How like trash my people have become...

How like trash my people have become,

Like rubbish thrown into the bin,

Like trash I write this poem under the illusion of a bash

sound, noise, homes turning into night clubs.

The youth embracing house in ecstasy living for the now

and the joyfully it passes but them do not know.

Like trash their destinies are not known.

How wasted is the night, like trash its takes an unknown ride.

Pride of the unwise blinds and brings them to their demise.

How like trash they have succumbed to the bottle and its toxic drink

Sink into the bottom of Jack Daniels, while others are flying with the fish eagle

Single man get hooked and wake up with stories, single ladies get to feel the heat

Of a drunken horn, some get syphilis and cauliflower, Aids breeding temples.

Twisted philosophy of drunkards about drunkenness, how like trash we have become.

Deep down this melody I hum as another line comes,

Like trash I throw these words back to myself and search for peace of mind in true reality not in this noise, not in this kind of happiness

Like trash I throw it back to the so called DJ he must find a place for it in his music tray and make his drunken audience scream even more leading them more astray.

For this youth Lord I pray as another day comes more trash will be thrown into the rubbish bin and the smell manifest itself more horrible for we have become so terrible like trash we are no longer beautiful.

Selling their bodies, chasing their desire the coin becoming their main focus,

Like trash they have become at teen age prostitution becoming their profession.

Leaving school for a money making man, Shebeen is their dwellings with endless memories of sleepless Fridays and Saturdays opening their legs to different shapes and sizes of drunken man who is also horny, just for any kind of pussy he can settle for to ease his hot muscle and satisfy his erection…

How like trash we have become, like a sound track that never ends yet not making any sense. Track after track, midnight passes the innocence of a child is stolen, promises broken, like trash thrown into the bin.

How can then one analyze the sin, the sin of menkind which separates him from his creator. How can we discover secrets about life and death, the real purpose why we are on earth, destiny and the blessings on our path.

How can trash then find the higher purpose of living, who is in drunkenness, singing, fighting everyone who looks at his women, who even fight the women for being pretty. Like trash this night is also thrown into the bin of nights and days, experiences and stories wasted with the bash and the cash involved. Short skirts are sliced, the breast they fall, like trash they also become and are called wasted teabags no milk they can bare but castle milk stout for the young one to suck and also be drunk.

Children starts drinking in their mothers wombs, bodies becoming living tombs,

Like trash infants are thrown and flushed with the toilet killing the seed.

Read that which has been prophesied written in the past about the present,

about today and more days like yesterday…tomorrow like trash you’ll be thrown away.

It came to pass that the music was no more, it had stopped soothing the ear, and refreshing the soul. the people of the times recycled music from their forebearers in repetition up until it lost its meaning, its role was bastardized and ridiculed,

those who still possessed the fountains of inspiration became outcasts and the music only belonged to a few who still could listen to the celestial voices and sing. Loneliness and stress engulfed those who dwell upon the earth, frustration and war ruling them, their hearts were turned into black up until they could hear no more music. Them that still had it, kept it like precious jewels for through melodies they could communicate with the celestial world, give thanks and praises unto the Almighty. Their hearts and souls were in peace because their lives were lived in song and their story was told in song. These were the times leading toward judgment of the earth and all those who dwelleth upon it, hence it was written sealed upon the books of the Ancients.

Progress

...ti's to think and apply your thought that manifest action and forge direction.

Energies focused on the right path are like seeds planted in good season. Experience is the influence that keeps the candle burning, like a fountain inspiration gives birth to creation. the will to create cannot be arrested for it is embedded on the movement of the universe. Which is progress of life in spirituality and knowledge, I am because you are is a natural way of life which always reminds us that everything is connected to each other. There is no life without the other and there is no day without the sun. Within are the qualities which are your secrets yet without the will those qualities rest in the graveyard. Until they are filled with life they shall awaken with determination to fulfill their destiny. Truly there are treasures to be discovered in the dwellings of the wise....

He who feels it knows it...

...the electricity...its gone again just like yesterday but it never borders me anymore.

For I have learned and understood my inheritance, the struggle of my people,

I the African still suffering the struggles of the past...

I can see deception when the train stops in the middle of nowhere,

The taxis never come in time,

Communities sleep on the pavements of corner Eloff and Plain.

Small things that make up the bigger picture of things and things in RSA.

I try that this never get into my veins for I will be called a racist with backwardness if I react to it.

