Names of my name.
by Malefo Molefe

The names of me is I, is you; yes, you prefer to call me ‘you’.
The name of I could be clever and the name of you as understanding.
You may call me confusing and in turn I shall name you angry.
Let me label her nice so that you responded in kind, saying she is kind.
She is beautiful, named beauty, she is beauty. She is perfect;
Named after her perfection. She is.

Call me pretentious saying that I belong to a race called “lies”.
Name me a lie. Identifying me as brutal, unkind and unloving.
Your mother named you but your family named you too.
Society called you white yet critically the government used digits.
You are just a number to the government and the insurance company.
Is naming an insult when you know that I ran short of calling you nothing?

The name of God is Jehovah, Elohim and the name of god is the Supreme Being.
The name of God is Allah and the name of GOD is the universe.
The name of GOD is ONE. They call GOD and used names like;
God or god, even father and the sun. They call GOD beauty, I said perfect.
I call GOD everything and name GOD nothing. I call GOD you.
I am these names, the words, the numbers and inscriptions. These are;
Names of my name.

It started from smoking blunts in the back,
I can be duplicated, though never replicated, rendering me never to be fading,
straight from addiction into enlightenment intoxication,
started as a *******,
than I rose
to interact with royalty in the gypsy landscape
& developed a fellowship through it,
Now longer drinking liquor wishing meaning to come easier, thank my Muse that I'm still living, now I got live life in the way I was meant to, a paradoxical-muse, spitting game of a higher one. Read me some my poetry, roll me a Persian rug, rather by developing than be another boy with my hands out spitting out fallacy.  Stacked like a fantasy, out to ball to make contact, be back by lunchtime, finaly happy, trying to put some wisdom in my mind and answer anything calling, feeling good like I wanted too.
now everyone normal wants to put their hands on me,
I bathed in poetics,
passion is in my nature,
romanticism is too easy,
took the ideas of dreamingful life, applied them for my own,
I’m either nodding my head for someone to enter
or I’m walking away,
sometimes an experience means nothing, beside another poem to write.
The pain is deep, life is brief.
I can either be of value or just another.
Musings over the world is dreamed of though not everyone alike.

Bless these hands
Protect the land
find the design of mind is soul’s reminder that we are but a twinkle in the sand
Whimsical impulses bombastically pull and convulse until stimulation ignites the tribulations of ego and the false
Yet in truth it is a revealing of time’s “bones”
Nature’s healing the dealing of aches and moans generations concerned with the sounds of their groans than the balance of tone
Perhaps we actually become aware when we’re alone and see the illusion as a ride on the tide of infinity and not a hinderance to our divinity
And that at least in this dimension nothing is permanent and only change is the constant  that gravity and reality proceed from

My advice is to you girl
Don’t look in the mirror
You need to be health and happy
***** everyone else

My advice is to you girl
***** the passport
Pursue your DNA
Pursue you chosen spirituality

My advice is to you girl
Is to not to fit in
Don’t be afraid
To step on some
Toes and egos.
Be yourself

My advice is to you girl
Is not to be afraid
To swear
***** the brimstone people
Just say it.

Volumes on silence…
You could fill a library;
Then what has been said?