged terrace.
Every moment the mission of life runs ahead
Along the meandering trend of time
And through the mystery of dark and light,
The journey of life rests in silence
On the deltaic sheet of ocean of awareness
And the muse of life will keep on murmuring
Through ceaseless time
If the purpose of life is devoted to others.
Man in the mirror
Haunting me, you were…faceless.
Yet I saw your smile, it left me feeling…senseless.
Haunting me, you were…faceless.
Gazing upon the mirror of my life, I saw you;
I heard you…
Your voice left me speechless.
Faceless man in my mirror haunting my heart,
Leaving me breathless.
Knowing me, you said the words I longed to hear;
Housed my thoughts in your temples.
Still haunting me, faceless man in the mirror
Now loving me;
Taking away my image and making it yours…
Smiling my smile, crying my tears, saying my words,
Loving me….
Leaving me faceless in your mirror.
Life Circus
The orphan
Does every thing
That his master says.
In opera ground
He walks on fire
Places his head on pointed sword.
Rolls over the broken glass
Under the red hot sun and
Stitches his tender tongue
For a couple of coin.
One day
Suddenly he discovers
He is no more different
From the monkeys that his master keeps.
He loosens the chains
Tied around the neck
And urges them to be free.
Unmoved they all remained
In spite of manly look.
After all they are born wild.
In the midnight silence
He marches away
In search of a new ray of light.
His life circus slides
A new screen
For him
On the stage of his LIBERATION JOURNEY.
Nou
Nou
As die son
en die maan
en als wat bestaan,
verdwyn.
En nooit weer gevind
om in die oe van 'n kind te verskyn.
Wat 'n wonder gebeur,
niks kan ons versteur,
vannaand.
Vry om te leef
vry om te sweef,
vannaand.
As die rook
en die gruis,
als deel van ons huis,
vergaan.
En nooit weer herbou,
net die vrede behou
en verstaan.
Wat 'n wonder gebeur,
geen grendel
geen deur,
vannaand.
Vry om te leef,
vry om te sweef,
vannaand.
Retrospectator
Retrospectator
A beggar,
a master,
both roles that I play.
seeking forgiveness
from the dragons I slay.
A masterful beggar,
a clown in disguise,
searching for holes in the darkness
from which light may arise
Yes, I am a soldier
and here is my gun.
my hart and compassion
might again,
rise with the sun.
Origin
Origin
The anger,
The immortal thrash
you serve the earth
Can you remember?
The release
of the spark
to the burning ember.
That is me
cast from the sea,
Is that me?
The glowing moon
clenched to my hand.
Wild mountain ranges
Growing,
where I stand.
All obscuring
foreign lands
In tattered textbook
of life
and death
Of setting free
the urges of breath
In those pages,
you found your source.
From that leather binding
you wound your course.
In lunar reflection,
evening
clear as day,
I sit by your mouthpiece
as you cry
your remorse.
LA Poetry in my Bloodline
La Theater Lyrics
I be a versor not a curse her
Who she how do I call her a B
If I don’t know her imagine paying
For a show to be sworn at id rather
Be sworn in not as magic made it
But inaugurated my exile be on this
Stage my excel be in silence
Count less money nights I’m trying
To get you on paper the people be
Thee employee I be your employer
By now you be like who’s he
Who am I that don’t matter
The question be ‘Who are you’
Give me your baggage let me
Echo it in my secret place and
Lyric it out in theater thy pain
Just might be my lane inspired
Am I in your riot I am a voice
I am a choice
I reside in space I am familiar
With galaxies no days or months
Spent I travel in light years
My texture is deep as you dig me
Graveyard shifts be on my
Timesheets I undertake the
Underground catastrophe
Who be I am Poetry’s voice
Poetry is in my blood
It fathered me till I was 10
No wife by its side so the
Ring was passed on to me
No forefathers cause I
Am the second I am poetries rhythm
No drum beats needed so
This is not a thing of the past
My words frame pictures in
Your brain they call me the
poeArchitect I am the creators
pencil with no eraser needed
had to nurture nature thru
live cells feeding from systems
of biolytic utmost fear the dead
live freely thru my texturous pieces
my science lab has one crazy profess
named Dr. Deep Van De Thought
analyst in sleep contagious in solitude
psalmist for the King
speaks not for the people but obtains
from the source and utters to the listeners
does not profit a thing so the prophecies
are not his agenda
crown me not the best dead poet
or the best poet alive but I will be the
best poet for this period with nada
influence inherited but draw from
emotional ruins my surrounding misery
is my abounding mystery ooh I wonder
if he a rapper now nah i‘m a mapper
the detour has already been planned
whichever Mc wanna bring thou just
covering my tracks churched out background
I emerged like Rhema and aligned not in
A military post like a Julius Malema
Who reclaims all claims that be politically debarkable
FOR MY BOY BONGANI 94.7 HIGHVELD
HOLLA AT YO BOY!!!!!!