My life cannot be easy,
I have to always choose the hard way.
Not just keeping busy,
But learning to lose for choosing the heart way...

I will be a beacon of this frail imminent future
and face a mammoth of demons…
Be the reason, the grail as His eminent feature
Embrace the Method of Kingdom…

Hardly months,
and it seems like you were never here…
A breath from my lungs...
As I stare into the scenes of this bitter air

You brought out the best in me
A mysterious mixture of shenanigans and selflessness
Only you, out of the rest…could see
What I felt for you was tantamount to cheating
I fell for you bcoz’ you reminded me
of something paramount I was seeking

Sharing our pedigrees like War Stories
I remember those times and your advice, Souljah…
Caring about my debris in life...
I’m sorry I never saw the signs of your demise
…So far…

I call this Candle here Badbye
Seeing how your closest peers
Just go by after your passing,
gives me a bad vibe…
But everything soon comes full circle…
Coz’ every King must overcome loop hurdles

Souljah on, Shero…!!
I remember how you used to
tell me to sober up before…

What if this life is consequences of our actions in our past life…?
if you believe in that sort of thing…        
Coz if you believe you have a Spirit, then you inevitably believe in reincarnation. And if in this state our weaknesses surpasses our strengths, and our physicality surpasses our spirituality, then it’s safe to say this dimension or frequency we’ve been summoned to, could be purgatory or God forbid…Hell.

Spirit fooled, my roots are blue now…
a birth insemination façade, it’s all really just a departure station
Blood is overrated like heirlooms now,
my earth interpretation of the Son is really just a miniature statue
From good to bad, popped the lid off by shoplifting,
Coz’ I’m from the hood and glad I can prop what I pulled off by uplifting.
This conniving side, Kundalini said it’s critical…
I remember the pain of discomfort in jail...
Sleeping inside that biting minky next to a Criminal clustered my praying effort to make bail. Spitting fire across with rage, the only love I can feel is from my Mother, so beware of blind fury...My Siblings’ wires are crossed with age, they only love what they can feel from Matter and Affairs , as if bewitched by Muti. I don’t have friends, rather Associates, there’s nothing like a relationship controlled by a timely device. The Real Ones are under the Sand, I call them Appropriates…She was ahead of her Creation ship but opposed by a tide of an untimely demise. Now I’m in solitude on this table surrounded by demons, but Jesu still breaks bread…A Soldier should learn to stay stable even though his bound to say “Yes” to deal with fake Men.
So fasten your seatbelt and countdown the launch sequence
Ready to blast off this sieged land compound, notch the frequence…

When visions get blurry, we get fairy to fixture pictures. Feel the walls, the world closing in scriptures; fear crushing leaps of faith coz Mr. Beer here couldn’t keep the faith seeking riches. What, you’re being punished for no reason? We’re all breed sin so please say something rich for the coming seasons. Push now quitters, coz look now sinners simmer food for thought answers. Come it out a few seconds, picture you a new falcon, instead of exploiting food patterns, you protect the less from loose cannons killing true lessons, and so an extra second…death or not the world will learn an extra accent to believe in better essence, kids will be filled with an extra passion to give life an extra session, all imbued by someone like you providing ultra lessons. Don’t stress, relieve, can you believe in your own soul at least? Should we hold thumbs the beast doesn’t achieve a world feast out of our own deeds? Perhaps mistakes to erase, be the stakes that breed perfect victors. Whatever it takes to breathe, for the sake of coming days, perfect pictures!

What scares me is the whole concept of “Destroy to Rebuild”...
I’ve been thinking about it and regrettably it seems highly unlikely
that Humans will overthrow Bigotry and Segregation by any means other than being threatened to extinction as a Species. This is the only way Humans will thrive to unite together towards a common goal, which is SURVIVAL. ****…!!

