gifted hands

Source: gifted hands

gifted hands

keep your eyes opened
sometimes gifted hands
are poisoned tongue
full of venomous propaganda
pity how gifted hands can disappoint
guilty of drinking from a poisoned chalice
suffering from the comfort of the mansion
under the control of glorified slavery
forgetting those picking cotton
in the sweltering heat of the plantation
pity how potential can disappoint
glorify slavery for a few minutes in the spotlight
ridicule ancestral pain
sometimes the tools of the system
look like me and you

Knox Mahlaba
Author -Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
Copyright © 2015

‪#‎bencarson‬ ‪#‎trump‬ ‪#‎republicandebate‬ ‪#‎islamophobia‬ ‪#‎slavery‬ ‪#‎obama‬ ‪#‎hillaryclinton‬ #bencarsonforpresident

wanted

I want to lose my way
Lose myself amongst canyons and dunes
Watch sand storms dance in the vastness of a desert…
As I wrestle in the sand with my shadow
Negotiate a binding contract with my entourage
Sit atop a lonesome boulder in a prenatal posture
Awaiting my rebirth
Pay homage to my invisible entourage
My forbearers paved the way
Amongst the sand dunes of the Kalahari
Kgalakgadi in my native tongue
Trace the scent their footsteps in the sand
Listen to heaven and nature sing
Wolf whistle like the blistering wind
Hear the echo of danger from afar
Pay attention to the rustle of murmuring cattle in the distance
Feel for my heartbeat with an open palm
Find the narrow path leading into the thick of the forest
Follow the lonely foot path towards righteousness
Hunt down my alter ego
Get lost in my own consciousness
Amid all the contagious congestion secure peace and quiet
Identify with my people
Draw an identikit of my soul
Lose myself in the spirit world
Offer a reward for the capture of the rebel
The rogue within
Wanted dead or alive

Knox Mahlaba
Author – Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
Copyright © 2015

NB: visual doesn’t belong to the writer.

we was always beautiful

We was always beautiful
Even when our collective memory didn’t recall
When we were called names…
Suffering from a trauma induced amnesia
When we couldn’t recollect who we are

We was always beautiful
Even when your mentality refuted a glaring fact
Black is beautiful
You know what I am talking about
Am referring to your plantation mentality
Your self-defeating attitude right there

We was always beautiful
Thank goodness for the brothers and sisters who recognised
Focused on a glaring fact
Glorified by the halo of the afro
Dressed in black garb from head to toe
Leather jackets, polo necks, berets
Armed with knowledge
Reminding us against our will
Coining a phrase with no change in our pockets
But bold enough to change many a mind set
Including mines and my generation
Cos black is beautiful was the platform of my birth
When I realigned my mind set instead of my facial features
When I parted ways with the moonwalker
When I parted ways with insecurity
Embracing my coarse textured hair
My broad nose fulfils its primary objective
Keeping me alive with a constant supply of my stash
Hooked on oxygen by default
Trying my best to breathe

We was always beautiful
When our skin was undiluted
When it was diluted
We give the world its true complexion
Cos our souls will never be diluted

knox mahlaba
Author – Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
Copyright © 2015

‪#‎backfromthedeadtherisingofanafricanspirit‬
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Photo: property of zen magazine africa

rainbow

In the deep wells of my eyes
Lies moisture to wet my wet wipes
To wipe away my sadness…
Tears to irrigate the greener pastures I so yearn for
So when I cry, don’t despair
I am from the soil
Tears are my rainfall
So let me cry
Allow me to say goodbye to my sorrows
The same tears put out fires burning within
Especially my bonfire
Tears are a blessing
Polishing my vision
Nourishing my insight
See the rainbow on the horizon
Colorful, isn’t it

Knox Mahlaba
Author -Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
Copyright © 2015

person of interest

Walking on desolate roads
Going nowhere on a dusty back road
Leaving everything behind
Everything I own on my back
In my backpack
Homeless apart from my memories
A citizen of no man’s land
Without country of belonging
No passport
No visa
My plight headline news
The source of my plight an open secret
The open wound that doesn’t heal
A refugee wherever I go
Even in the country of my birth
I am a refugee
A consequence of your foreign policy
A good Samaritan
Returning the favour
Impacting on your way of life
A reluctant migrant
A human being nonetheless
A person of interest

