The streets are tattooed with potholes and the sidewalks are covered in broken glasses.

Our bodies are demolished and stripped off from all integrity and decency.

The road to having crisp air, diluted wars and unpolluted humanity is foggy. It fights off all good fortune like a new born baby counting his seconds on earth.

We belong to the categorised society, the one that's heart beats with sorrow and skin is impregnated with melanin.
The nation is an equation, divided, torn apart like an  old cloth with stains of dried up blood.

It's ******* are dry , wrinkly and contaminated .The painful strokes on our backs are escalating. They walk towards our chests ,ooze in blood and opens themselves up to beg for mercy.

Mothers with squirming innocence on their backs. Their home is built of threats and poverty . It holds on for dear life during the winter and breathes relief during the summer.

The children's appearances are misleading. They are all bony. Their eyes are tucked in deep into their skulls like the home of a porcupine. Turning nothing but a blind eye to the inequality and pain that they hAve to endure.

Fathers partake on a journey to seek for the daily bread. They embark on the beast of Hope. He breathes steam and his skin is coated with the color of the sun set. His feet are inclined to the railway.

It bends and runs to a place of hope. A place where the  only purpose a male child lives for in our country.
The tools are weeping and begging for a taste of water.

Their skins are suffocating. And howl for a glimpse of fresh air.
But rest is a luxury that the tools rarely taste.

A luxury men wish for day and night.. under the red acres of the sun and when the skies weeps sympathy for it's  fellow brothers.

We are entitled to the misfortune and great grief. Poverty is our clan name. It walks with us daily , under our feet that's embroidered with blisters and  broken heels. Cuts as deep as the Kimberly hole .

We are the black endangered mammals with nothing but equality to fight for.

As the warm colours of the yellow moon finally came through, she was still in Utopia.

Earthly hours  passed by and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.
Eye decided to take the big step of opening, causing confusion and anger with the mind and body.
During the blessed day star ball dance.

She was a teenager in the form of  cannibus sativa. Her endless thoughts of an undying love and screaming of unspoken words through body rock needed to be fed.

Her mind, heart so mute..Nina always had a spiritual black out.
As bright as the day and happy people may be, mind has always been cold, dark, icy and full of blurred irrelevant past figures.

Yet a mystery figure has always been on the run. Heart on sativa dragging the rightful organs to prepare for an undecided marathon.

The morning comes, sun rises, the day goes by and nightfall comes..connection between her and the mighty happiness beholder became thunder.

She danced gracefully in his mind, appeared as a motion picture at the darkest hours of the early morning and he'd feed her mind with his presence....she slowly stepped back from all icy thoughts and instantly got hooked to his presence and last moments.

She promises to always be the mighty happiness beholder's ******. drugged and always overdosing in his undying love and affection now.

Behind the abandoned windows of the temple lies a dress.

Scented with the aroma of fear and uncertainty. It clings to her figure like a premature gasping for air.

It trails across the temple with long, broad tears like the Nile River.
It extends and ignites waves of despair to the chapel, like an angry ocean in a feud with the moon.

It whispers the sweet love it craves..the love it was promised. The sweet sweet love of the runaway groom.

A groom that brought a bouquet of toads and cremated snails to the door step of the bride.

With ashes blinding her view to cut a rope that has long deteriorated.

Left her heart covered in multiple tourniquets to stop the deep wound from spreading all around her fragile body.

A dress mourning for the binding of two souls.
Her spirit prophesies hourly for the dark cloud in the sky to awaken and part ways for a  night of celebration and unity of the two races of the human kind.

But forever his heart will be on the run, like a wanted fugitive, a courtesan on the lose for an unfaithful hour of satisfaction.

Forever shall her dress mourn the passing of a praised creature.
Forever shall his heart reign on the eyes of her neighbor.

Forever shall the bride haul insults
louder than the cry of stones.

The lack of knowledge has taken our kind with fists as tight as the monstrous , unforseen weather of the last days.

It has tightened it's grip and thrown the vulnerable sculptures of the soil deep into the oceans where the unholy rests.

It resets their mindsets that is pregnant with utters of the Most High. Their spirits that have stored scrolls of a weapon that is sharper than an ice glacier.

When the red moon hits the center of the universe like a rock stabbing it's way to the ground and finding refuge in the ocean, it runs forth , trembling on stars and galaxies causing ripple effects on the faint hearted.

