Monday, 27 April 2015

The 7th Rule

The 7th Rule

December 6, 2014 at 4:19pm
The 7th Rule

I feel guilty when I sit back and watch my eyes fade into a dark cloud,
But I know that the rain falls not in tears but rain drops to the ground;
And the fallen shall rise to the voice of their shadow without a doubt,
I feel pity for my tireless body and soul, my heart and toes entangle;
But I was told 'not to give up' she said, 'as matters reveal, time will tell',
And the seventh rule of my diary, 'seek my own from within'....
But colours too bold like dreams I went,
I went to the teachers of theological metaphors, their word;
And parables of ancient ages their tongues and toes their songs urge,
And I knocked on many doors, many times I was told to be gone;
I recall the day I wished for a day no more, I was all alone,
I was thrown out of the house I belong(ed) for many years more,
Was I not to become a better man when ages gone?
I was all alone and my soul crawled in silent pause to my toes;
And I suddenly saw an eagle's eye between shadows...
I still feel guilty, I wish I could have, but I could not,
I was a child still, and I was helpless for so long I can recall;
When I sit back and watch my eyes fade into a dark cloud...
I could not search for the truth anymore, I am the truth,
I am the truth to be told in my own words as nothing but the truth,
I refused to be scattered into wildest wishes, I perused;
In papers old but could not find, in scriptures told and abused,
In winters gone but the moon keeps shine and seduced;
My eyes bold as hopeless days faded into a dark cloud,
I still feel guilty though, as though I should not;
But I feel pity for my eyes old, for I need see more,
I still need seek more in pages scroll...
And find the missing pages of vulnerable thoughts,
I still need pick myself up for the day come, I need tomorrow;
I need today than the day before, but I need write more before gone,
And my guilt will be proved beyond a reasonable Court;
For the jury knows my innocence from the day born,
And I shall keep on until my body is finally done and gone;
And until my arms hold, until my heart knows,
I'd write as empires of the seventh centuries before;
And recite as warriors of the seventh army ashore,
For this shall serve in the seventh rule of my diary;
As I seek further between the lines in summary...
As sheep in Calvary, as deep in sub marines,
As calm as thunder, as blue as empty skies afield,
As one as a wonder, as new as empty nights a shield,
I have rules and principles therewith, and I plough my empty field...

06122014-0612
Onalethuso Petruss Ntema

Book: The Voice of a Shadow: Life, Reality and mental inspiration poetry anthology

All rights (of the Copyright and Intellectual property) reserved. 2015/2016

www.soulseedsntema.com/buy 
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Friday, 24 April 2015

Fear

Fear

Fear is like fallen leaves,
It scatters in distant dreams,
It shutters all walks like swollen seeds,
It gathers all thoughts with broken means,
It waters all talks instantly,
Fear falls to follow immediately,
Tear falls the narrow,
Mere thoughts have a shadow,
That shadows and follows
The darkest without know,
Fear is a fear that fears in fear a while ago,
It denies a leaf the new day,
But strongest hearts rise to the moon clear,
Fear is a useless emotion,
Fear denies us possibility,
And possibility is what we seek to empower the will,
And our Will is our liberator and bringer of joy,
Fear is always an illusion,
A feeling attached to either events
Or objects that are hypothetical,
Fear only works to limit our potential,
Fear knows no color,
Fear crawls in closer,
Fear soils away the future,
It is like broken states of matter,
It channels its way into a brother,
To harness its toes to a father,
Fear pours like falling rain by the river,
And fouls a daughter and its mother,
Fear downs like a fallen hero,
When strongest hearts rise to the moon clear,
Fear drowns like a broken mirror,
When longest touch rise to the noon clear,
Fear shouts like a stolen Negro,
When strongest ones wise to the new day,
Don't fear, neither despair,
As hopeless souls rise to the moon clear.

20112013/2115
Onalethuso Petruss Ntema (Botswana) and Lucky M. Bulayani (Botswana)

“SOUL SEEDS: Reality and Mental inspiration poetry” (2014)
Published by XLIBRIS PUBLISHING (United Kingdom)


Words as these [that can] define our sense to "fear" and our role to "clear" such fear(s). We ought to unleash and detach our minds and hearts from fear, it does kill one's soul membranes. I had the honour to be inspired by the great living legend Lucky M. Bulayani's quote on "Fear" and undecidedly penned this one great piece with his insights and inspiration. Poetry is everything, but not everything is poetry.