If I say that the black man is not still free in this country it will sound bad to the master and our brothers who consider themselves free. Through this paper I communicate with them that overstand the course of our struggle, neither insighting any thoughts but he who feels it knows it, without you feeling the fire you won't know that it is hot

hence I feel it from where I stand, I see it and I know it.

Pages of the ancients

Upon the horizon the sun shines and open doors for overstanding, colours come to life dreams are made and fulfilled. Animation manifests as the sun projects the spectrum of creation. We beings under the sun move willy nilly bound to the ground as part of the colors projected by the sun, connected to the elements of the universe. Through time we have forgotten our greatness hence we seek to destroy the ground we walk upon, the air we breath and the water we drink. the human specie, a kind of a self destructive being.

In search for his upliftment in science the human being always reaches a point of self distruct- meaning his technology is not only helping him but also destroying him. The level of greed that fuels consumption of natural resources is related to the way he eats, not just for nourishment but for fulfillment, like there is a need for him to finish the whole chicken alone. He has development into a specie that does not care, don'tcarism amongst other scism has found its way in his subconscious. The more he has the more wants, a spirit like that of beasts has manifested amongst the human race that it is now a level of consciousness that determines humanity or else you're a beast. This is seen on the consumption of flesh, that there is not a conscious thought of what one is eating, the life within, and without.

Like my body when it is sick the planet is responding telling him in signs, he laughs and look at his profit then cut more trees and dig the ground till there is nothing left, development he calls it and economic whatwhat...Then pray to God on Sunday that he doesn't destroy his glass house. As the earth shakes he still find ways of making profit, killing the seeds at infant relying on the machine to produce his food, to raise his children and teach them about life. As foretold in the pages of our ancients as a prophecy this story was sealed to be revealed in good time in good season. For that which shall be done has already been.

In the moment and situation comes destruction,
He always asks himself, "what is the meaning."
In an instance a plan crumbles
into pieces and vanishes to non existence.
As he tries to pick up its pieces another one is born
with the purpose to complete the works of a plan before.
In a space time dictates and take away
all hopes and dreams that were still to be lived,
promises that were made,
time still reveals itself as the master.
He moves on still with the knowledge
from the experience he has lived.
Troubled provoked by the truth of the matter,
the reality of the picture,
Yes the paints are not in harmony,
to himself he matters.

Children of the Spoken Word

Children of the spoken word ploughing and planting the seeds,

the word in action, passion pushing performance,

the children of the spoken word reciting the importance.

Shouting and calling ancient spirits who overstood the spoken word

and had faith in it. Sons and daughters elevating through the mic,

reaching higher heights of understanding,

the purpose of the spoken word…speak sons,

daughters ululate tell them before its too late.

Speak your mind and free your soul,

hear the sound of the word as it comes creating spaces

and casting the wicked…

Children of the spoken word we are growing and mobilizing into masses.

Tagging and bombing the city with the word

that they don’t want to hear…

Fear not but speak and recite that poem with pride

and sing that song with understanding

the spoken word that gave birth to us

hence we give much respect to the word as it works in us.

We are ever strong feeding on it.

Chant children, speak your mind

OH! You Children of the Spoken Word.

Word, word, word…

When The Sun Sets Silent Screams Are Heard

I still hear them silent scream…from afar like a chordless hymn, it seems as if this land will never be regained by the African for it is continuously sold through the ballot, X is the price. Some have no idea yet they are in the forefront of selling motherland.