They are chained and forced to burn the scrolls containing a letter from Matthew, Job, James and Ruth.
They are still and cannot break free from the giant wave of war.

Dawn has come and knocked on their doorstep. Pertaining rivals, two-faced associates, procrastination and the materials of the world.

They discard their warrior temples, pinned with badges of honor, staff of faith, the Holy Book  and mirrors reflecting the satisfaction of their Maker.

A glimpse of forbidden smile lies on their foot-stool to be, rushing waves and vibrations of anger down from the Heavens.

The oceans are commanded to be still and waters of believe are to be frozen to prevent the opportunistic wind of destruction from mimicking the movements of its waves.

Rivalry and war is before our pupils, drenched with smiles and unholy friendships bit our spirits are blind and too full of earthly possessions , they can't even propel wisdom and knowledge from the trusted letters of THIS TIME.

Lately..i've been floating in a pool full of tears and sadness.
My whole body reeks of pain and is covered in flaws, cuts and failed second chances.

My heart has been my only friend. As i thought i was the only one in pain, she's also hurting. Her other half was stolen.

She's broken, i can tell by the way she beats. She now beats anger, sadness and regrets.

Her presence makes me cry..she's weary but pretends to be okay.
"You're not supernatural !"  As I forbid and shout to the top of my lungs..

We've been talking since morning, its now dawn.
She then told me a story and had me reminiscing on my naive and selfish ways :

He called me his "forever" and swept me off my feet.
He took me to the 9th cloud. I laid my head down on his chest and listened to him while he'd calm my broken soul.

He'd  buy me a bunch of flowers and chocolates..lots of them! Then he'd call me "angel face".

I was happy, i really was so i gave him a piece of my soul. He took it and went into a mysterious portal. I ran to my heart, fell on top of her thighs and cried myself to sleep.

When i woke up, i saw a peice of her missing. Her other half. He stole from her!
He called me his "forever". Brought fake smiles and fake "i love you" from where ever planet he's from.

He left, now we are scarred.."forever"..

I am unconsciously waiting  on a beating heart. One that is electrified with affection and has the scent of love.

My mind is now running around in circles. My lips whisper life and ingredients to your creation.

They speak limbs and organs of the desired. An hour glass figure shaped and curved edges.
Smooth flawless legs that drips caramel with a touch of gold ribbons.

But I keep hearing echo's , millions of them.
"Feed your soul with my Shadow" they say.

Hold on to my pure hand and  walk with me to  heaven.
Let me water your body with my angelic voice and dance until our feet ache.

Your body shivers at a fast pace when I get closer.. I kiss you and a one minute deep breath is all I hear.

The birds are silent ,the clocks arn't ticking. Time has stopped for us.

My eyes can't resist the perfect sculpture it foresees.
I drool all over your red dress.

Kneeling down your feet to excite my taste buds and kiss you all the way up. Feeding you with nothing but kisses on your red rose.

I lay my not so perfect body above yours. Our hearts collide and spirits  explode  leaving behind mesmerizing smoke and coloured paintings on the walls.

Morning has  come to   knock on the door . She's all dressed up in a tight yellow dress and orange heels.

Your side of the bed is empty and has left traces of your body on the mattress.

You left heaven, and had gone back to my dreams.

In loving memory of:  Love

Born :BBC died: 21st century

A connotation of redundancy has been linked between the name of the corpse and false prophets who claim to have studied the bibliography of his name.

Feeding the hearts of the weary and weak with a plate full of lies and deceit.. all in his name.

Love had suffered from severe depression and chronic Cancer. The false accusations were like dark carbonic acid ripping every piece of his lungs and self esteem.

He had witnessed  what we'd call the shock of Africa.

A blazing hot human furnace across the street of which was the body of the innocent.

He reeks parrafin and the blazing  flames on this body were bursting with bits and bits of his inner organs high up in the air.

Filling up the entire neighborhood like it's confetti. The smoke from the human fumes were running away, higher and higher it went to catch the first plane to freedom.

Alongside it spelled out " free my brothers and sisters from xenophobia!".

The raw lies spread into different continents like grapevines. This set
A trend we still see today, one we're all victims of.