Lucky M. Bulayani I see it came to a full crafting my man. Wonderful display of divine inspiration. I am humbled do be mentioned alongside men of your standing in this powerful art of words. Great cover pic indeed! This piece discards all the feelings of fear in me. Its like im 'born again' like the Christian likes to say. Nuff respekt Mambo. A great way to start my day.
November 21, 2013 at 12:06pm on Facebook

Mambo De Poet Ntema It really is another dimension of our school of thoughts when days of likeness came to fore, and finally crafted this piece in its initial piece-works of words from the two great minds in Lucky M. Bulayani & Buyile Petrus Onalethuso Ntema 's personable selves. I had a strongest intimacy to the classical writings but over times, I realized that I have the same brains and eyes to think and see as I'd then write, and as is. Indeed, an inspiring piece Spinoza. .the things we perceive and regard as fear(full) emanate from how we interact with the self, emotions and reality, with which faith becomes an alternative drive forwarding our abilities November 21, 2013 at 12:13pm  

Lucky M. Bulayani The likes of which have no compare friend! November 21, 2013 at 12:31pm ·

Nobert J-Nathan Mathumo "Re-trace the roots and look to the two faces!!" What became of the seeds!? its a blessing, nuff respect Buyile and Mr lucky. It is finally done when great minds meet, the only casket to bury fear z courage. November 22, 2013 at 11:50am
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Friday, 17 April 2015

Echoes of an African Tear: a Poet's Lament

Echoes of an African Tear: a Poet’s Lament[1]
I imagine an innocent child;
Waking up to the wave of xenophobic violence too near than far,
When nightmares behold blood, sweat and tears;
And I hear that Africa’s sons and daughters live in fear;
But I fear that our end is near,
For blood is thicker than water my dear;
And the sadness in me descends without cause,
As days became too short for peace beneath spoken words;
As tongues of tonnes of tones called for each other’s blood;
And painted walls with slogans of war against one another,
Behold South Africa—the rainbow nation;
Of dozens and masses of mankind and creation,
How could you enslave your own brethren with chains and shackles?
When your country men found refuge in our huts and back yards;
In the night of your history, were they kind not enough…
For their descendants to suffer at the hands of your angry men?
When will the long walk to freedom begin, if Africa is not free anymore?
When will we forgive to forget the unknown, if Azania stands alone?
For no people is an island—their songs untold and voices unknown,
Why does the African dream shutter(ed) before the sun could rise?
Africa of proud warriors and abundant miles but echoes of crying times,
Why have we summoned our souls to the extremes?
And what good do we teach and preach, if tomorrow may bring?
What rule do we seek and dig deeper, when sorrow to our dreams?
What justice do we mean, when swallows prey on innocent victims?
Is it an act of prejudice? Or just mere ignorance for our social systems?
Have political norms derailed Africa to forbid her helpless child?
I quote from the war poet Wilfred Owen’s Mental Case poem;
‘These are men whose minds the dead have ravished’…
And I wonder who should unearth the African ancestry;
When the future is a wreath strewn with thorns of historical hatred,
What would our children do to their countrymen and women?
And what will they do to them? Will they shrink or frown at them?
Who shall care for the child in the gutters of sacred bodies of the dead?
Are we foreign in the land of Mother Nature? Or scared?
Are we? But why do we fight and turn our hearts red instead?
When do we unite and stand? Or entice our coffins red?
When an eye for another buries dead? Our mouths clad?
Or clouds blurred on the banks of distant rivers as lives lost to the edge?
I cannot blame the Creator, nor angry brethren, leaders either,
For life is a teacher for us to look deeper as we drown in ashes thicker…

17042015-0305

A poem in memory of the gone. It is a social commentary against hatred and conflicts in Africa's South Africa Republic. It laments the deteriorating (if not challenging the) socio-political and economic systems that have engulfed contemporary African societies. It narrows its emphasis on unity and oneBlood. We are all descendants of the Creator.


[1] Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi’s comment on PoemHunter.com: ‘It is too strange why we. The coloured people of the world have not learned the wild tactics of those colonial masters. We have to agree that we are very ignorant and our IQ is abysmal. Do we want someone to come and teach us how to differentiate? Thank you for sharing your thought…’

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/echoes-of-an-african-tear-a-poet-s-lament/
https://www.facebook.com/notes/mambo-de-poet-ntema/echoes-of-an-african-tear/

www.soulseedsntema.com
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Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Silence in Caught - part 1

Silence in Caught 
Caught between the unusual as doors;
Close in brutal forces,
As silence in caught foregone;
The cosmic thought in crucial doses,
But violent toes of the unknown have judicial clauses,
Very abstract and void to the wandering soul;
Kind to their servant, and in the depths of despair,
To the nerves of each tear transcends,
And the jury of lengthened days to their edge,
In clear persons; the toothy wolves of scented;
Tales to their surge of mere patterns,
 Speak up in silent caught;
Keep not in violent thought—
Of mere slaves in cells,
Speak up when swallowed;
In darkest seize, despoiled words;
Not heard in sense,
As horns of trumpet mourners descend;
Songs of hunted goners gone,
Silence in caught when surrounded by dull moments;
Of loners told,
As pregnant clouds of scattered souls neared;
Eyes of long lonely days long,
Drowning in distant books of missing pages,
Piles of long (old) stories untold,
As mankind awaits distant truths of leaning traces,
Miles of many walks afore,
And does any kind caught in such silent caught;
When vines of thought run ashore?


23022014-0323

 ©2015, Copyright protected. Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Ntema
THE VOICE OF A SHADOW (not published)

www.soulseedsntema.com
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silence-in-caught-part-1/


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