DAUGHTER OF THESE SOILS

I am not Steve Biko, for I cannot write what I like.

As my black consciousness is still oppressed by my pride.

 
I can try to be Ghandi,
But I can only do so much as change the world with just a paper and a pen.
 
Please do not Ask me to be Mandela
For I can only seek vengeance, not peace for my enemies.
I may not possess a forgiving heart for the hardship that was once bestowed upon me!
 
I can aspire to be Martin Luther King Jnr
For I have dreamed that one day I will travel the world without fear that I may never return home.
Dreams that maybe one day the crimes I committed with my skin colour will be found not guilty.
 
I can never be like Solomon Mahlangu.
For with its poison, my blood will kill the seeds that were meant to give rise to fruits of freedom.
Only weeds of hatred and suffering will grow on the soils nurtured by my blood.
 
Please I beg you do not compare me to the father of Humanity Robert Sobukwe.
For I am but a rebel daughter who murdered peace, kidnapped freedom itself.
My kindness is only war, my love brings only death.
 
But I am a black child of Africa,
Made a foreigner in my own continent.
Forced to feed off the scrapes that fall from the tables of those in power.
Like parasites they feed on my land,
I am meant to serve them the riches my forefathers gave to my people.
 
Do not ask me to be something I am not…
 
For Iam the DAUGHTER OF THESE SOILS!
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Featured post

First blog post

This blog is but a new beginning to me. As yesterday struggles fade with the setting sun, my today begins at the break of dawn.

My name is Sizwe Samkelisiwe Buthelezi, I am firstly a child of God, a poet, writer and a qualified Plant pathologist. On this blog I will be sharing my struggles and triumphs through poetry, stories and motivation.

I hope one day I can change the world with just a Paper and a Pen

#SpokenInRiddles

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Featured post

Grandma Prayed

On brittle bones and frail knees, she knelt.

Before the Rooster’s crow and nightingale chirp

She whispered words in the quietness,

Words so soft sounding like lullabies to children asleep.

Grandma prayed,

She began with gratitude for sight as the new day dawn,

Another Day, for life given and health restored.

On the hard and coldness of the floor she knelt

Before dogs barked, and Hadidas wreak havoc as they flee their roost.

Mama prayed, she prayed for a father out in the cold,

Paving roads for his children’s stomachs to be filled and their bodies kept warm.

Long as he paved the roads, may they one day lead those little feet to greener pastures.

 

She prayed for a man toiled and tired

Pick and shovel on his shoulder, having worked the night in mines of gold

digging is his wage for his son’s and daughter’s education.

Long as he digs that gold, may it one day earn him a rocking chair

To rest his back as he tells his tales to his grandchildren on a Villa’s porch.

On aching joints and swollen ankles, she knelt

Before the early bird perched on a branch awaiting the fattest worm.

What began as a whisper now made into words spoken with emotion

Grandma prayed, she prayed for the widow shunned and poor

As the sun rose and so does she, to knock on the neighbour’s door

For a fish, a nickel or an ounce of oil.

Long as she knocks, may he who opens be good, kind and generous

for as the day dawns, the third sun had set, and mouths cried for food.

She prayed for a sister, so young and so troubled

Now a mother, a father to the young she came before.

As she mopped the floors, polished the brass to earn a penny,

For her brother’s shoes, her little sister’s dress and shirt.

Long as she shines those floors, may her future be as bright as the handles on every door.

On fragile knees and shaky hand, she knelt.

Before frogs croaked and the field mice ran home.

Mama prayed, she prayed for stranger as though she was praying for herself.

She prayed for peace in the midst of turmoil as if her own house was at war.

In Her selflessness, she prayed for others to be blessed with plenty

when she, herself had was in need.

Grandma Prayed!

Would You Choose Me?

If I wrote you a letter to say I love you this much
Would you choose me?
If I wrote it using quotes and words from renowned men and poets.
Would you know then whether or not this is worth it?

If the words I have said to were to be melodies sung in your favourite tune,
Would you choose me then?
If my voice was but a tune, strung at your command.
Would you decide then if I would be yours?

What if I , like the sun touched your skin each day.
Would you consider me worth it then?
What if like the moon, I carried your darkness and shone a light of hope to your sadness?
Would you choose me then?

Where was God?

Spoken In Riddles

Often times we encounter the question Where is God when things go wrong? Hence  why I decided to write the following poem, deriving it from most of the questions a lot of people have asked me. Where was God? The bible answers this question (John verses 1-4 ).