Knox Mahlaba
Author -Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
Copyright © 2015

#refugee   #migrants   #migrantproblem   #hungary   #croatia   #serbia   #slovenia   #libya   #iraq   #syria   #visa   #passport   #unitednations   #europeanunion   #cnn   #skynews    #backfromthedeadtherisingofanafricanspirit

cry wolf

The world is silent to my tears
Deaf to the plight of the voiceless
Blind to cries for help…
When my voice loses its pitch
Decreases in volume
Drowned by the establishment
As I try to breathe
Gasp for a pint of air
Will you recognise my goat wails
My pleas for help from behind the veil of a choke hold
Should a strong uniformed arm over power me
Place my fragile neck in a vice grip
Will you document the proceedings
Just in case the surroundings decide to do me in
Should the most probable occur
Don’t look away
Place your recording on record
As my corpse is placed on trial
Castigated for my dress style
Persecuted because I wore a hoodie
Please highlight my side of the story
Or at the very least
Allow me to state my case in absentia
Tell ‘em I ain’t no thug
When the world ignores my cries
Trying to breath is no crime
Mistaken for resisting arrest
Tell ‘em I have ghetto mentality
I don’t do no fairy tales
I don’t play no cry wolf
I am dying

Knox Mahlaba
Author -Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
Copyright © 2015

‪#‎blacklivesmatter‬ ‪#‎breathe‬ ‪#‎nypd‬ ‪#‎ferguson‬ ‪#‎deathincustody‬ ‪#‎policebrutality‬ ‪#‎obama‬ ‪#‎trump2016‬ ‪#‎america‬ ‪#‎africanamerican‬ ‪#‎africa

pussy cat

i want a wonder woman
wake me every morning with a kiss of death
kiss me like a lion
a tigress whose claws will grab hold of my spirit
a woman who wears her onyx fur coat with utmost pride
whose mind embodies a black panther
my kitty must have a big heart
kind enough to forget the sorrows that led her to me
agile enough to land on her feet
lick her paws
our love be blessed with nine lives
she can be lithe like a cheetah
or heavy like a leopard
as long as i feel her canines bite into my soul
she must never change her spots
hold me tight like prey

knox mahlaba
Author – Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
Copyright © 2015

the future

Reading my palms like an encyclopaedia
Searching for a heads up on the future
The red paths on my white palms signalling a danger ahead
Streams of veins forming an intricate network
A complex highway interchange
Rubbing my hands in tentative anticipation of what’s to come
Society making us sick with its protocols
Forced to work all the time like farm labourers
Imprisoned by an unnatural pastime
In order to amass more than we need
Driving some of us crazy with depression and hypertension
Breaking our backs with stress fractures
A nervous breakdown one pill away
The most mentally deprived people are the normal ones
The perfect citizens with medical insurance and life assurance
Oblivious to the dangers of the mainstream
Voting for different people with the same corporate mandate
Life has no guarantees
Going back and forth like ants on the job
Whilst I am busy swinging gently like a pendulum
My tongue skiing on the slopes of my ice cream cone
Enjoying a cold treat in the middle of winter
Going against the grain
Watching society commit suicide
Placing people in a pressure cooker
Whilst the status quo cooks the books
Tempers with the history as it occurred
Contaminates the future of drinking water
Making my way back to the future
Returning to the ways of my ancestors
Securing the soul of my people
Peace of mind a greater priority
Far ahead of expensive real estate and it’s material appendages
Safeguarding what belongs to me in my ark
My rebellious mind depriving me of vanity
My roots anchoring me in anticipation of a great flood
When all the feeble people will be washed away
Washed away by pollution infested waters
The city can drive you crazy with its hustle and bustle
Losing your mind is acceptable
But losing your soul is a completely different chapter altogether

knox mahlaba
Author – Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
Copyright © 2015

Photo: Walter Sisulu Botanical Gardens, Ruimsig, Johannesburg, South Africa