Elections are an easy process for a man who's a populist, people cannot decide on their own but they are fed propaganda through media and every communication device you can get. They are led astray by the same man whom they think led them to freedom. In this Azania that was turned to a republic, I see them flocking to polling station still selling you motherland, where is it all going to end. They say the beginning is the end. The beginning of democracy was the end to humanity and birth to hypocrisy, lies of the capitalist and the ambitious politician. The ruling party has adopted the European ideologies as the right ones for the African people, the American Culture and philosophies as priority above the African. Our people have been misled and misguided by the so called revolutionaries who sold the country and made alliance with the oppressor. It is a tragic situation for us the oppressed because nothing ever changes, now we are more obsessed with money our lives turning into a joke everything is funny. A black man burns on the streets by the hand of another black man, violence escalating amongst brotherhood, who is the enemy? The white man is freely eating cream and honey it was his freedom and their freedom, the freedom of the chosen Mandela's not of the African people. I see them going to vote I wonder what is the next decade bringing to us, how much exploitation will be enforced by the so called job creation, where are we going to be in the next ten years of this struggle…like a burning candle I know that we have to continue with struggle. This is a time when our effort is needed, when Africa reveals that which has been hidden. In time Africans shall see that we have been cheated thus a true revolution is needed… OH! Africa motherland, Africa my home, ikhaya lami i-Afrika. The land of the black, the land of kings turned into slaves and now it is called the land of the poor, and the suffering, the poor of the poorest. Oh my Africa when will thou awake…our minds have been conquered with the illusions of freedom, we have been divided into elite, middle and the poor class. Majority being the latter, and they are the ones to whom fear has been installed. The poor is afraid of rebelling because they have been made to believe that one day things might change it will be better. The filthy politician canvasses for votes so that he can still sit on the high sit and enjoy our blood, rejoice lying to us saying we have a choice yet in real truth he knows we have no choice. YOUR VOTE IS NOT YOUR VOICE!..

Our struggle cannot be won through a ballot paper…

MenzI Mbonambi

Home

Sanctions of Our Lifetime

For many years the people of Africa have tried to fight and rebel against the system up until the fear conquered, we had been taught of sanctions. Our political leaders have trusted and dependent on the west believing that our prosperity and freedom comes from that direction. Since the system of slavery, colonialism and apartheid in South Africa, the African has never been in peace but pretences of being peaceful. Our freedom is limited to certain structures that oppresses and depress the natural growth of the human mind. How does a land suffer with such wealth, such might and such magnitude?

Robert Mugabe has been said to be worst leader, a dictator killing his own people, grown old in government without understanding. Yet when I listen to him, he talks of total independence but the people of Zimbabwe are crossing the border coming to South Africa. Total independence from who? The west… America and Britain hence there are sanctions on the people of Zimbabwe. Sanctions have been put to the people of Zimbabwe by the west and the corporate world but not on the leader whom these sanctions are suppose to punish. I question myself…does he feel these sanctions. The people of Africa have survived for a thousand and a hundred thousands of years, migrating the continent before the system of dependence and independence came into picture. The land has always provided for its own people as the birds found shelter on its trees, the lion and the elephant feeds on it freely, the land has always provided for its own people. The introduction of the system of ownership and capitalism brought much strive and poverty as it eliminates humanity in its practice and laws. It only benefited those who created it, they had created a working class who serves and depend on their pockets, somehow this was called making a living which is the way of survival nowadays. These are the people who control the money flow, making sure who gets what, how much, where in the world, for what. It is important to them that the money does not go to the wrong hands. But has it ever occurred to you that you ask yourself if the world has not enough money to feed everyone in the world, where does the outdated food goes to from shelves in that supermarket? What happens to the bread when it is not bought, do they throw it away or they give it to the poor?

The people of Africa have been made slaves beyond their understanding and we have been driven to understand that which is an illusion. The masses depend on the jobs created by this system, without these jobs children suffer in their homes, there is no food in their homes, but remember the land had always provided for its people. The idea of a land and its people springs up many questions…how can you separate men from the land, what is men without the land. Where the sun rises and days animated by the beauty of the life force that connects him to the soil, his motherland. History told about his roots and the path that his forefathers trod. Who is she without him? Sanctions, it is what we have been living with for many years after the arrival of the colonial master. I am not different from a Zimbabwean person because in South Africa I also sleep without a plate of food in my stomach, in South Africa I am also harassed by the police, sprayed with the pepper spray, them looking for my papers, my African identity. My sustainability is limited to a certain position thus putting me into a class where I have to conform, sometimes labeled working class or the newly created poor of the poorest which is at the bottom of the pyramid. Therefore these are sanctions sanctioning the soul from its natural freedom and life under the sun. They destroy our ability to think and being productive in our habitat, sanctioning us so that we never stop working for them. Producing for the super rich, Africa’s wealth, the first fruits of our first borns. Sanctions of our lifetime that keeps us rotating around poverty depicted as disadvantaged nations living in the third world. If Mugabe is fighting for total independence we are also with him but we must first be independent from him then the people of Africa shall fight for total independence as one unit. Total independence, total freedom for the African people, where a man is not made to depend on the mine owners or factory bosses to secure the future of his children. Independence from the struggle of superiority, inferiority syndrome that destroys us, makes us fight amongst ourselves. Hence Afro-phobia the so called xenophobia which clearly explains self hate amongst the African people and their identity, a product of our colonial history and all injustices of the past.