They say God works in mysterious ways…let’s hope this young genius boy proves God’s ingenious ways. A poet, profoundly compound, some say he was Godly driven. Finally, a chance proudly found, he was to prove himself in poetry Godly given. It was nearing winter, writers and poets shiver… as each prepare to prove, they’re not just a sinner. It was the ultimate ‘spoken word’ talent search, respect goes to the winner. He has been waiting for this moment all his life.  
His stream of consciousness was so deep; he never saw the way, busy sharpening ciphers in mind and bag crafting the perfect knife. The streets of Hillbrow hailed him in, like the seat of death row kills the men. The taxi driver forgot him and took a detour by accident. Our talent was left dumb-founded, unaware; he dropped off at the core of Esselen.  Just a blink, the exit of a bullet hole brought him home; he was caught in a triangle of beasts, the piece demanded his phone and so he reached…but there’s no trust amongst thieves, so the piece found peace in a heart hole. The heat from his chest made him dizzy; he realised the bullet must’ve went in…he felt his soul…and so he fell and found peace in God’s hole…piece was just glad it’s over, plus he was on drugs and **** so it really did not matter. The others were excited over the money they could consume from the cell phone to escape being sober, piece just watched…and took what was left, the bag. Somehow this time Victory didn’t feel so good, he left unnoticed ‘coz he felt it was a nag.  He knew the demons were coming later that night for what he did. In his mind rolling trees nightly pushes the clock of insanity anti; he has to blunt to fight the dead. He arrived at his place he calls it the ‘cave’, he closed the door, threw the bag on the floor, and rolled a blunt as he sat on his favourite place, many call it a crate. The trees had him focused on the bag what’s inside? He tried to ignore it ‘coz he knew it was the **** burning his curiosity inside, but nevertheless gave into his own insight. He opened the bag, and found papers, papers and papers…he went on a rampage crying, he found nothing for buying and felt like dying, to replace the Man he killed for papers, papers and papers…Time passed and somehow the sun kept shining through his nightmares, day-by-day, week-by-week, month-by-month, he read each page with sight and care. piece even learned how to utilize the dictionary, he tried to show his friends, but they sparked jealousy ‘coz in him they could sense a flair. piece went on and dug deeper, he felt the dead man’s poetry and wanted to know more about life, he started reading the newspaper. His friends, his only family thought he’s strange, piece again tried to explain the change ‘coz once in while he would smoke fire with Rastafari, they taught him to take time for soul searching, death comes at any age. It’s true, piece was changing…he even started writing poetry, but always wondered…will people listen to a background of poverty? One day, piece was taken by surprise; one of his friends showed him an article on the newspaper about the man he killed. The Police failed to find the killer, so the case was sealed. piece felt pain when he read about the dead man’s mission and immediately understood the burden he carried to continue that mission. The article was also based on a Tribute that was to take place that winter. Piece knew what he had to do to prove he’s not just a sinner. Winter came with flu’s and coughs, piece came with dos and don’ts. He managed to arrive at the place where the Tribute was held. He heard poetry recitations in progress, heartfelt and felt a bit nervous, but for some reason he looked up and said help. Unexpectedly, piece didn’t know he had to pay to get in, ‘coz he saw white men just go in. He knew he smelt bad, the doorman kept touching his nose; piece always said his armpits have a mind of its own. The doorman found hate quick and pushed piece to the ground like he’s sick, organisers saw…piece stood up, picked up his papers as tears fell down, a bit hurt but even more his heart was sore. Organisers asked him why he came, piece said it’s not a game, it’s about his name. He was told the recitations were to end, hence he pleaded if he could just blend. He was not prepared to give up on the Late just because a commotion says it’s too late, therefore he climbed on the stage and said,

“I killed a Man, your Tribute through him I found peace…
Listen why I call this poem, piece!”

