Friday, May 27, 2011

The Lion and The Lamb by Praise Ndlovu

I have come to realise that there are two Mes
This has often put me ill at ease
How I came about I cannot explain
Maybe from the past, some deep childhood pain
Most likely from the societal pressures inflicted upon y gender
Wherever from, I wish I could just stamp: Return To Sender

There is the Career Centred Me
Success is my number one priority
I've grabbed the baton and I'm not letting go
Putting away all things that'll mess my flow
I've got my eyes on the finishing line
The much awaited, long anticipated success sign

Then there's the Me who is domesticated
Having a man who is fully devoted
To me. Marriage, children our blissful vision
To love and nurture each other our mission
Pregnant, barefoot in the kitchen. My deepest fantasy
Loving husband, secure marriage. All I can see

Is it lawful for these two to ever amalgamate?
Or it’s a sin, for when they merge they fornicate
Am I suffering from a Multiple Personality Disorder?
How do I draw the line, where is the border
Can I wear the trousers and still put on an apron
Or will it be a cause for society to frown upon

So here live I, Me, that is Both
A situation which I completely loathe
One day you'll meet Me, taking on Life
The next, I’ll be a sweet domicile wife
But I pray that the Lion and the Lamb that dwell inside
may one day live in harmony as they lie side by side

Thursday, May 26, 2011

A Madman’s Mirth by Jack McBrams

There is only one difference between a madman and me. He thinks he is sane. I know I am mad. – Salvador Dali

As if entranced, he approaches the car,
Is unperturbed by the heavy traffic,
His shirt, a dark brown Coca-Cola loin
That once promised to, “Quench your thirst!” during
The Italy 90 World Cup, ragged
By both age and lack of civility.
His shorts, exactly what it says it is,
Threatens to reveal what it seeks to veil.

A ruffian, yet blithe, he leans forward
On the Maybach (How dare he?) stares into
My eyes (Now this is getting alarming)
His bloodshot, glaring eyes, probing their search.
(“You want to know truth, Sir?” his gaze suggests).
Frustrated by my lack of gamesmanship,
He turns to the rear view mirror and then
Turns to me, looks me in the eye, and breathes;

Breaking into a laughter that breaks me:
A long, hollow chuckle that haunts the soul.
Laughter so dark it questions sanity—
A laughter that is both insane and sad.

As rush hour traffic eases, I drive off,
Exploring the blurred line between reason
And lunacy, his actions haunting my thoughts,
His laughter echoing within my mind.

Does he laugh at the view of his stained teeth?
Or the stench of his odour so heavy
It’s reflected in my rear view mirror?
Or does he laugh just because he wants to?
Just because he can – because he can stand
In the middle of the street in rush hour,
Peep at my rear view and lean on my door and laugh?

Or does he laugh because he thinks I am mad?

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Out Of Trench Town by Jabulani Mzinyathi

Living in the garden of inspiration
Divine inspiration
The icing on the cake
A seed germinates in the muck
Out of the slime and grime
There in the grinding poverty
Trench town gave us gems

Out of the ebony and ivory
The sweetness of honey surpassed
Teaming with other kindred spirits
The timelessness plain to see
Anthems for the downtrodden
‘no water can put out this fire’

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Shuttered Dreams by Loice Majora

Like a bunch of roses without a vase
his dreams wither
His heart is filled with shivering tension
his soul burns with passion

Like a wondering Jew
his soul wonders
wrapped in deep  thoughts 
He pours sourish murmurs
 like a street beggar in front of an empty bin,
his soul is grilled with longing.

He came a long way in search of a peace of mind
only to find pieces.
He was tired of his own home,
the suffering  pushed him out
 his folks  became monsters.
He could no loner bear the pictures of his everyday life

Sitting on a cornerstone near the river,
he covers his face in his trembling palms
even though he feels the fresh breeze
 its like civil disobedience for him.
once again his soul
craves for harmony

His home problems caressed
his anger and passion rapidly
hot blood streaming in his whole body.
For in the corners of hope
he had found hopelessness
his soul is wounded

Deep down his heart he feels pain
 it cannot be cured
no medication can help
neither the cutting edges of a knife in the theatre,
nor a traditional healer on a mat.
His great expectations had shuttered.
his soul groans with regret and betrayal
and he realises indeed his dreams are shuttered