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…