life

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

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olympics

I want to go far away
A distance from the smog
Get out of these shoes
Retire from the formality of the pin stripe
This tie reminds me of a noose
I want to go somewhere
Where I’ll greet each sunrise like an Olympic event
Tie my boot laces
Climb hostile terrain
Live on a ranch
Off the grid
Deep in the woods somewhere
Spot wildlife unexpectedly
Chase after impala
Only to see its beauty at a closer vantage point
Smell the taste of the range
Embrace the width of the plain
Go back into time
Light a lantern
Sit on a porch listening to crickets
And the rest of the night time choir
Look into the eyes of the pitch dark forest
Circumvent fear
And the associated trepidation of introspection
Find my soul somewhere in the solitude of the forest
Hone my archery capability
Give nature what it has given me
Balance the scales ever so lightly
Earn a livelihood hunting poachers
Kill trophy hunters for a sport
Enjoy the olympics

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 credit: knox mahlaba © 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

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
‪#‎blackpanthers‬ ‪#‎breathe‬ ‪#‎blacklivesmatter‬ ‪#‎africa‬ ‪#‎medium‬ ‪#‎afropunk‬ ‪#‎poetry‬ ‪#‎poetryblogs‬ #backfromthedeadtherisingofanafricanspirit ‪#‎knoxmahlaba‬

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

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