Swallowing pride is less change on the price then the focus blinks the golf post. Sweet Love undone, shame, it’s no hole in one when folks impose on soft ghosts. As Man rest below, it’s like we misunderstand more and so the next fellow will follow. Old stories weren’t so cold, once upon a time family and friends wouldn’t trade you for gold. But don’t be caught out worn out; coming to terms with new germs makes the heart want to turn back to the cool perms. So afraid of Love that breeds us, worse, we can’t punch Aids without a glove on; Jesus… plus nowadays it even busts one in handcuffs, believe this. But who am I to judge the weathers, besides, my friend thinks I’m soft like white pampers. Just days ago, my eyes were pepper sprayed by white crackers, pick sides, and my colleague couldn’t pay his dues, all he did was explain tired matters, in all this I just decided to grow white feathers and God forbid, I cursed their wild manners. Silence still spoils the years, no doubt, I learned in this lair, how loud you roar the strength of Bears, that’s what it’s about. I can’t wait till my mother reads this... why I had to walk out of my Uncle Steve’s burial ******?
I thought I was missed, in minutes I saw her with this deep look in her eyes, fixed, then it turns out my in-law thinks my boys and I looked like gangsters in the midst, I felt my heart twist…almost threw a fist to expand what his mind missed, but ****, no kith and kin greetings and kisses… I had to take leave; my family is now Mr and Mrs. From now on end, they’ll see me with a fresh eye, this is how I’m meant, forever until the flesh dies. I guess best times are with strangers, in a rendezvous called Timbuktu I met these boys and not famous, we crushed a lot but touched the dot, the heart of failures. The *****, trees, good food clouds greed, you could snooze or leave, I swear the mood won’t bleed. Best you crown them abundant like a peace antique, that’s Mr Brown and London, my good friends indeed. It’s a Mystery what life can bring; last week over beer, I exchanged fears with a King. Possessed in some foreign church, this dream had me glad to blink while he cracked the Da Vinci code, digging to find the King of Kings. Our minds froze, as we came to realize how deep we’ve grown… time is old, I knew then our faith and freedom would have to come bold. It’s a strange time in my life, at the same time I’m deeming the name of my wife. Dog marked Kemet as next to thrive, same line, I might get me a Queen or stone my life at night. Envision the sight, with a Nefer that should be…breathing life into Pharaohs that died. Of course, kids will know what Mommy’s womb means; I mean no offence but watch the Mummy movies. Reminds me of a dream Mommy had, I was drunk and so old, I really think it’s nothing bad, I’m just young with an old soul but ex-factors be spinning my head though, and I’m hoping for some Excalibur spinning ahead, you know. Slaves are made to be industrious in a place they hate but I’m tired, it’s time for hearts to get paid. But hay, wrestling with time like I’m messing with mine got my final warning signed. My boss said I’m immature; I need to pull up my socks until I’m in for sure. I saved her the cause coz at times passion gets passionately *******, even words can’t open the door. Not to mention, I’m all bushed with hair like Samson’s intertwine, I don’t want to cause tension, hence let’s all push affairs like Santon, sipping wine. No more talk about the word, blind. They’ve been too kind, as the world gets embarrassing through their ‘eyes’. You’ll think it makes sense, when you realise how much they miss in a chance, then it blends, The first sense. It’s scary, I mean Harry…would you know when you’ve met the Carpenter? Will he be fairy or nostalgic with a scent of lavender or may be carrying messages like that guy, the Messenger? How will you know, if you can’t respect another? and yet you’re still awaiting him, who lives in you forever. Man lives forever between the lines, God how can we ignore it? My cousin is as passionate as I with no job, how does he endure this? I’ll do whatever I can to help you out Cuzz, hold on, I promise. I’m not known for counting my losses but don’t be so sure I’ll cater; fraternizing with sources is just my second nature. Pick up this heavy Rock and take a good look at the ants, in this manly clock, many subscribe to false pretence. No one wants to be in the dock and that makes perfect sense, but why all the false defence? Might as well play tennis with church, serve an ace to the priest; confess my habits to purge, in search of reason why my people fail to merge? My Dead Blood bless my verse, and my high school friend, I missed his piece called Living on the verge back then. I can remember being so young and thin, shy and dim, I couldn’t tell how it’s been ever since. Looking back being juvenile, it just seems like we dwelled in better sins. Free Mandela hit White students wild and Blacks at the same time flying with brighter wings. Nervous minds in the hall, my friend questioning the principal whether or not he’s racist. First time, I see an old man running away from the ball, explaining principles with no basics. Standard 9, every one in line curious to know who’s going to make prefect, SRC was just fine but not on the same intellect. Matriculated with a distinction but articulated no instinction. We could’ve married some of those chickens if it wasn’t for those unresolved feelings. Now the eggs have hatched, gone with those legs, a dream of the past, but then you gave me that eye on the streets to **cache…

I have one life to live, so why get married??
I mean they say life is short, so let live and let’s live…
I have no time to settle coz I’m subtle…
I have no time for soapy Love
I feel like Bobby Brown…

Maybe I am supposed to be a Rockstar…
Plus I don’t know how to propose, look at my raw scar…
But yah, I guess this won’t mean **** until “it’s all said and done”
Maybe die sad and young…

I think I’ll call this piece, *One life to live!!!

“There's nothing like doing something that you can grow old and die with. No additives, no preservatives, no fashion just passion…pure talent!!”