This is what we Africans and this generation of leaders have not come to understand yet. It will still take sometime before our eyes are opened, before the mist evaporates. We are now living under these sanctions because fear of the other sanctions has been installed in our thoughts and dwellings. Fear of rebelling against the master, now he says there is a global economic crisis but we still believe him. We have been living faced with the culture crisis, lost of morals in our society, lost of land and loved ones through poverty and from many operations of the Western system. What must we believe, from which lips? This has driven the people to loose hope on the recovery of the land and they have forgotten its ability to feed all that dwelleth on it. Forgotten the strength within us as the people of Africa hence these sanctions in our lifetime… Menzi Mbonambi

Pace of Time

Pace of time, traces of the past, trust broken

And promises betrayed. Brutal burials bulldozers

Turning the achievers into big losers, begging for a living

In the streets, trees barring wrong fruits, sour days with bitter

Schemes, dreams destroyed exchanged for deadly stream that dissects

Menkind into pieces and destroy the purpose. Deadly ways of the modern beings.

Songs that sings of dishonor and lies, betrayal and adultery.

Pace of time directly proportional to the beat of the heart, like a shadow show

It passes without remembrance. Pamphlets and billboards crowding the road to understanding. Pace of time in a race with life, humanity and reason

Imprisonment of the thought and destruction of the plot. Hot wings and ways of the ungodly. Pace of time with the trace of the past untraceable, future seeming impossible,

Probably because of the pace of time…

Within

...I look deep down within myself,

commune with the infinite self
in search of understanding
knowledge of the inanimate,
the celestial world of the stars
that are full of melodies which helps the soul
to transcend beyond the borders of the so called reality...

In Nothingness

Through this page I peep,

Penetrating the mechanism and reality manipulation.

My voice and my inner thoughts resounding in between the particles

of ink. Rising and falling in between the pages of existence.

How it came to pass. Twisted philosophies and beings betrayed.

We are always brought to remembrance that we are the sons of men.

Stories I have written, I have lived, and articulated through my existence.

Stories I have met and dwelleth with, understanding and learning from them,

Reading and listening to the echoes of the living.

My days had come to tell me another story that I didn’t know.

They had revealed the truth about the things that I could not overcome.

Then I had to humble and evaporate pride which is vanity.

Existence had taught me, I have a long way to trod on,

Looking at the challenges of the material life,

Struggles and hopes of others on a person.

Pressurizing him into knowing the wrong side of his beloved.

Residing in the ghetto my eyes saw pain…

I beheld nothingness becoming my best friend,

My brother in nothingness, I was nothing and I had nothing.

Something I could try to master, was to have something.

So that I will be able to be something, but nothingness dwelleth with me

And convinced me that in nothingness we are something.

My nothingness brought me hunger and poverty it brought nothing

So I questioned myself in this nothingness of stress and heart aches.

Struggling to be something, the value of human beings turned into scales

Of classes that are directly proportional to the things.

Works not counted but things calculated

You must do something…

Children of the Spoken Word

Children of the spoken word ploughing and planting the seeds, the word in action, passion pushing performance, the children of the spoken word reciting the importance. Shouting and calling ancient spirits who overstood the spoken word and had faith in it. Sons and daughters elevating through the mic, reaching higher heights of understanding, the purpose of the spoken word…speak sons, daughters ululate tell them before its too late. Speak your mind and free your soul, hear the sound of the word as it comes creating spaces and casting the wicked…

Children of the spoken word we are growing and mobilizing into masses.

Tagging and bombing the city with the word that they don’t want to hear…

Fear not but speak and recite that poem with pride and sing that song with understanding the spoken word that gave birth to us hence we give much respect to the word as it works in us. We are ever strong feeding on it. Chant children, speak your mind oh you children of the spoken word.

Word, word, word….

Pounding Thoughts

Pounding thoughts racing mind my inner voice speaking, heart beating…

Low down your voice...! Low down your voice. Pounding energy giving life to my bones, blowing wind chasing away my confusion…I can see clearly now I can hear more.

Twinkling stars fading in the night pounding thought in a race with the ticking time. Mind blown by the true colors that have been shown, rainbow nation illusions racing with reality and earthly passions…I write in remembrance of my freedom as a bird in the skies.

