They live in the hilly woods of Jamaica,
Infinitely feasting on bright energy
In flawless harmony with Mother Nature
As man was created by the creator.

One would deem them magical
As their ways are reflections of astrology
Where past, present and future
Are no different from one another.

Affiliated with the emperor of Ethiopia,
Ras Tafari Makonnen, known as Haile Selassie,
Who holds the Solomonic signature,
They know that existence, to living is greater.

They are merely monks of Africa,
But the world knows not of this
For their ways have been altered
By the consumption of fire.

Twelve moons of the twentieth order
Ignite a long awaited transition
Which allows a thickened slender
Of the existence of a compound creation.

Awarded by time, one of your selves
Has held the joy of recalling liberation
From the prison everyone deserves
For the grand initiation.

The significance is obscured in your smile
That has abandoned your wrinkling face,
Due to a foolish old juvenile,
Seeking silver in gold’s place.

Your meadow is flooded and filled with mire
Your wise fool has poisoned your feast
And a despairing sorrow is all he can perspire.
Nevertheless, cherish this day Sthandwa sami.

Certainty, certainty…
Are you always this pretty?
You have captured me blindly
And your doctrines govern my safety.

Stay with me and do not go;
Lights will burn low
And with you, I’ll tango,
We’ll put up a great show
Of memories which will echo.

Certainty, certainty…
Through you, I seek liberty
From a crowd of possibility
Which treasures pure charity.

Strike me like a blazing arrow,
And let your wonders overflow.
Make me a better *****,
For I battle with my shadow.

I have descended onto this crust,
And landed in this body,
Which breeds nothing but rust;
For it is lively but dusty.

I once majestically soared the skies,
Before desires grew heavy for my wings,
And landed in a place I could not recognise
Despite seeing its mornings.

A place, which houses tangible necessities,
With everything hidden from most beings
In which one of the two communities
Honours the other as their kings.

I now reconstruct my wings feather-by-feather;
With realities induced with a sense of belonging
And dreams of unspeakable wonder,
For one day, this frame shall betray my living.

I stare through my eye,
Trying to comprehend my inflicted claims
But the more I stare, mirrors blind my eye
For I see my reflection in various frames.

The voices of Bob Marley
Echo faintly into myself
But the visions as those of Haile Selassie
Inform me that I am not a distinct book on the shelf:

If the Creator has made us in His image,
Then He lives within us and we see through his eye
But we have lost the conception of this heritage
And overlook that you and I are I and I.

For nine months, I was her parasite;
Living by her nourishing-self.
My world was darker than starlight
Until the realization of myself.

She moulded and crafted me to date.
An obligation which was so great,
Only her heart could accommodate.

With time, she established our own estate,
One which only she could create.
Crooked it was, yet she made it straight.

When things topple, I seek for mother;    
Her arms are open as those of the Creator.
I’d be foolish to seek for another;
For mother’s love is like no other.

I rest in my uniform home,
Gazing at the dim moonlight beams
Running through my cold-holed walls
Through which I chat with the whistling wind.

Through my nose, emanates a thick foam,
Motivated by dust and heating fumes
Which bring joy and magnify walls
Which night crawlers struggle to find.

As the sun illuminates our shanty Rome,
I am blinded by the reflected sunbeams
Indicating light behind the endless night falls
In which we have been confined.

Talk of realizing what appears as fiction,
Talk of not needing to count sheep,
And having thoughtless sleep;
Talk of motivation.

Only yesterday,
You came my way.
I knew not of what to say
But here we are today:

Intimate.
Our connection is delicate
And it grows by the minute.
You ever draw me like a magnet.

I have fallen deep
Into your deep
Deep
And now, my heart you keep.

A piece of divine art,
You have captured my heart

She had a pyrrhic victory
Against the ******* masterminds
Who had her children’s lives by the tips of their fingers
And blew air of fear and dependency into their lungs.

A mother of many;
She has children of vast kinds
Segregated from all corners
By dissimilar cultures and tongues.

From the meat-loving Ovaherero in the center, northwest and east,
To the vaCaprivi, vaKavango and Ovambo in the north and northeast with their villas
To the Khoikhoi in the south with their unique communication,
She mothers them all with equal loving.            

She is beloved for her beautiful contrast;
Rivers, mountains, flat plains and savannahs
Not to overlook the merging of the desert and ocean.
She truly is wonderful, beautiful and compelling.

Her name is Namibia.