His sacrifices aren't respected anymore. His death brings along thousands of feminine murders carrying along ****** weapons in their wombs, men who lash their rage on weak spirits who try by all means to build a home.

Countries raging back and forth with gigantic pistols and nuclear power. No mercy from the perpetrators or consolations for their ruthless acts.

Their eyes are filled with aggression, hate , anger and bitterness.
The brittle innocent beings left homeless on the side of a sewage stream.

No food for the day, just nothing but mealie meal and water.
Squatter camps are all plugged together like small pieces of puzzles.

Humanity knows no peace, no love and affection. 

 Our generation has stabbed the word love with an iron sword and has left it bleeding untill it could no longer take the pain any more.

He was a friend , father and a grandfather  .
Rest in eternal peace.

My spirit is unseasoned.

My body is an unwashed, used ,dark clay ***. Stars all over my world are enriched with insecurities, self hate, body shaming.

The dark cracks on my lower lip manipulate my mind. They liquidate and rush through the core of my imperfections.

Forming a mouth piece of total surrender that manifests and  speaks the language of the broken.

My dignity is amputated and walks on its arms. My legs are nowhere close to perfection.

Mirror mirror on the wall is praised to be the fortune teller of beauty.
My dear skin is cracked and has become a feeding scheme of maggots and vultures.

The body of a young goddess needs awakening.

Rush dear honey and bathe me in a tub of nurture. Scrub all insecurities and soothe my soul with a bowl of gold praise.

Pour your offsprings  onto the mirror.
Marinate my skin with love and joy. Entice my mind , Pierce through my longing skin and rebirth my veins.

Rush honey ,rush.

Your pink silky touch makes my body go through seizures.

My veins are homeless, smothered in poverty and have been craving for soul food.

Im in a cacoon. My peace sign fingers in between my flower are working overtime,pumping and extracting the pollen of satisfaction.

It drips  all over your white sheets. An eye  of feasting awaits.

The movement of our soul connection is stoccatto. A two second breathing and rest from the uphill journey must occur.

Like a paint brush,your lips paint your intense emotions on my body. An abstract piece of art is what i reflect and look like.

You broke the cacoon.

Freed the catapillar of distruction and void.
The butterfly roams around in delight and euphoria.

My flower is embroided with your aura, little stitches of love threads  hang down my thighs.

I paint and revive different spirits with the rhythm of my words and the beat of my echo that settles in the mind of the needy.

I present in my palm  words in the form of music notes and a key to unlock a room that's colour painted with energy, music and freedom.

I dwell within the hearts of my beloved as a prophetess, casting all the heartaches , infected streams and rivers that flows through their souls.

My words calm the distractive massacres occurring within their unpainted, dry and ashy bodies.

I  breathe light and wisdom to dark abandoned tunnels full of green ogres and lively creatures .

My lyrics contracts and form an artistic paint brush. It paints both humans and towns with world peace, unity and love.

Lyrics of a young poet ululate on top of hills  and walks a steep journey to the high end mountains and caves of our ancestors.

My words are dark skinned. They are firm and stand between riots and wars holding up a tight fist in the air.

I speak words in the form of music notes that rest underneath the soil of the earth. Words that resurrect those who are still and paint verbal art pieces to the unfortunate ones who can't hear my art work.

-lyrics of a poet.

The Anti pesticides have lost their true function, they have denatured and have been deprived from all  working authorities.
They have guarded the garden with dignity and devotion.

Pests around my garden. They surround it like infected pimples oozing pus of jealousy , gossips and animosity.

The flowers wilt ,leaves turn brown and ashy. Pests drains its soul, they absorb all the lively juices it has left. And has left it with thousands of wrinkles.

Pests in my royal garden don't make sounds anymore. They speak the language of the innocent and say we're "related". Some say we're best friends.

They crawl and wonder around with no purpose. When it's flowers bloom and spring has come for a festival of celebration, they gather around and smile. Dishing out compliments like it's open season.

Behind the walls, they multiply and transform into the green snakes they are.

They hiss silently, all dressed up in skimpy dresses, expensive quality hair and designer shoes.
Their scent is similar to that of a corpse.

Pests in my royal seem to be highly educated, they even utter words like "I love you" and "I'm so happy for you".

They slither around my garden like wondering demons on an impossible mission to destroy.

-pests in my royal garden.