#mandela
The Destroyer of the division machine1
Had first to run on the Way of the Cross
To have souls over the long lived ruin.
Robben, Pollsmoor and Victor2 caused no loss
In the Staff Heritage of the Thembu3
Rulers, forever loved by their people,
From whom was learnt right fight ain’t to taboo.
Good farmers’ teeth run right through the apple;
Likely after the Hard Walk to Freedom4
The Son of Gadla and Nosekeni5,
When his Soul flies up to the Lord’s Kingdom,
Glass will keep his body, and not any
Stain will sully the Star of the Nation
Whose Light will shine for each generation.
1. The division machine: The Apartheid.
2. Robben, Pollsmoor and Victor: During twenty seven years Mandela was successively jailed at Robben Island, Pollsmoor and Victor Verster prisons.
3. Thembu: The tribe over which ruled Mandela’s ancestors.
4. Hard Walk to Freedom: In September 1953, Andrew Kunene, a co-militant of his, read out Mandela's "No Easy Walk to Freedom" speech at a Transvaal ANC meeting; the title was taken from a quote by Indian independence leader Jawaharlal Nehru, a seminal influence on Mandela's thought. The speech laid out a contingency plan for a scenario in which the ANC was banned.
5. Gadla (Henry Mphakanyiswa): Mandela’s father; Nosekeni ***** His mother.
Boniface
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC
(1) Nelson Mandela:
Madiba's humility haunts
Haughty hooligans
Huddled inside hideous
Houses of mal-governance.
As Madiba celebrate
Decades of struggles,
Strident grateful voices
Singing songs of salute,
Rendered in sonorous voices
Reverbrated
And resurrected souls
Of subdued citizens.
As Madiba stood
To celebrate and unveil
Statues of struggles,
Erected in city centres
And in the minds
Of grateful humanity,
Nelson Mandela stood,
Grey haired Madiba stood,
wiped out by age and struggles.
(2)Fela:
Sounds of saxophone,
Drumbeats,
Stage walks,
The baritone.
Tongue lashing looters
Of the people's wealth.
Strange incense,
Smokes spiraled.
The shrine
Filled with worshippers,
The priest
Presided with afro beats.
Fela
Fanned the flame of truth
To free the people
From the pangs of timidity.
Persecutions.
New brass hats
Bursted onto the scene
And burrowed
Into the people's wealth.
Fela sang,
They struck,
Persecutions persisted.
Body infirmities,
Surrender,
Farewell,
Afro beats reverberate.
(3)Our Civilization Collapsed:
A new day
Without the sonorous
Songs of songbirds
And the bustle
Of busy humans and animals.
The sun struggled to rise,
Struggled to shine,
Weighed down
By the dark couds of July.
The clouds unleashed rain,
The rain drenched and drained
Our knapsack of knowledge.
The iron birds
Could no longer fly,
The medicine men,
The medicine women
No longer know
The cure for our illnesses,
Our civilization collapsed.
The rain
Rained in torrents
And drenched our earth
Devoid now
Of our knapsack of knowledge.
(4)Loud Murmurs In The Land:
The healers
Diagnosed the wrong ailment,
They applied the wrong medications,
They insist
On applying the wrong medications,
Their hailers hailed.
The patient relapsed into coma,
Loud murmurs in the land,
Silence,
Silence of the graveyard.
The healers strut,
Pretending to heal,
Their hailers hailed.
The loud murmurs prepare
To erupt into a revolt,
A ****** revolt,
A bloodbath.
The haughty healers
Strut
Pretending to heal,
The patient remains in coma,
Their hailers still hailing.
Dark clouds
Gather over our land
Like Damocle's sword,
Threatening to slay
The guilty and the innocent.
The healers still strut
Pretending to heal,
The patient remains in coma,
Their hailers are still healing.
(5)I Am Poet Of The Streets:
I am piqued
When I am profiled
A protegee of prominent poets.
I am pained
When I am pronounced
Just a poet.
I am poet of the streets.
I walk the streets
And sing
My strident songs of protest,
Giving succour
To the indigent indigenes
Of the streets,
Impoverished
By the scoundrels who rule over them.
Mother muse
Mills my inspiration more
When I straddle the podiums
And sing for the streets.
The scorn,
The sneer
Of the scoundrels
Give flip to my resolve
To sing
And sing for the streets,
I am poet of the streets.
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 11:28 AM UTC
The point of differentiation,
not the point of contention,
the point of no return
continuation relative
to knowing subtle forces
ostensibly contained
in the whole truth,
and nothing but,
to which no doubt,
you are personally sworn,
under penalty of cognative
cacaphonic gnosisnot cough
to reembodeize, embody abide
completely centered, self aware.
Then, the fiber that fuses string
theory and determinism hooks
a loop in time's SYTF problem set,
so the set that made young
Earl Russell paradoxically famous,
from now on, one may learn and learn
from now on, until one disintegrates,
dissipates as cloud forms disperse,
to show us how it works, wooly
clouds meeting the reflected wind,
and the winds from the pacific,
pour down one side of my valley
and up the other side, to make those
parrallel feathery shapes one can watch
form on fine days
with nothing needing done,
if the determinists are right, what matters
if I use my time chosing to bend clouds
into vast wings involved in making me think.
Apr 18, 2024
Apr 18, 2024 at 5:59 PM UTC
For we so fearful, let me lead with caution
to the truth your mind feels needs protection
against.
We’re fenced
in and can't get out to be fully liberated.
Yes, fully, not this half liberated we overexaggerated
which made us blind to our institutionalized minds.
The Phala-Phalas know this, so this gang always reminds
us about 27 years, making us their voter slaves.
Until we realise Mandela took his party with him in his grave,
there's a Hendrik that keeps our rainbow apart.
Even if unity is the deepest desire of our hearts!
Sep 8, 2022
Sep 8, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC
In life’s rearview
Rosa refused to stand
Nelson paid the price for his land
King’s dream was shattered by a bullet
which birthed more bullets for the chocolate man
Until we said NO MORE!
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 11:05 PM UTC
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, these 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.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 3:32 AM UTC
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.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 5:59 AM UTC
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?
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
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....
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
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
Declared
"Retaliation what for
and why?
A moral dwarf, like
Ex-bosses,
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!"
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
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.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
"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
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
“Let love be your feature”
Mandela
My eternal man
Mandela
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
Freedom
Freedom
O, flower, your name is the symbol of freedom
Tulips
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
Mandela
Our eternal man
Mandela
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: Lida Kavoosi
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
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.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
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;
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
you were just one man.
jailed for infinity.
you never bent.
stronger than steel.
oppressed from day one.
segregated by your skin.
you were never broken.
stronger than steel.
the odds were against you.
against your entire race.
your faith never wavered.
stronger than steel.
i walked where you laid.
where you eat, where you ran.
your land gave me strength.
stronger than steel.
your love was so unending.
your hate, no where to be found.
you saved a who nation.
stronger than steel.
Madiba. Madiba.
Nelson Mandela
the original superman.
Stronger then Steel.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC