Friday, April 29, 2011

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...

Thursday, April 28, 2011


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.