lindisa mathabela: Poems

Jul 2013 · 529

lindisa mathabela Jul 2013

It is perfect. I am perfect.

The soothing darkness surrounds me inside, in the midst of a silver night out. My feet comfortably beside each other, heel to heel; toe to toe. The river-shaped skin on my right drawn to my bed as An existence of light, burns through Romeo's Night.

And it is perfect. I am perfect.

The music says my name, in our tongue of secrecy; the secret of our tongue. Its melody flows in the inky sky, riding each lurid cloud and then floats into my lightless room. As if the music itself, had traveled through space and time, to reach my soul.

It is perfect. And I am perfect.

My room, plain by day; magical by night, is the reason I stay awake at twilight. A haven where my spirit freely soars as my body gracefully rests. My systems in sync, my thoughts at ease.

It is perfect. I am perfect.

My head gently tossed onto the belly of a pillow, and it, like a greedy dream-catcher, steals my dreams for itself, guess that's why the best pillows are plump.

But It is perfect. I am perfect.

Jul 2013 · 480

simple Joy

lindisa mathabela Jul 2013

simple Joy

To smile like the sun
And blush like the moon.
To dance like flowers
That conquered the Cold of June.

To show the beauty of love
And accept its bitter truths.
To soar in lit skies
And feel the pure air flow through.

To note your imperfections
And make them you.
To render them exquisite
And allow them to bloom.

Jul 2013 · 476

R.I.P Love

lindisa mathabela Jul 2013

R.I.P Love

The seventh day on the shore,
A troubled mother and her child
Relax on the beach.

With the troubled mother deep in mind
And her child mindlessly seated aside
Intense thoughts rumble and run between them.

Child digs a shallow grave and
At the bottom, scribbles into the sand "Love".
Without thought, the troubled mother tosses
A glance at her child's art and says, "Looks good".

Child then fills shallow grave with dampened brown grains and buries what lies dormant below. At second glance, the troubled mother can no longer find the child's love.

"Where's the love?", she asks.

Then

Her body suddenly goes cold
And her darkest fears come to light when
She hears the child's response:

"The love is dead."

Jul 2013 · 1.0k

Devouring innocence

lindisa mathabela Jul 2013

Devouring innocence

Selfishly taking the last sheltered bits of youth out of women who work the street corners, rejected at midnight.

Merciless murderer of innocent beauty and bliss, the monster under pillows that steals dreams and makes them dark.

You've consumed their spirits, you've made them unclean.

Swiftly running through each child and woman's temple, guiltless and oblivious, like the wind that tears through a silent starry night.

You, the reckless wind, flirt with raven hair and toss skirts and flatter smiles. A courting routine performed before the ritual of electrifying your victims from within.

The sensation is glorious for the moment that is brief but will surely overpower the purity that sings their many relic souls to sleep.

Like a Summer Fruit picked from a dying Winter Tree, you've taken virtues hostage, you've made them mean.

To those that still breathe in the pureness of air, take shelter, young ones, run. Elude the oppressor, with *** lingering in his essence.

Jul 2013 · 703

Interesting Little Creature

lindisa mathabela Jul 2013

Interesting Little Creature

Intriguing.
Shadowed ways and a mysterious gaze.
Beautiful.
A gangly walk and legs like stalks
Unique.
Dressed in colours of the forest, real and honest.
Unexplored.
Sharp and jagged teeth, dwelling from beneath.
Ear-marked.
With your methods that are strange, you were chosen to bring change.
Free.
An untouched diamond mine within, you cannot be broken by common people or kin.
Alone.
In your singular form, always engaged in conversations with you.
Feared.
A mermaid on land, rejected by those who cannot understand.
Fascinating.
The topic on most tongues, they wonder if its air that lingers in your lungs.

With you I wish to play this game,
Interesting Little Creature, what's your name?

Yours ways and traits remind us of me, Interesting Little Creature, you and I will forever be free.

Jul 2013 · 1.4k

I'm No Poete

lindisa mathabela Jul 2013

I'm No Poete

An artist, creative and imaginative
Powerful enough to place, into mere words,
The phenomena that take place in his mind.

Marveled enough by his surroundings
That evoke anger, gratitude or happiness
His mind efficacious, his talent omnipotent.

Bourne of superior intellect
Taken in by souldiers of courage and
Raised by wisdom, pain and knowledge.

I'm No Poete, just a Mindless Writer.

Each day the Poete rises from his rest
Each day the Poete more powerful than the last
Each day the Poete expresses greatness from within.

Rhythm and brilliance flow deeply in his veins
Beauty created by the molding of his words
Truth is spoken through the realness of his verse.

Poete Prophet, able to see what's hidden beneath
He sees the lies abstruse in sugar-coated deceit
He reveals the fib's tales and makes them his gospel.

I'm No Poete, just a Mindless Writer.

Exquisite verse, natural and unrehearsed
The Poete will forever be mind blown
And continue to expose the joy in his word.

He writes not for tangible wealth or
Useless recognition, but he blesses his pen to paper for the simple appreciation of veracity.

The Poete steals sight from the blind,
He takes weakness from the strong,
And owns the shades of colour, all to create artistry.

See I'm No Poete, just a Mindless Writer.

— The End —