Coming out...

It is Diana Ross who springs to[my]mind. And like her, I want to 'do it, like I've never done it...' Contrary to the fact that I have given my poetry the cold shoulder for about two years, reality has gone and slept me in the face: one of my poems:http://incandescentglory.blogspot.com/2009/05/resigned-to-my-karma.html has been included in an anthology published by West End Press. Has this woken the muse in me? Did s/he ever hibernate. Either way, I am coming out...

Silent rejection

If I turned blue from singing my heart out,
Stuck like glue wherever you were around,
Yearning for even just a glance from you
To affirm the clearness of my emotion,
Would you even stir?

If I lost my voice and clarity of thought,
Gave all away and was left with nought.
Would you hear me then?

Now, I lie at your feet.
Pining, writhing – what a deed!
I’m dying to cross the threshold
Of your soul.
Will you cast me away?
Will you hear me now?

Standing Tall

I stand on the edge of
a precipice. Vertigo's got
me reeling in anticipation.
For I got wings to glide
home, where neither knaves
nor cowards dare to tread.

The Great Tussle

Treading on treacherous ground,
Risking life and limb,
We would be wise to know
The end is nigh.

Pinned to a corner,
We claim naivety,
Shirk all responsibility,
Cower and blame the gods.
Won’t we just
Stand up and be counted?

when the words won't come...

Was it Kojo or Rethabile who reminded us of this just the other day? Been trying to write.For the longest time(it sure feels). Did not manage to come up with anything. It's been weeks; months, even. Closer to two years, to be exact. Yet there is so much that's been going through my mind. How can I find my voice,again?

The thing

Is there a difference between

knowing what we want

in life and actually going for it?

is this difference the very act

of going for it? The thing maybe

crystal clear in our minds, but the

going for it on a day to day basis

renders it a bit elusive.

at times, it actually seems

to be ever sliding farther

and farther - the more we

attempt to get it!

How can it be then, that our getting

the thing or not, is largely

up to us?

Do we need to factor in

the friends, weather, mood

and chutzpah that can

always influence how far

we stretch to get near

the thing on any day?

But now, seeing that

when we look around us,

we conclude that

the great sportsmen, actresses

and successful professionals

among us, have got their thing,

we feel we see that the thing

is within reach.

Maybe then, the key is

to find the thing,

firstly, inside us,

then live with and by it.

Bashemane

had we not come this far
to see the men, we would
have felt no pride
seeing them thus,
gleaming with red ochre.

strangely arrogant they were,
in their unwashed bodies,
exuding a strong odour
of manly defiance.

from where we stood,
we felt no inclination
to pretend we had rights
to stand nearer and face them.

we stood with the women
because we had never
had the experience.

and yet the women themselves,
we were uncomfortably aware,
had disapproving countenances;
clearly abashed, to be near
our uninitiated selves.

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?

I smell a rat

Scrounging for a meal, the rat found its way
Into your closet and gnawed
Your favourite cotton slacks.
Actually found them tasteless.
No harm in trying (he thought).
Is he wrong?

On my way from the store, I met your
Wife rushing home. Couldn’t mistake
Her face -- brimming with glee.
They say she’s been frequenting
The doctor’s and opening her legs to be examined.
Pity, you’re the only one in the dark.
Apparently, you’re seldom home.
Is she wrong?

There goes your perfidious wife
Spewing vile invective
As she chases the rat out of the house.
Ranting and raving at the crazed creature.
Who’s wrong? I wonder.

The power of me

I’ve been around the world
Quite a few times

Met a few good men
And plenty more pretty girls

Quite a few hearts I captured
And broke a lot more

I have experienced pain
In all its different guises

I have toiled for decades
Only to see the work
Destroyed in a minute of malice

I have been maimed and shamed
Sullied till I was devoid
of all honour

I have learned
To seek succor
From friend and foe alike
And got smarter in the process

These I have endured
Knowing fully well
That my day would dawn

So, as I stand
Before you today
Steadfast is my faith
In the power of me

ennui

I flip through the Guardian pages,
Intrigued by the predictability of it all:
Rigged elections in some corner of Africa,
A discredited politician closer to home.

I slouch on my couch, try and shut out
All the humdrum that so bogs me down
I am roused out of my reverie
By the shrill sound of sirens
Whizzing past my window

Even now as I try
To piece these few sentences together
I can’t help but notice
My disjointed train of thought

Resurrecting Dad

I want to fill my space with you
Every bit and piece of you
Strewn all over this loft

I want to clone you
Carve you from memory
So every sinew in you is plain to see

I want you here
So close to me
That you could never leave again

At last, I have you
Every bit and piece of you
Etched on my psyche

In hot pursuit of nirvana

Want to know why I lie, cheat and steal?
Truth is, my father was poor
His father even poorer
So I vowed to veer off

My ways may be wayward
But my bravado is laudable

Still, I feel small
Somehow inadequate -- no matter how large the largesse

Maybe someday I’ll find a treasure trove
Buried in the inner core of my being
Pray God I won’t have to lie, cheat or steal
To claim it

Close to the edge

How grateful I am
For the sanctuary that is my
Sanity. For the chance to dream,
Sleep and dream again.
See, I don’t know for
How long I can keep
Doing this.