dead poets society

My June 16 medidation by: Menelek

Use pencils than pistols; chuck away the history, we obtained victory_
Victory that let us celebrate and not concentrate when we congregate
Is this day really a day to weep out the cry, did we see how they lied?
The sacrifice of the fallen nation as they solemnly died
I wanted to miss this shot but thought of the inventors, patriots & chariots.
When victims have been rushed to doctors after world war 4, they found led_
Lead that taught ministries, scientists to elaborate Greek symbols in our creed.
It made me doubt if I’m not demonic fed.
Mother’s filled us from Adam’s frame & rib; women structured
And were the one’s who revealed folly in the revelation, is rapture.

How deep we freak out when Jo’burg sells us away?
A land that crumbles that ice and glorify capitalism as a tool we use;
I am poor and neglected; are you satisfied? I found you happy, are you ready?
It is the I-pod world and bacterial infections to water that dehydrate us;
They rename our files and places we live are said to be reallocated
Tell you what? It is all a lie, that Afrikaans wasn’t good.
Revive and engrave the Boeremag warriors that revolute to American senators.
They carried pencils than pistols to erase and authorize African cord that we speak of.
Punish the sinners like almighty God did to Pharaoh, Sodom and Gomorra.

My time or your time we push the rhyme like Kolanjhi.
Appreciation is rewarding a poor junk African to feel alive, lovely.
They rattled with machines that sharpen our pencil pistol, colonization.
It meant adjust your judgment and be inorganic in growing African vision.
Delusion, tells me of children ‘a rose that grew from this podium; concrete’
This is my decree excluded degrees when I was baptized by the new ruling Kingdom.
I say the righteous humanity is positivism and strong schism ‘integrity’
Is June 16 a day of remembrance?
I hit you deep into my vengeance.
That I am not happy because the plan was sold to government after they bought it;
But why they never freed Mumia instead set traps to kill Hani and exiled Madiba.
We tear apart Freedom Charter a rise an Ethiopia chapter we are Rasta.
We do not attack whilst we serve and protect and we do not protest.
People of our nation are happy, but not satisfied so take it as if we will never be equal.

I once wrote; human was equal in the multitude of God law; ubuntu ngabantu.
These were words taught to besiege us, patriots chant, and African armies rebound.
I found it a great privilege to take my mind out of this slug.
We design and they sign to receive fruits of the end product, with the same duct ‘pen’
I hate penicillin so I eliminated and pushed my derivation, pencil in.
Are you in or out of this mature annexure vigorously fought pornography_?
They pawn our lives ‘our land’ for failing projects and now see inflation rise, we are to hike_
Hike me walking towards the Promised Land without any cry, stress free because I’ve seen it.
Put our struggle as of midgets embraced with no sense, the past tense mustn’t leave you tense.

{Dedicated for the June 16 2008 event; E-section eZakheni Ladysmith. This poem was performed by Menelek as an author 12.6.08}

My Battalion

About two decades ago, so seeds planted were entitled to grow in the zone.
The reason being; the energy extracted from the universal galaxy as it was slow.
I will always tell my fruits that we were lied to; about Jesus, the adultery and the vow.
I was even told that monotony was the master of all things we have even the Sun that glow.
As a growing tree you wouldn’t be allowed to own your throne and carry tusks to blow.
It is all the wishes and fate that you depend and maintain of the planter that sow.

Did we come to these sands for the benefit of the planter and breeder?
One of the common researches made termed these fruits a mammal was by the elder.
A growth under the sun is free like concubine’s chat and they tell us to be their savior.
Informed by the sands of the twists and turns; dance and colors to wear;
The planter will trim, uproot and chase away those who seem to lack to feed the server.
I think the intention was not to be absolute in front of the family tree member.
As a result we now historically disadvantaged have seen the apocalyptical armor.
The planter engaged into our plot unaware and later dare to rebuke; to life- a character.

To those who realized and wasn’t sure to bore. In their innersole held crumpling fear.
They were aware of the history to be told to the fruits of the growing bearers in the acre.
So, when Jesus came it drew a synaptic picture where our lives were in boredom.
Our acre was rebuilt; friends, families killed and pilled to beautify their schizophrenic files.
They kept hypocritical information that denied our existence and turned weak heads.
Crushing our reputation and said ‘no war’ on HIM to trust this purely say you, me ‘animals’
H.I.M was being ‘human’ as I said; we were and are just the members of the family tree.

My Battalion rages and you have to believe its potential by force every time it’s dropped;
Its proposals are turned down; its natives are drowned by the waves of sanctioning storms.
But, the matter is the defoliation that exceeds the current and existing population.
They always said; birds of the same feather are always together up in the sky and ground.
But, how do we fly if wings are cut by machinery and invaders that eat up our will.
Living today is some kind of a drill. It made us some kind of smart confined fools.

All I should say is; don’t shit and piss on my acre it’s my Battalion.
The sins and good deeds are masters of our levity under the trinity we own.
There are many visionaries than I am so you better dwell and not doubt the condition.
It might sound stupid and demonic but supertonic scriptures and sinisterly songs lives.
And they are chanted by the dwellers of the strong hold to be never sold it was foretold.
Keep your word even when you eventually grow old. Poetry with these words is sowed.

Written and meditated by: Manelisi ‘a.k.a Menelek’ Mgibisa an Undergrad student for Civil Eng. NDiploma at Durban University of Technology in KZN.
contact me at 0739125484 or manelisi@gmail.com

SOMETIMES I CRY sometimes when im alone i cry because im on my own the tears i cry are bitter and warm they with life but take no form i cry because my heart is torn and i find it difficult 2 carry on if i had an ear to confide in i would cry among my treasured friends but who do you know that stops that long to help another carry on the world moves fast and it would rather pass u by then 2 stop and see what makes you cry its painful and sad and sometimes i cry and no one cares about why T.Shakur