Thursday, May 12, 2011

Honest Living by Jabulani Mzinyathi

Photo by Jabulani Mzinyathi

They even doubt my sanity
Lying on this contraption
That puts bread on my table
That earns me lots of admiration
The many mouths I feed

My life is like Russian roulette
There in the city hustle and bustle
Weaving through fast moving traffic
Risking a gruesome death on the roads
Playing cat and mouse games with cops
The fatigue then takes its toll

Monday, May 9, 2011

Platform by Mgcini Nyoni

Give me a platform
To laugh
To dance
To create
To sing
Give me a platform
To love
To be loved
Give me a platform
To be happy
To dream
To fantasise
To achieve
Give me a platform
To get to the top
and when I fall
badly bruised
pick me up
and give me
another PLATFORM

Send Your Sweat By Western Union!!! by Nomakhosazana Khanyile Ncube

They have raped my mind,
those white collared bastards!
What calluses bear a hardness deeper than the skin?
calluses of the mind....
decision upon intricate decision,
pounding the grains of societies expectation.
From nursery school to primary school to high school to law school to the empty bar stool,
decision upon intricate decision,
The cigarettes of life's endless events have no butts,
we stand smoking,burning our fingers
with destiny's grip.
sending out life's endless R.S.V.P's,
attending our own births,
attending our own deaths
attending our own toilet visits
attending our own graduations n divorces
even the occasional date with the common cold.
decision upon intricate decision,
We've come full circle,only to learn that the world is round.
education is the curse of the simple class-the simple life.
dy-dx the worlds mathematics has failed us again,
Peugeot,PHD and Panasonic
It is a simple equation
the formulae of complications
It is a complex recipe
to simplify the complicated
from decision to intricate decision,
Let us reverse the curse on Azania's offspring,
the Zimbabwe ruins have come to life.
pulling her daughters closer,
with Marange's magnet.
what sweet sound shall erase the bitter memories of the exodus of her own?
Let her pound in her home..
far from the concrete jungle and the bittersweet melons of exile,
Let her pound in her home,
a stones throw from the bed of her ancestors and the ancestors before those,
the ones who stood firm and rooted as the Mopani,with their ears in the wind and their eyes in the heavens,
whose territory new no boundary but water.
Let her pound in her home,
underneath the beautiful African Sky,
Let her pound in her home ,
where the dark brown soil will resonate the rhythms of her thudding,
making music with the work of her hands.
Let her pound in the Motherland,with her brothers and sisters,
singing songs of freedom and bountiful rains,
and Never the hymns of a refugee....