A contributory piece by Xolani Mahe

Speaking of the Devil – Death.

Death comes a surprise.
Death do not knock.
Death do not speak nor talk.
D.E.A.T.H. Is a five-letter word.
Death touches us all the Young and the Old.
It is Our Peace – May his/her Soul Rest in Peace.
Shameless and Heartless Death, brake and dismantle Hearts into million
Pieces.
Remorseless – no regrets. Relentless to the Innocent dead.

Disfunctional Internal Organs. . . Sicknesses and Finances paves a way
to Death.
Like an HIV Virus Test –
Death is both Negative and Positive. Positively – Death is dreadful and
painful –
Asphyxiation – deprived of oxygen as well as Suffocation.

We all experience Death as we all asleep. . .
Death is the state of Tranquility and Quietness.
Death brings Eternal Rest and Sleep.
Death to the oppressed by Life is like a Relief from Agony and Pain.
Death to the Well-known people is a Shut-down from Fame.

Tired of heavy family burdens, darkClouds, Endless Obstacles – Once
asleep. One long sleep ,- Death is Eternal Sleep.
– Death is Eternal Rest.

Name: Xolani Mahe.
City: East London. E.C.
Facebook: Ax’Zito leviticus-ntsundu.
Twitter: @LeviticusNtsund.
Cell: 0719635057.

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UNATHI SLASHA’S CONTRIBUTORY PIECE

You have not met a poet

You have not met a poet yet
Until you come across the warrior womb-man
That goes to war with an infant on her back
She gets letters of threats
From the powers that be
As a Christmas gift

You have not met a poet
Like you have not met God
The tribal orator
His spoken word guides
Like harangues and rebukes to the child
Like sunlight and irrigation to the seed
Like manure it stimulates
The growth of the nation

If he calls himself one
Yet speaks the subtle language of the serpent
Then sells his brethren to the lowest bidder
You have not met a poet
If he seeks to make minions out of humble men
Belittle them then exploit them like Uncle Sam
Degrade their womb-men
Then tread upon them disrespectfully with dusty feet
You have not met a poet
If he makes millions from selling moonshine
That inebriates the public
To lose the sense of freedom and onus
You have not met one
If you have not spoken with a person
That speaks his mind
With a sharpened tongue that cuts through lies
Pave a path through the congestion of thorny bushes
Preventing the black nation
from adamantly clinging to liberation
The tribal bard
Burns his suits then cut his ties with the West

If he still writes love letters to the government begging for change
Or afraid to pinpoint the corruption of Malema
And how the president is lame
How Our Heroes wiped their asses with the Freedom Charter
Or if he trembles when speaking
About the effects brought by the legacy of Madiba and Others
That got most gulping the scraps of whites in dumpsters
You have not met a poet yet

You are yet to meet a poet
That approaches the stage with Molotov cocktails
Then open his mouth to fire shots
With a voice that equates the sound
Of thunderclaps
His words are a storm that stops
Daily negative operations
And activities that are do not benefit the community
He writes eulogies to black unity
Then recites a lament to the fallen
Preparing funeral arrangements for white supremacy
And her counterparts
You are yet to meet a poet
With the fiery breath of an angry dragon
That coughs and spits flames to the Baas and his Madam
Cursing and handing out ‘Voetsek’ tokens to
The ones responsible for his social bedlam
Stampeding upon their seeds
Uprooting their creed
From our soil
You are yet to meet that poet

You are yet to meet a poet that
Speaks the native tongue of rhythmic poetry
and the calm of noisy drums
that literally writes indecipherable eulogies
and indelible colorful psalms
Remaining behind the manana like traces
And fossils to be discovered by forth-coming
Seekers of secrets in the mines of deepened meanings
Hidden in the simplicity of poetry that disguises as complex
It is really the facade of concepts that perplexes the content
To sound cryptic to dimwits
His spoken word is simple yet intimate to interpret
He uses symbols to signal, like cuneiforms
It is above modern average heads to join the pieces of his lyrical jigsaws to form a uniform comprehension from symbols
His everlasting throbbing heart is the African drum that commands life to the eloquent words he utters
He whips the philistines with enticing antics that open wounds and emotional ulcers
Answers to rhetorical questions of self, that lie beneath the dusty feet of twisted historic myths
That emit from the lips of Eurocentric and nationalistic right wings

In the midst of these diplomatic and ideological conflicts
He is that warrior bard that holds a sharpened assegai fighting for African artifacts and Africana
that poet who knows his roots in the same dysfunctional ancestral tree we share
He is that leaf that consistently thrived to prolifically produce seeds that lay foundation of self-knowledge in the next frontier
Using historical sources to abolish the fascinating well-polished white lies
Learn and be wise
That’s the blunt chant
He repeatedly spout in his outcry
Against these misleading vices and white lies

He speaks in parables to paralyze the
principles of white supremacist views
He preaches good news
Like
Black pride
Take pride
In your kinky hair and brown skin
Strengthen your mind
Instead of straightening your hair
Trying to fit in
It is written in his scrolls
He preaches good news from the onset
He is known as the street Poet.