For George Floyd

I didn't write a poem,
when they choked you
I didn't write a poem
When his knee was on your neck
I didn't write a poem
when you expired
I didn't write a poem
When they rose
I didn't write a poem
Throughout the eruptions
I didn't write a poem
When like a wild fire
You soul set the world alight
I didn't write a poem
For their knee was on my neck
I can't breath
Living on borrowed times
Handcuffed since time immemorial
Face down in internal surrender
hissing and gasping
For a better day tomorrow
In a Whiteman's world
 - For George Floyd

P.s whats a poem for a nigga gasping on his last breath 

Messiah

There was a time
The Lord ran for dear life
He found refuge
In the motherland
She has been abused
Raped and debased
But tell her kids the truth
When the Lord was captured by fear
Rejected by his kith and kings
And for him, his father sought safety
He came to us
Then what of our motherland?
If the Lord found refuge in her
She saved him
She is the Lord's Messiah

Masses

Masses are an alter
You bring them in I perish
I cannot stand to suffocate
I long for a place far off
In the hills and mountains
In the valleys
Far from this chaos
Of a madding crowd
Happy in their joys
Happy in the anguish
Set me afar from their happiness
I want the truth

These Two

These two walked on together
Hands pretending to hold firm
They are walking  apparently
To the end of the rainbow
But nobody asks whose rainbow?
Who owns the red, yellow, blue?
Who owns the glittering pot of gold
At the end of this rainbow
Can it end already
So that the owner can take his gold
And return home
His gold he says
Dug from my land
Dug by my sweat
Polished in my toils
But apparently we are walking
Walking talking in harmony

The Great Race - Runners (The Freedom Ave. Series)

Its a race beyond the human race
Racing to an unknown end
So they run and run

Run to sunday school
Run to primary school
They keep running

Run to fall in love
Run to fall out of love
They keep running

Run to the store
Run for dinner
They keep running

Run to the table
Run to the tree or the toilet
They keep running

And along I start running
Along you start running
The they continue running

No one knows where the race goes
But the race continue
Breeding runners along the way

Some fall by the way side
But the running continue

They run to bury them
They run to forget them
They keep running

Its not a circle
Its not a square
Its an infinite string

No one knows when it started
No one know when to shall end
But someone lives to see your end
When at last the race run faster than you
And you fall by the wayside

Running to the cemetery of runners

Misunderstood (The Freedom Ave. Series)

Don't break me up
There is no peace in my pieces
I fear I bleed too much
Fragile, I shatter
Under your microscopic watch
I have been there all along
Under your vivid scarlet  eye
Blood gushes out, veins burst
Before you can see through
And go like the rest
Loaded with nothing
But sheer misunderstanding
Weighing heavily like gold and diamonds
When its nothing
But a figment of your delusions

The Runner (The Freedom Ave. Series)

He runs for dear life
from peace
from war

All are
But meaningless shadows
Lifeless behind him

He runs from the sun
from cold
 from warmth

He longs
For emptiness within
Unattached to him

He runs from his shadow
from himself
from the future

He shudders
at the possibility of his shadow
finding expression in him

He is alive to the possibility
Of waking up to nothingness
A sweet end to the mute pursuit

He is at peace
When everything is left behind

David (The Freedom Ave. Series)

Many sing your songs unknowingly
A harp is for summer, a psalm for glory
But summers are distant in their memories

They don't recall when last did the sun shine
But the sun did shine, making a lot
of seemingly endless summers

Tomorrow not guaranteed
But the end is certain
Certainly for you, wrinkled soul

Sitting somewhere wild
Clinging on to your blunt black pen
For the verse is too heavy on you

And so you write a poem
        David
        Though King among kings

A poem for a season
        Your splendour is far off
        Only the shadow of your fall remain

A poem for reason

         Couldn't beg for love

         Nor count losses when lovers lost

A poem for a poem

         Your shadow remains to the day

         At the house of Uriah the Hittite

For on the flip of time

Your ills are a crown, golden

A blissful your story in the end

A tale worth telling 

To the silent pages of time

The holy grail of your crown 

Happiness (The Freedom Ave. series)

Happiness is not the wind that blows
A fashion piece that comes and go
Its not the sun that shines
Its not out there
Its not the villas and valleys

Happiness is not the moon
That shines from afar
Yet dull on the surface

Happiness is not a moment
That you pursue relentlessly

Happiness is a place
Happiness is a mountain
Happiness is a river
A tree, a shrub
Within

Happiness is not a queen
Dropped in marbles and diamonds
Her crown is a shadow

Crowned by freedom
Happiness is King
Though stuck in darkness

Love (The Freedom Ave. Series)

Love is a song for a summer day
Sing it when the sun shines
And thorny roses colour the veld violently beautiful
Don't mind yesterday's gloom-stuffed weather
Don talk of the rain that soaked the soil wet
Its a summer day after all, forget the mud
Sing the song with all your heart
Not for the audience,  their hearts are deaf
Not for cheers, they have no cheers left
Sing it for your heart
For a summer is here and there
It passes and comes back again;
Passes again and comes back once again
Lest you sit and wonder
When the summer day is gone
And there is nothing left but to hum a tune
A song once sang half heartedly