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Mamolefe Apr 24
I was first born a solar system.

Living in a realm where I wheezed stars and suns. My eyes, black holes to a new universe.
It was a time where planets burst from my belly and latched onto my ******* - no longer hiding in my vortex of a womb.

The world swung around my neck heavily. Steadily, I adorned my fate gracefully...

...because I was born second a mountain.
My hips creating hills and heaps while my tears birthed oceans. I carried the crescent moon in my left eye - Venus in my right.

And often times, I’d shape shift and kneel to the ground, grabbing the soil of the earth.
Its mud, dancing under my nails and knuckles. Its dust, smouldering the creases between my palms.
Sand, caressing and matching the tones of my skin. Accenting hues from the palette of eternal life.

My mouth, birthing spirits and spells. Souls - mining from my ribs.
My womb, carrying ancestors and avatars - Coloured girls glowing in browns, blacks, purples and blues.
Their nebula personifying secrets from Zion as they break through the realm between my legs.

As I continue to carry my message in the wind; breathing life into lifelessness;
narrating stories of hope in times of hopelessness; morphing my magic across the abyss.

I was born third a Nubian.
A Maasai, I am the one they call MAKEBA.

Walking these townships streets as though diamonds lay at my feet.
Gliding on gravel from the ghetto to Greece. Leaving behind a fragrance so sweet.

Blessing the unblessed even when left distressed. Honoring the feminine power that flows within me. The roaring lioness! Smell the audacity of my celestial essence. I am the first to bleed, but last to fall – the S forever embroidered on my breast.

For I am you and you are her and we are She! MAKEBA!

Inkosazana. The melanated fruit that you seek. You stare in disbelief at these words that I conceive.


Ke mang a tshwara thipa ka bogaleng? Ke mang afang botho mo batho ba hlokang motho? Ngubani le mbogodo elingabambeki?


My eyes, carrying alchemy.
My smile, a treasury. My skin, reflecting the origin of humanity.

A piece by Mamolefe Molefe & Reaorata Mashaba.
“Ma” meaning Mother and “Keba” meaning fortune, health and spirituality - which is of Tanzanian heritage.

In this collective project, we bring to life the artistry and alchemy of the Black Woman.

The Mothers of the Universe. The originators of man. The true, living form of God.
Mamolefe Apr 4
I want my love back.

I want my ghosts to possess my lungs - resuscitate my ancestors while I breath in laughter.

For the ball inside my throat to hurl fire - to make love to the sun
scare shadows
intimidate death and
offend darkworkers.

A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood and transforming my saliva into gold.

Love me. Want me. Find me.

Give, it, back.
Mamolefe Feb 2021
I want my love back

A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood.

Transforming my saliva into gold.
Revisit your power.
Mamolefe Feb 2021
A chaos has been birthed inside of me.

It’s Ghosts, playing hopscotch.
My Heart, fighting against lung.
The Blood, making out with startdust.

A destiny wishing to reform itself
trying to recognise its name
smile at its reflection.
A natural disaster beginning its annual cycle inside of me.

Inside of you.

Like how Summer recognises Autumn’s leaves,
it’s twiggy branches letting go of its maroon mascara.
Stripping itself bare of past fantasies and love.

An internal hazard that dances for the Gods inside of you.
The ones yet to be discovered.
The ones yet to be explored.

So, retract
unclip your wings and reopen your cave of comforting darkness so as to rediscover the light again.

It’s soon...
You’re soon.

Soon, my love.
#transition #change #reflection #lost
Mamolefe Jan 2020
Your shadows clock in for their shift at 12 o’clock... at night

Hanging it’s cloak on your happiness and lying luxuriously on your chest. Their hours stealing your dreams and numbing them into painful memories.

We become a bath of obsession and depression
Our tears spelling out the words that our throats cannot read
We are an ocean of misled, overthought fantasies
A nation of unspoken miseries .

Our bones, rubbing against each other

Getting lost in the darkness of our humane cast
Trying to find themselves.
Trying, to, rediscover the stories that make you one
Trying to align your purpose
The shadows have won.

So you create a new self. A version that breathes in the heavy smoke that is your emotions.
A hemisphere where your shadows are your friends.
Buddies that allow for the dark half of your minds to dance in the abyss
Play in the dark
And whimper about the stories folded in your heart.

Sleep, my child.
Rest, my love.
Crumble, darling.
Be reborn, sweetheart.
Mamolefe Nov 2019
I will whisper stories into your ear so potent with love, that you can taste them.

The same way you taste the colours that dance in the sky.

The same way you taste your dreams during your high.

The same way you ******* lips.
The lips that whisper stories in your ear...
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