Rumbling rhythm of the monotonous music, destroying the thought from independent thinking. Sinking heads in the ocean of fantasies and high class delicacies, trees swaying side by side in the process of exchanging oxygen with carbon dioxide….I write in a solitary confined situation of the proclaimed free. Crumbling thought not being able to make sense of the cause, pauses of the unthinking heads blinded by the ways of the system, pounding to the spine and back to the mind, thought process not faking the action done by the hand.

Trouble mind not able to grasp that which had been implanted and enforced, to the rest is lies and made up stories of the politician. Pounding and confusing the innocent, we are the sons of men, racing and grappling with life’s existence and the purpose of the human soul. Pounding like its hammering my head up and down side by side riding my thought process, implementing the unknown and the unwritten. Done not are the deeds of the soul yet the flesh and blood crucified into non existence…I write because it feels like a flight away from this reality freeing my mind, the paper becoming my sanctuary a secrete place where words and my thoughts make sense of what my inner voice speaks, doubting not the freedom rendered by the pen. Racing thoughts rushing to my heart, beat increasing the blood seculation, troubled mind rising above the judgments of men and his philosophies trying not to sink within the ink of confusion, zombie evolution zombie ways and zombism. Triple times three the truth not meeting words, ways differing time turning to the side of the unfavoured

…I write because it is in my might on paper freedom is not told but lived and experienced, on this pen wings grow manifested by the thought process not stress but strength for one to subtract the pounding realities that diminish a thought of a man born free under the sun. Pounding thoughts racing minds my inner voice speaks though in silence yet making massive volumes…my inner voice speaks to me alone because it is the purpose fulfilled, purpose in the mist of the unknown realities. Thought provoking actions…actions not meeting the realities, thought provoking process, mind blown, bubbled under the realities of the unknown…I write…

...plenty patterns I part with the self and experience the unknown to my cite. I reveal the true self but still question the real self. As well as the life I have embraced living, mistakes making and pain enduring, peeling my skin and exposing the green.

Time twirled and she lost herself around him hence he couldn't leave her behind, to him she gloomed in light and he always wanted to embrace, hold her in his arms.

The story of Knowledge and overstanding, light that is brought upon by word sharing, cracking the ancient stone and untighing the sailors knot was their love. She made him and he made her yet the distance was ever opening.

...A life time of living up to standards whose standards....
Questions quarreled queuing in the carnal of confusion equalizing the quick cow that makes cash where the air is full of ash...

As he contemplate...

Scripting scrolls, scratching to rewrite and scrutinize the moment...

Returning to the page for companionship in a crowded space. I taste the sweetness of suer expressions. it is a season yes a season of harvesting, some chapters are ending, page numbering increases, the sons reaching a transition. Silence captures the attention of he who behold. I gaze helplessly at the future of my people. Sing my song of sadness looking at the harvest that children stumble upon.

It is a state of standard stupidity staining the white petals of the flower, pushing the pen for profit practicing perfection.

In good time...in good season

...Upon sunset I lay these words reflecting on the time spent how it all has been utalised, these minutes, hours and days that I open my eyes to. Still in search of my freedom striving still and observing how my time is bought, owned by those who employ me, how can I buy it back? My total independence, how can I regain it. At thirty I am already tired of being a slave, tired of not having enough in such a way that it takes me back to the slave master to beg and plea for my freedom, the little that he gives. I can see the light shining but still I cannot touch it. It is my desire not to be another man's slave, to achieve my freedom under the sun in my lifetime. For as long I shall be a slave so will be the generations to come after me. Hence responsibility comes into space format the course and influence the dream. What is it that men lives for except his dreams. They give him direction and light his way, they separate him from ordinary men with respect and fortune upon fulfillment. This is what makes him wake up and don't give in.

I chase my own still, changing lanes running like a fugitive across the mountains and valleys of consciousness. It is what I know that won't let me go and what I have understood through different schools of initiation. Who I am and the role that I am suppose to play is what I manifest everyday which is that what I shall be.

No coincidence in this life of mine for every thought is meditated and planned through a strict thought process. I posses the strength to travel and reach this dream, live in it and become part of it. A lot of my people have passed on before time I wonder if their dreams were fulfilled by the time their souls depart. But also it comes to mind that our dreams are within a dream hence smaller dreams make up the bigger dream. It is upon these grounds that I decide to pack my bags and follow my dream. in good time...in good season.