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 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….
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…