Where was God

Where was god, when the chimney smoke died?

For the fire cannot be lit.

When the fuel to keep it burning was swallowed by those with greed

Where was God when fields went bare and the soils hardened?

When the seeds sown wilted and the pests devoured.

When the rib cages swallowed and kept prisoner what was on the young’s flesh

Where was God

When the young men drank their sorrows to death, fathers hanged by their necks

And mother’s slaughtered in front of their children.

Where was God when the cotton fields were watered with the sweat of…

View original post 125 more words

The Garden

The Stories In Between

Dangling on the wrong side of yesterday
Searching for what I never had, within what’s left
Waiting for meaning in sun-bleached tomorrows
That never come
I wait, fading into times of solitude, obscurity
Trembling hands penetrate the earth
Digging a place for these hollow seeds
Sowing the indifference of days past
And those yet to come
But sometimes a breeze will blow
Hard enough to remind me
There’s something more beyond this
Empty plot where nothing new grows
Walled in, to protect the fragile, fertile soil
Buried memories, one-by-one, the regret
Never deep enough to contain their regrowth
But that’s okay, I suppose, there’s a reason for it all
In time I may understand, the way things grow
Within, beyond our control
As I wait for springtime and the possibility of new life
From the old, as the words drip from my mouth
To nourish these sentiments
That may one…

View original post 12 more words

Memories

I would hold on, but it seems there is nothing to hold on to

I would remember but my memories have since aged and succumbed to pain.

The face that was once my mother’s, now just a blur

A smudge, on memory’s coat.

 

I would remember him, but it seems time forgets

and the mind seeks to erase that which was not common.

I would know him, but it seems fate would not have me revisit history.

The face that was once my father’s, now……

Now I do not remember what he looked like.

 

I am very lucky…..

This Poem is dedicated to Josiah Skeats for his birthday.- A traveller who has carries with him a piece of my heart….

 

I could write you a song, to say I love you this much

But will you have eternity to listen to that song?

Maybe I could even draw you a map, to say I love you this far.

But I’m afraid you’ll get lost amid that adventure.

 

Well I will write you this poem,

 to tell you how lucky I am to have loved you.

 

I am lucky to have walked the streets of Bo-Kaap holding your hand

Lucky to have kissed you as the sun set in Walley’s cave.

Woke up in your arms as it rose again in somewhere in Table view.

As you waved me goodbye…

I am lucky to have loved you 12530000 seconds and counting.

 

I am blessed to have ran in the rain just to see your face again.

Blessed to have shared a vetkoeks, stories of adventures and laughter.

I am blessed to danced in the absence of music

sang with you as strangers watched in awe.

I am blessed to have loved you for 208800 minutes and counting…

 

Maybe I am lucky to have kissed you in the audience of giraffes

and birds in the wilderness.

Lucky to be lay on your chest as you recount your fortunes and misfortunes

I am lucky to have had you look at me

Like nothing existed but us

I am lucky to have loved you 3480 hours and counting………

 

I am lucky to have swiped right and said hello

Lucky to have been there for a conversation

I am lucky to have overcome my fears

Answered your call and welcomed you into my life

I am very lucky to have loved you for 145 days and counting…

 

I love you and I will see you soon.

Happy Birthday Sthandwa sami

Africa Return to the Soil

Africa return to the soil

maybe one day you will be reborn with the spirit of Ubuntu

Humanity restored, shame buried in the ashes.

Return to the soil

so mothers will no longer weep for their daughters,

fathers for their sons.

 

Africa Return to the soil

Let your mountains be reborn

beneath the springs of your rivers.

Love restored, brutality buried in the depths and forgotten

Return to the soil

So sisters will no longer have to bury their brothers.

 

Africa Return to the soil

Let your spirit be reborn in the Serengeti’s of peace

beyond the valleys of prosperity.

Africa restored, hate buried with the past

peace shared like stories of old.

Return to the Soil for you children have forgotten that we are one..

#StopXenophobia

 

 

 

The hand that gives…

May I be the hand that gives love

Unselfish, sincere love.

May I be the hand that gives water to the thirsty

and food to the hungry.

 

I pray that I may be kind, selfless and true

May I bring peace and harmony in the midst of war

I pray that I may be wise, mindful and brave

Be the light to those who are lost, lend a a hand to those who are weary.

 

May I be patient, hopeful and faithful

seek not for myself  and take not that which is meant for others.

May I hope for a brighter future,

keep the faith for things prayed for.

 

 

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