Poetry has done this to me
And I love the slavery of poetry
For reasons like your better
versification
Or for reasons you shall not
live to see
To me poetry is this huge magnificent
instrument
And poetry has kept me indoors all
day I missed you
And poetry has kept me in front of
this machine
And saved me maybe from the bullet
or the knife
And poetry has taken me to explore
the deepest
Unknown regions of my mind
Never was the search
Of the word so desperate and
pleasurable and so
Hurtful and so exciting and so painful
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Peace unto you
We enter this new era on
the wings of the new era
To usher in peace into the heart
of blessed humanity
Peace unto you my brother
Peace unto you my father
Peace unto you my sister
Peace unto you my mother
We open the new chapter
Into the history of mankind
To forget the errors of the past
We meet here determined not
to live until we have corrected
The mistakes of the past
Peace unto you
Who was my oppressor in the past
Peace unto you who was
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(Freedom poems) Hold not your love back
You say you're not free
when your dad muscles around
I say hold not your love back
In this age of romantic interludes
You say you're afraid to come to me
Because your mama is playing
rough bouncer around the yard
I say hold not your love back
They have not yet legislated against
the crime of love in this land
There is no law in the governor's
Law book that inhibits you
From loving old Broken Heart me
The love birds will not let
You fly away with them unless you
Hold not back your love for me
You said you dreamed of the moon
And the celestial starlight was
laughing at you
You said you were drowning in
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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(Sad poems) Does anybody care
Here's a bold old man
He's trying to recapture
The faded years of his youth
But his every effort is in vain
For years he has suffered from sporadic
Attacks of duodenitis and gastritis
He gets no medical attention
It's sad and we the children who
Visit him in his lonely house don't
Know what to do
Does anybody care?
And some professors of the ghetto have
Arrived and they have misdiagnosed him
And they have pronounced the death
Sentence on him and they have said he will
Get the dyspepsia virulent infection and die
Unless he cuts all ties with the devil he
Meets at the crossroads who teaches him
To be a wizard with the guitar
Did anybody mention the guitar?
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Walk In The Night 1
Walk in the night where you're
Not likely to be worried sick by
The pitter-patter innocent footsteps
Of the kidnapped child victims
Go into the belly of the night
And hear not the click-clank
That suddenly ends after the woman
In danger's screams have fallen silent
Enjoy the leisurely stroll under cover
Of the night and be not scarred of
The clomp of the heavy footsteps that
Follow you into the alleyways of the night
Walk into the night and do not allow
Yourself to be intimidated by
The clippety-clop sounds of the dead
Horses that you sight in the night
Step, step, step into the gentle night
Be less afraid under the ominous
Clouds of the night and you will hear
With a clear beat the plodding and
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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(Childhood poems) Trust nobody who will not greet your parent
Trust nobody who
will not greet your parent
Be wary of them
when they throw the bones
Of the accolades you
know you don't deserve
That man who sacrifices
to take you home after
School is twice your age
he means you no good
That woman who offers to pay
your way through university
When you know you're not
dirt poor is after your flesh
Leave not your trust in the
fateful voice of the caller
Who congratulates you when you
can't recall when last anyone
In their minds ever stood up
to fill in for time and congratulate
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(Africa poems) Gloom is what they confuse with true teaching
Old teacher!
You said...
If you're going to be
A street sweeper
Have the decency to be
The Oscar winning street sweeper!
Old teacher!
You said...
If you're going to be a mother
Make sure you mother them
To be responsible patriotic Africans!
Old teacher!
You said...
If you're going to be teachers
And doctors and lawyers
If you're going to represent Africa
In the sports arenas and the world forums
Do so with pride and dignity and brilliance!
Old teacher!
You said....
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(Mother poems) To his mother the kitchen meit
Mother, Mother
D'you see that there
Beer hall
I don't want to go there
Mother, mother
Do you see those there boys and girls
Into that abandoned house they go
To make babies as if baby making
Is going out of fashion
Protect me mother I don't
Want to run with the wrong crowd
Mother, mother
Do you see that man
He carries death
In the bulging bag slung casually on his
Broad shoulders
He sells drugs and illicit booze
Stand close to me mum I don't want
To fall into the clutches of the bootleggers
And the merchants of death the drug lords
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(Hate Ppoems) All She Can Do Is Pray Your Bad Friends Were Dead
You say without sparring a thought
About her every day needs'I must call
My mother she's the most important woman
In my life'You are so used to her you think
She's part of the furniture in the house
You treat her as if she's your sister
There is no passion in your routine
Love making and the intimacy doesn't exist
And all she can do is pray and wish your
Bad friends were dead they're always interfering
She will not reach a compromise withe the jackals
Who're always following you
She cares about you and the children
She loves you but she won't be dictated to by
Those who are always interfering in your marriage
She won't take orders from your mother and your
Sisters who want to manage your marriage
She hates your bad friends who take you
To the houses of ill repute and maybe you too
Must find your inner strength and make
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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The knives are out for me
I hauled you out
Of the poverty of
The gutter
I took you away
From the bullet riddled
Neighborhoods of the ghetto
I clothed you and made you
Smart and look at you now
You're beautiful you look
Like the model from the cover
Of the magazine and you haven't
Disappointed me and you go on
And you amaze me and pound for
Pound you match the love between us
But now the knives are out for me
And those who looked down at you
From the lofty armchairs are
The first to say how
Ill matched we are
And out of the frustration of
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