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We worship the net
We understand the reason why google starts with 'go..'
We give the 'd' while praying in our inboxes,
The only place we think under, this boxes.

I was blinded by the Jozi city lights,
Chasing false fortunes,
Got lost in people's comments and complements.
Last time I closed my eyes I was somewhere in South Africa.
Today am somewhere on google map,
Planting trigo-station every time I get high.

If you find me standing before the burning bridges,
Show me a path leading to the South Africa Mandela was talking about.
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Grazin’ in the grass was mellow indeed
when you blew into your trumpet
blaring sounds of peace. What a trip!
Just watchin' as the world goes past,

you used to say playing notes of jazz.
Music of resistance for a tortured land
imbued in the blood of its natives bashed,
by the impudent high-handed little white man.

As your grandmother cared for you and miners
in illegal bars, piano keys enticed dreams of hope
for second class citizens silenced by oppression,
while the chaplain gave you your first instrument.

Little did you know the melodies you’d pour
on the rampant fires of blatant injustice.
Little did you know the strength you would instil
embodying possibilities, shedding light on the obscure.

Soweto blues you composed as Miriam gave
her voice to screaming mothers to cry out,
atrocities in town. Bring Him Back Home
you sang from afar until they did, and you

returned to see the prisoner walk free,
down the streets hand in hand with Winnie.
Only afterwards I heard your words and will
to show the people just how

wonderful and excellent they are.
A message I cherish and the reason why
many will remember you, your tune your smile,
as he who kept the torch of freedom alive.

A baobab tree has fallen indeed.
dedicated to Hugh Masekela
Mister J Sep 2017
That steamy weather
That moist air
Your addictive kisses
Your lingering touch
Your mesmerizing eyes
Your porcelain body
Your seductive curves
The way you hold me
And cherish me in your arms
The way you smile at me
And how it takes me away
How it blew my mind
And dulled my senses
I wish I could press rewind

How vivid it was for me
Everything you made me feel
And yet how come I alone
Have these memories of you and me?
Went to the weird side of the internet, found this "phenomenon"
They say "You can't stop me."
They mean "Pleas try and help me."
They'll tell you "Go away."
But pleas understand they want you to stay.
Because they feel alone,
and loneliness gets old fast.
Because in their heads they see nothing
but, the stretch marks on their legs.
The thoughts that run through their heads,
are about the fact that they cant go out with their friends
they have to save up to be able to afford food instead.
Don't look down on them because they work.
Don't look down on them because of their race.
Don't look down on them because you cant face
the fact that when they grow up...
They'll have more caricature in their pinky toe
than you ever had with that fake *** face....
And even if they fall down.
Get nocked down and locked away.
Some wont turn out ok
but you'll have that one, the Mandela of today.
Don't act like you would have turned out any better than they did.
And I hate to say this...
But my generation is ****.
Grow up, get over yourself....
I thought we were better than this....
Intoxicated with
'Might is right! '
The moral dwarfs,
With beefed up muscles
And iron fists,
Drove home fright
Killing and leeching
Alienated natives
Day and night!
They brutally
Subjugated many,
With bare hands,
For God-given freedom
Who have to fight!

Up on gaining
Back freedom
Revolted by
'An eye for an eye! '
Mandela the moral giant
"Retaliation what for
and why?
A moral dwarf, like
Degrade myself must I?
Though I was robbed of
Sunlight from a lullaby
Almost to the day
I die!
The 'peace and considerateness'
Placard is what we must
Worldwide hover high!

All of us are on our way out
Let us make sure
Behind us we leave
Days bright!

Also we must not forget
Among the white
The presence of
The moral giants
Who fight for
Blacks' right!"
In remembrance of the freedom icon Mandela of South Africa!
A poem written by my heart so every single word you hear is a pulse.
I’m a literary writer trapped inside the mind of a spoken-word poet.
I stood in the rain patiently awaiting the arrival of freedom but then I eventually realised that it was the rain.
People keep talking about a rainbow nation but I only saw a glimpse of that when I looked out my windowpane.
I wrote plenty peaceful poems picturing politicians perpetuating poverty.
Frankly speaking, I could write more but that’s an anthology for another day.
Even if things don’t always go our way, I just hope that everything will be okay.
Freedom is just an illusion but my conclusion is subjective due to my frame of reference.
Not even Mandela money could buy me freedom in a dollar-based economy.
In a country saturated with poverty, politicians are still protecting their pockets.
I wish I knew how to liberate an imprisoned man who cannot mentally be free.
The prison of his mind is depriving him of all the greatness that he could be.

There are millions of questions I can’t find the courage to ask.
But even if I did, I probably wouldn’t get all the answers.
I probably wouldn’t be able to fully accept the truth.
There are millions of questions I can’t seem to find the answers to.
I wrote plenty peaceful poems picturing politicians perpetuating poverty.
I stood in the rain patiently awaiting the arrival of freedom but then I eventually realised that it was the rain.
View the kaleidoscope of life through the perspective of a spoken-word poet.
Freedom is like finding forever and I hope that everyone in here knows it.
Let’s all meet in the pages of a story where the ink holds us together.
A poem written by my heart so every single word you hear is a pulse.
Chose to write this poem for Freedom Day celebrated on 27 April. It celebrates freedom and commemorates the first post-apartheid elections that were held on that day in 1994.
Ana Dec 2015
"I seem to recall a world where people weren't such a-holes all the time, but maybe I'm just paying more attention" ~ quote by some guy smoking a cigarette outside of a restaurant
Beautiful Poem Jul 2015
“Let love be your feature”

My eternal man
My eternal man

The scent of your breath
The scent of freedom
O, Mandela
Your eyes have the color of freedom
O, Mandela

The scent of your breath
The scent of freedom
O, Mandela
My eternal man

Your hand is the flag of freedom
O, flower,  your name is the symbol of freedom

Meadow saffrons
Seek your scent
And red poppies ask you:
“Where is the freedom”
The beloved Mandela

Our eternal man
Our eternal man

I’m with you
O, you, flower of freedom

I’m with you
O, flower ….O, Mandela
Our eternal man
Our eternal man

I’m with you
O, you, flower of freedom
I’m with you
O, flower ….O, Mandela
Our eternal man

Poet: Pezhman Mosleh
Translator: Vida Kavoosi
Nathan Box Feb 2015
The king died today.
It stopped the world in its tracks.
The news spread like a forest fire.
We mourned as we searched for comfort found in quotes.
We had to draw a lesson from his life.

Jailed, tormented and finally freed,
He rose to the height of king.
All the while, fist clinched.
A symbol held in the air for all to see.
Democratically elected, he knew man was meant to be free.

We often talk of things needing to be done.
He was in the business of doing.
From here, we can draw inspiration.
Here, his light shines on us.
We are to be kings.
Kings of our own destiny.
Gods of the possible.
Prabhu Iyer Jan 2015
Joy to our lives such                           Hope, supernal that
who grace this world of darkness    rejects hatred, they call forth
once in an aeon.                                  the soul and tend love;

Gripped in sadness we                      Purgatory cells
who have lost a lighted lamp     -     imprisoning the human
this mourning season;                       spirit for small gain;
A poetical interpretation of Fauvism:  I've used the Haiku-Senryu 5-7-5 syllabic count as the 'base' abstraction, & present 4 reflective emotions: Joy, Sorrow, Hope and brooding pain, meditating on Nelson Mandela's inspirational life, an year on since his death...
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