Keep going…

if we were to balk at the
idea of a life lived in
the pursuit of service,

we would not understand
why our work is never done;
why there is ever so much to
be done, with finite resources.

when we do chance upon
moments when our spirits
soar, giving us that rare
feeling of infinite chutzpah,

we ought to realize then,
that we owe it to ourselves
to make every minute count;
we just have to stick it out
to the very end.

© phomolo lebotsa

Resigned to my karma

I have a sense of purpose.
I know that what I do
Contributes to a greater whole.
It makes a difference for mankind.

I am able to rise above
petty differences that could
get in my way, obscure my view,
Preclude me from seeing the big picture.

I have carved a cavern for myself,
Where I crawl in, knuckle down
and get on with what it is I am good at.

I don’t worry about the price of oil,
Or the anguish borne by my forefathers
As they did their bit to build a legacy
for the masters’ children. All I can do
is to know and to remember.

It is really not cold in this shell.
These fans billowing to keep
the textiles dry, are merely contraptions
to entertain my rheumy eyes.
This is not a hard concrete floor
numbing my feet with its iciness;
it is valuable storage space
For these finished garments,
which will soon adorn
The bodies of my brothers and sisters.
A pair of Levi’s or a Gap sweater
are commensurate to my health.
They are well worth the pain
I have started feeling in my chest these days.

I have a sense of purpose.
I know that what I do
Contributes to a greater whole.
It must be of value to the world.
How can it not be, when I get paid
Less than a dollar a day
For my pain?

Up and Down we go

When, at the prime of our lives, the future looms
Smiling at our faces, we begin to realize
We can either wave her away,
Or yank her with our make-believe reins,
Tugging her closer to come
Quench our thirst for fulfillment.

We hang-on to the see-saw that is life,
Close our eyes and lose ourselves.
As we bob and gag a laugh,
We raise our heads to the skies
And wonder why we keep forgetting
To live here. Now.

Reality Check

I have been to a place
where young boys and girls
roll merrily on lush lawns
as they drink-in the joy of life.

I have also had to embrace
life in putrid hell-holes,
where the death of
one man was not
worth a mere mention.

In the unlikely event of
a chance to choose between
the two, I would have to
forfeit my turn.
For reality teaches us
that life consists of
treading the boundaries of
the latter place, while willfully
walking towards the former.

Where are the men?

gone to towns of silver rooftops and golden sunsets in egoli*.
gone toiling for near close to naught -- all in the name of manhood.
left all of us here, fighting to be men before our time,
with hardly any wit in our talk nor fire in our bellies.
left a whole gang of us here,
to be raised by the women

and now we are the men;
with more swank in our styles
and less sense in our acts,
marching alongside the flight of our youth,
swiftly racing away
to eons beyond.

* An Isizulu (one of the official languages in South Africa) word meaning: place of gold

What would Cupid say?

Can we love?
Love for the sake of
Love?

Loving for the sake of love,
Is loving for the joy of loving.
Loving because the love
Comes, hits us and
Becomes evident in us.

To love is not to possess.
To love is not to control.
To love is not to stupefy.

To love, is to admire
To love, is to want to know
To love, is to make greater
Can we love?