Truth carved by the bold
Wish you were the muse loved by the World
Art belittled to products, hurts like brand-new shoes
My heart brittles for such, coz’ of these brand-new fools
Cheers, accolades with standing ovations feeding our desires
I hear echoes late, is it withstanding storms with patience or cheating the fire? Get to the point where angry is Love,
And touch the soil so you can hang me for being a dove
Unnatured species promiscuous with the bloodline of Iscariot, the nerve…Read this uncensored thesis, like how you believe in Prometheus, syfys and these patriots you serve...
I’d Love to tell you that the yolk of my heart resonates a planet unknown…That the Soul of my Art will exonerate you from this magnet ten fold. That Existence is preliminary to existing, not the other way round. That this is the military of my existence, to figure the way out…

**But…when last have you seen a human being?

I would write,
even when I know no one else would read
I would rhyme,
even when I know no one else would heed  

Desertification, I picture nothing but pen and page
In the same respiration, the Creator wrote something
in the Sand for Change…

Life, yours in the making
Your salvation is not another hand saving
They lied, you’re of no breed and born alone
That’s why you’re unique and somewhat forlorn

Explore my domain and find yourself
For once, you’re the Main and Man shall delve
You’ll find all elements, resources and money
to craft your elegance  and remorse to your liking
This is something of a must…
Coz’ in the end, it’s just you and no one to trust

What’s in it for me you ask?
I heard loneliness don’t last

The deserts' enigma as the sand tells stories of ancient civilisations, and the open air parallel suggesting stigmas of myth echoing apologies of Asian civil invasions. Wealth and Wisdom buried underground to hide the former faces, and so slow paces to mirages as a Man walks the ground to find the water oasis. Pressures of wind hugging to shape into a tornado, a Mother pushes waters to save the World with a Bambino. The inferno Sun sets on water or falls, crashes like a bashed tomato into lava erupting a volcano, but still rests on the water floor. Seas and Oceans are never cliché, but I feel farfetched where it's forlorn. See the emotions in my tears coz' I feel far attached before born...

Beasts feasting on prey... dishing on the words of Kings who wouldn’t fall to their knees and obey. I could almost hear their young play, as the mother watches with a haunted conscious of a young Fay. Come hither, and perhaps stretch your hands and catch a fire in a desired rizla, coz come winter, these words could be just as banned and burned by some sinner. A barefoot impaired but reaching for that stepping stone far from a mile, where manhood is shred but brothers keep breaching and stretching jail bars to a smile. Singing psalms of liberation in the blazing Sun of the plantations, stone-bashing patience and building railway stations never brought any justice or emancipation to the nation. Hence, Brothers found sense in taking a chance for the people, using pens from bribed fences illegal, and the library as a class for lessons of the Eagle. Unseen revolutionary pages and books smuggled through visitations, vice or versa... Brothers battered to solitary cages for sharing books of the struggle through imitations, Life of a hustler. Many of them died, because many others spied for the other side, despite loyalty. I guess with every Field Hero outside comes a yield ***** inside royalty. Retrospect, read and see what Malcolm reprimanded fallacy like the Big Six for, then introspect your creed and if you believe, welcome this reminded policy like the 46664...

Seeing my Grandmother still giving unconditional love…
Amazing high waters, I’m still keeping my head above
The body of a beautiful woman floating…
Can’t recall the face of the man boating
His salvation, in the hands of a Man running on water
As I’m showered away in a trance, coming to wake-up

A brilliant thought titled, my old friend told me to reshuffle before I write this. Touching humans with souls, be a friend or foe, I’m drawing this prose for those who were never told. Scared of being good coz being bold means bravery, Biko told me it could be repercussions of slavery. Forgive me, where’s my manners, let this be forever…I bet you’d rather hear what this has to do with the latter. What’s new? Signing future deals with the devil and smashing each other blue, can’t blame the Djs for scratching another Rhythm & Blues. Living like forever is promised, ins and outs, drinking high as long as my steps are polished. Put my chick on my payroll, so she doesn’t turn around and play ball. Same time, same eye on the vultures, busy eyeing my plate planning to scavenger my vouchers. Going to work building careers for Fridays and better Fridays, monotonous times with guerrilla peers for highways but never like gays. An agitating pain in my back, I miss the days of shooting hoops. Now the game has changed, I guess it’s time to rally the troops. Hoping I’m praying as I’m living through Everyday Thinking, regretting the white lies protecting the future of this everyday sinning. More kids still dying in the newspapers while the rest don’t even read, bad awes still killing our peacemakers while the rest think we’re free…

