House Break

He lay dead 

IN HIS OWN BLOOD 

wearing his own shoes 

WHERE HE HAD BEEN 

 sipping his own coffee 

IN HIS OWN HOUSE, 

resting on the cupboard 

WHERE HE HID, 

his gun 

HE WAS SHOOT DEAD. 

next to him.

Road Princess

She shamefully, pitifully

Plods along the side-walk.

She carries all the right qualities

The society oppresses.

She wears her crown all year long

Knitted to her hair

She wears the crown ALL DAY LONG

The crown every girl forgets about.

She has her own public bunch, an alley and a box too to go.

Nothing to forget, misplace or lose in her black vague plastic hand bag.

Lucky girl

What more can a Road Princess want?

She’s consistently contemplating constitution steps to

her praise and glory that is everlasting

yesterday, today and faithfully tomorrow.

Her people bring her honor by facing away,

making fists right by the noses while…

 vigilantly keeping an eye on the changing light.

She is the skinniest of them all,

her sister prejudicious, her brother is violent,

her cousin is shameful, her mother is affordable

and her dad is dead.

She is the Road Princess.

Emotion Run Dry

I can feel them now

feel them through my veins. 

Here they come with the little power they have left.

They give it their all.                                                                                                                                                    

They will blind, break, baptize me.                                                                                                                     

They come with no expectation

but minor thoughts behind them.

And they will find me in my palace to chase my mind till insanity.                                                                                                                                    

I cannot stop the sound of their feet

from walking into my ears.

I can ignore their presences

for they are invisible, blind to my eyes.

Blind to my eyes they are

and become naked before yours.

They reveal the truth about my heart

and my integrity cries the tears of

a mad woman with the voice of a baby monster.

My tears run from my heart

down my cheeks

and drop dry like my emotions.                                                                                                                   Yes my tear got me.

Change to you

I choose what I want to be a part of me.

I don’t want to tell my life story

Because what happened does not

Excuse for what I do now.

And tomorrow I will tell my life story

Because I believe without it

I would not know what I know now.

I have a choice of what makes me.

I don’t need a favorite color

Because it will be requested for.

Some things I cannot like or dislike fore I have not come across,

Whatever it might be.

Don’t be scared to change to your mind.

Finding yourself is fun

But finding yourself in Christ

Is like finding your origin.

This Harden Heart

Let not the pain
Hurt, disappointment, judgement,
Things of the old.
Not the things that choke me
Or breath taking stop me.
Let not the road of life
Harden my heart.
Let not the marks of suffering
Harden my heart.
Let not the tribulation,
Dry tears,
Vulnerability
Harden my heart oh Lord.
Let not storm
Chariots
Brokeness and words
Harden my heart.
Let me not harden my heart.
Let not this lips harden my heart.
Let not my heart be harden.
Let not my pride
Greed
Let not my sin harden the nail.
Let not me Harden this Heart
Oh Lord.

Mandeious (Ozymandious)

Mandela is not a king who build a statue to show off his works. I believe Mandela understood that human power and pride will not last forever. What Mandela did is far greater than king's empire, what he did supervene the lives of his people. The reason why we (South Africa) are here now. Mandela will and is more than history or memory but he will be living in our everyday lives. And I believe it will get better through the great achievement that this country will embark on.
Because of Mandela and many of our heroes I could not be more proud and grateful to be a South African and living right here!

Yada( intimacy with God)

Yada.

Like the waves
winds push us to and fro to shore
making little heaps or non
along the way
in hopes not to be
late of all the other things planned.

We sit together as I planned we would.
Eagerly I mention all
the breaks,trembles,storms
I faced along the journey.
All the faults,bruises
and oh the unfairness
on my poor soul.

Soon enough
I sit alone and
question You about
all the heart breaking rejections,
appearance,temptation
and the minority I find myself in.

Finally, I sit quietly
looking at the waves
and hear nothing back.
Repeatedly I quickly do this.
While You repeatedly
speak to me in the mist of it all.



(this poem talks of how we need to learn to listen to God even when we are not in devotion. just like at the Jada camp. Understanding that God is always there speaking to us but we are so busy with other stuff that we miss His voice.)