diaspora

salute Champ

13210_532532086767216_993730098_nInspired by The Champ
Like Kunta Kente
Forsaking his slave name
Opting for a chosen identity
Embracing his heritage
Ali The Great
King of the Rumble in the Jungle

Chanting Ali, Ali, Ali
Turning my back on Confirmation
My apologies to The Pope
The Vatican can do without another convert
I don’t want another unwanted name

(excerpt from a poem called “I Am A Khafre”, from the book, Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit.

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after life

IMG_20160320_142801Before the earth swallows me
And the maggots come to my party
I want to dance at the top of the mountain
My body trapped by the drum
Caught in a state of trance
Singing in a tongue native to my lips
Only audible to the spirits
When the heavens hear me
Let it rain
Soft droplets of water massaging the surface
Wiping the sweat of my forehead
As I stomp my foot into the ground
Thump the area below my feet
Awaken my ancestors
Hoist my spear aloft in recognition
Of the luxury of being alive
Singing praises to the most high
Let my voice be heard in the deepest of caverns
If it were up to me
My voice would be etched onto the cave wall
A message to future generations
Life never changes
Despite the complication of technology
Modernisation is a mirage
All a soul wants is a quiet resting place
Somewhere it calls home
A nook in the mountain side
When my time comes
Don’t shed any tears
Let the heavens come down hard
Wrap me in a moist cow skin
And let me rest as I lived
Allow me to sit upright in a cave reserved for royalty
Amongst the bravest of warriors
Because I was a soldier in my own battle
Amongst my people
A king in my language
Cos my vocabulary is my habitat
We’ll meet in the after life

knox mahlaba
Copyright © 2016
Author of Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit
‪#‎backfromthedeadtherisingofanafricanspirit‬
+Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit

Photo Credt: knox mahlaba Copyright © 2016

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

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

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

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 spoor

my search continues
seeking mammals amongst reptiles
scavenging the hills for pretty words
looking for the comfort of fragile settings
beautiful landscapes
though thorns reside
side by side
with colourful flowers
leaving no stone unturned
scowering the terrain
searching for for people amongst the mainstream
kind hearted individuals
following the spoor
footprints left by my nomadic ancestors
like the Amazon i carry baggage
sediment from where i come from
a chequered past
a history rich with experiences
scar tissue from life’s lessons
heritage from chromosomes
forensic evidence of where my people come from
somewhere in Africa
deep in a forest
under a mound of rocks
lies my title deed

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