"Born 20120718 08h00 AM"


Here’s to my new-born child of the Pharaohs, I swear, no more news on the kind of a farrow. Colour of the Soil, you fill my heart with a new Love unknown. See the Colour of the Oil that fills the Art your true bloodline own. You’re the Oasis of the world, so beware of greeks bearing gifts closely. Amongst the many faces of the world, beware of these wearing sheep’s clothing. They’ve stripped Mother Africa of her identity and buried her alive, Brothers and Sisters, Nubia and Kush. I trip on Azania and her density burning in silence, oh my blisters…not another Minister media pushed. That’s why you have to be my winning goal in this game defense, call her crazy because her Name deepens, But that’s for those not willing to know where they came, **Princess...

Page late for purpose
Blame the person caged by age and its curtains
I sense a web of change to delay and weaken
Being stabbed out of range left me derailed and beaten
Heart cried fear out of rage as  I lost touch with nature
Here starts a new year, 2008 as I fought and touched her with anger
Regrets of closing that open door, free
Like charging God for the chosen Lord to be
Compassion hooked and tossed only to catch a ‘selfish’
I saw a stranger in the mirror, fashion-hooked and forged to match maverick, Jekyll and Hyde, was it real or a lie??
The curse of a good man switch, like the dream of my Ex being a witch
I deem it worse if all Man were rich
My colleague saw my haircut and said it all punning
How ironic to compare ‘Us’ Samson’s shortcomings
The burden of the eaten is bulging, I ponder Adam’s apple
…And the Garden of Eden is still cunning, will I ever settle??
The World is a ring of punches
Appearance Vs Reality
Who will be King of Conscious??

The Rebel inside...
Imprisoned by an institutionalised conscious
Hear the Lion's roar inside,
It's the Rebel's clamour
Feel the prism of both...
and break free from this prison of ghosts
Be the Lion of course...
Be the Rebel of Cause

Be Rebellion *(Rebel-lion)

Not to **** it,
or cry songs of deferred hope
and countless threats

But...

*sometimes the Spirit-Soul tires
and longs to return *Home,
regardless of death.

Writer's block stroke like ethereal pottery, but just can't touch to feel the pulse. It's nothing to those with that inner zeal poetry, but just lack guts to fill the part. We're Silver lines, the reason our God is enigma's got the World coveting. Uncivilised to us that they can't see...the irony of their stigma is what's got the World conceiving. Thorough Bread always falling on the buttered side, the devil's hate for a Maverick misunderstood. I turn my head against the battered side for the simple sake of managing what's missed under this good. Picture Grandma's souvenirs in the living room, untouchable as if waiting for Jesus himself to come test us. Remember Grandpa's sober years when he was still living, shrewd and uncrushable...you'd have to be a Genius yourself just to reach a consensus. 10 years old words sprouting from this Sinner's mind to growing grey hair...
Man, fear is too old in this World clouding Silver lines from this pouring rain scare...

"To all the fallen Kids, Heroes and Sheroes that fell victim to the massacre of June 16 1960, Sharpeville, Soweto…
Callings for new Seeds and Haloes, we pray for new Victors and Messiahs…coz still we ask “So where to?”*


Worthy knowledge deserves the one who will acknowledge, it found another, he was in shortage, threatened, he found joy in carnage.
Retaliation turned sour, as we shed tears for fallen heroes. Rest in peace to all the Petersens, the Malcolms and the Bikos.
Great minds edify and think beyond limits and sky.
This systematic routine of life laced with politics and economy infiltrates us numb, living in a liberated space and yet at times feeling so dumb.
To equip oneself with the truth, the past, broadens the mind with a quality that will seize to last.
A continent, must be God’s definition of art, beautifully authentic ancient dark civilization…envy must’ve burned the heart.
Propaganda made victims, a disease intended to chronic; now all that’s seen is reversed conscious, invincible and sonic.
Pride is you, continent, head up, chest up, we becoming confident. Mother of the soil shining naturally yet shining somewhat redundancy.
Reconciliation over retribution, an astounding virtue, still forging a social democracy.
Peace will be hard to find in this pandemonium world.
True healing comes from divine providence, I was told.
Male and female, human beings, we need to perceive each other like nature, true identity knows no stranger.