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  Sep 2017 S C Netha
Akira Chinen
Don't waste your days away
write bad poetry
I mean absolute garbage
and draw stick figures
with squiggly lines
and paint with your fingers
and laugh when you ****
and blame someone else
for the terrible smell
and sing and scream
whenever your driving
to wherever you may be driving to
and stay up too late
and get up tired
and nap
and sleep through church
or at church
and snore really loud
and day dream
and live dreams
and when the nightmares come
enjoy the fear and the rush
and the pouring sweat
on your forward
as you wake up screaming
but don't look out the window
because there isn't anything
out there that is more scary
than your imagination
and make a deal with the devil
and cheat him his dues
and leave a rubber corpse
on your death bed
and live another day
and out run the sun
and give a butterfly the moon
in exchange for
the hidden treasure map
painted on its wings
and hang that map in the sky
to cover the hole
where the moon used to be
and don't worry
no one will notice
because they look exactly the same
and ask the stars politely
not to tell anyone
and don't forget to say please
and thank you
for stars never ignore a request
for a favor that is asked
with a manner of grace and kindness
and build sandcastles
to close to the shoreline
and watch the waves
wash the towers and walls away
and listen to the mist giggle
at the mischief it has done
and fold a boat
out of the song
no one else can hear
and give your hopes and prayers
to the wind
and sail away
and find yourself
and lose yourself
and give time and love
your full attention
and no matter
how bad things may ever get
or how good things may ever be
I will always be a fool
and a dreamer
and a magic bean believer
and I'll write you bad poetry
really bad
absolute garbage
whenever you need
because I can't think
of any better way
to waste my days away
S C Netha Sep 2017
I yearn for it to control my heart
I thirst for it like I do water
It's  the one thing I can't seem to find
If I do I'll pour it out like a shower
And free us all from this monster.

My mind is an instigator
It always remembers what they did to me
And I wonder how many of us are actually prisoners
To the brain's manipulative power and ability
To forget that love conquers all.

I pray forgiveness invades my heart like a settler
And makes resentment forget it ever owned me.
I pray for hate to be purged out of my system
Because all I want to be is a true witness
To beauty and love in the form of human beings

So hateful  but so loved
So underserving yet so forgiven.

Replace rain with forgiveness
So I can grow my garden of love
In gorgeous hues only you can create
White, black, brown and yellow.
I want to love them all.

I yearn for forgiveness to control my heart
I thirst for forgiveness like I do water.
I don't want to be bitter. So many times our anger and vulnerability is used to exploit us. Wouldn't we be better off if we just focused on love?
  Sep 2017 S C Netha
Tuffy Mutombo
African soul child
Eating dust for dinner
Drinking ***** water
Poverty is your richness
Survival is your blessing
Too many deaths you witnessed
Torn between dying and living
Yet you still choose living
Breath air polluted with gas fumes
Big diamond digging machines
Repping your grounds for more minarals
Witnessed less births and more funerals
Oh African soul child
S C Netha Sep 2017
When we sat at our desks
heads hung low over papers
and computers, furiously
pouring out our wildest dreams
and deepest feelings into words.
For others to read
For the universe to fulfill.
We were poets

                             But when we stood up
                      and joined our loved ones
                      in daily conversations and
                          laughter, at dinners and.  
                          picnics and concerts
                    and enjoyed the adventures
                   of shared experiences
            and similarities and differences,
                      We became the poetry.

When we left the safe cocoon of
solitude to meet people and
make friends and fall in love
with souls with eyes we'd
never forget and bodies
we never knew we craved.
Pieces of us we didn't know
were missing but now couldn't
live without. We became poetry.

When we shakily dotted that final "I"
with wrinkled hands and laboured
up the stairs to lie down next
to our soul mates. Heads filled
with experiences and memories
of adventures, weddings, birthdays
lessons learnt and loved ones lost
passions fulfilled and legacies built

When we laid down in the arms
of our loves and watched the moments
play in our eyes one last time
and waited for the show to stop
and for the curtains to close
To take the final bow and close
our eyes for the last time
while our breaths
left our bodies and our loves wept
while looking down at the shell of what
we used to be.
Holding it in their arms.
There in that moment, my friend
We became the poetry.
Art imitates life imitates art
S C Netha Sep 2017
When you looked into her eyes
you saw that she was shy.
So you started telling lies
and making her feel alive.
For a while you thrived
because she was not too wise
and she fed your apetite
for what was between her thighs.
But the more she analysed
and the more she rationalized,
the more she realized
that you were just one big lie.
And even though on the inside,
she felt like she had died.
she let her pain solidify
so you could never see her cry.
I don't  usually  generalize and i apologize to good guys who will read this and feel condemned but i just had to put this out there. And to to the fvckboys, i see through your ****.
S C Netha Sep 2017
Lost in a whirlwind
Of confusion and agony
I squinted my eyes hard
But I still couldn't see the good
In three years worth of labor.
I looked up, blinked back the waterfall
That threatened my daytime visage
Of courage and strength.
My eyes were full of tears
My vision was blurred and unfocused
A tight ball was locked in my throat
The pain multiplied in my chest.
So I let the tears fall
I welcomed  them
For they were a translation of my pain
My frustration and anger in liquid form
I crawled onto the cold  floor
Curled myself into a ball
Hugged myself, then healed myself.
All the while my tears were falling.
I feel like a lot of people are fighting an internal battle. My advice: Let those tears fall, acknowledge you are hurting, and then deal with that ****.
S C Netha Sep 2017
We sit on a rock,
overlooking someone's fields
and pretend we are somewhere far
not just a few blocks away from home
It's Cinderella-like the way it happens.
The lush reeds turn to palm trees
fertile farmlands into sandy beaches
A sad attempt to accomodate our imagination.

I know we have always been too big for this country,
but right now it reeks of desperation.

So we look to the skies for validation
but in the dam we find motivation
from the water that flows without a destination.

"Does it hope to become  river?", we wonder.
If it hopes to grow from it's  current state.
Like a butterfly from a catterpillar.
Is it's movement a show of faith?
That the reeds and plants will open
and clear a path  for it's murky waters.
This is why the dam feels like home:

Though we can't see our reflections,
the dam is able to reflect our ambition
to succeed regardless of our location.
Everyday struggles of being an ambitious young person in Zimbabwe. A little rough around the edges but it comes from a deep amd raw place in my soul.
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