back from the dead: the rising of an african spirit

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

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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

reincarnation

Amazed by leaves
Every single shade of green
Shaped like fingerprints
Each uniquely beautiful
Lush from raindrops
Basking in the spotlight
The sunlight of their heyday
Taking cover in the respite of their shade
Watching them fall from grace
Crushing what little life is left in them
Walking on identical leaves
Dry and disheartened
Burying them in the ground
Shocked by the similarity
Leaves like people
Reincarnating as manure
Compost for future generations

Copyright © knox mahlaba 2014
Author – Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit

lullabies of pleasure

I hold my love with jazz hands
Take her in with lunar eyes
Her sunny smile filled with naughty undertones
Her earthly skin tone glowing
Appreciated best with soft touch
Entertaining sensual thoughts
Engrossed by her feminine charms
Kissing her in parts
I stand stark naked before her
Exposing my soul
Touching her with tenderness
Jazz hands are fabric softener to the soul
Her island skin more like a membrane
Pheromones permeating
Felt best with baby soft touch
Sensitive like a touch screen
Taking baby steps to eternity
Gentle thrusts of desire
Measures of delight
Opening windows to her soul
Her Lola Folana eyes sparkling in the dark
Her beautiful eyes conducting the symphony
In my arms she’s no saxophone
Larger than a sex symbol
An icon of beauty
An instrument of passion
An orchestra of ecstasy
Singing jazzy notes at the top of her voice
Heaven and earth singing along
Angels watching my angel become angel once again
Dancing to orgasmic tunes
Singing her song
Lullabies of pleasure

 

Copyright © knox mahlaba 2014
Author – Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit