(Father Poems) ... And The Sugar Moms Have Also Cashed In On The Ever Increasing Demand For Sex With Children
I'm walking side by side
In the streets with my wife
She's gorgeous she's the greatest
Thing tha's ever happened to my wife
We walk side by side
It's marvelous Sunday afternoon
We hold hands never in the history
Of this town was a happier couple seen
I'm thinking of buying my wife a Ferrari
She must be given a palace this summer
I must thank her for all the love
She has given me and then
It happens and my dreams
Are shattered and I must
Go back to the drawing board again
And re-examine the reason for our marriage
And I must sit down and ask myself why
The woman(She was the daughter of a principal)
I wanted to marry woke up and set herself on fire
A day after I told her that I was no longer
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Pariahs in the land of their birth
I too am a great admirer of Oliver Tambo
I love Nelson Mandela
Ruth First and John Harris were brutally
Eliminated by the gangs of white minority rule
I admire their courage and the supreme
Sacrifice they both made...
I too am an African and I know what it's like
To sleep in the veld on a hideous night
Under a bitterly cold sky
And I have seen poor despised black families
Forced to bury their dead toddlers amid fear and trembling
And the throbs of torturing anguish in a stolen grave
I am an African don't call me a person of color
I am a victim of capitalism in it's most brutal form
I have seen what forced labor and slavery and
The criminal enclosure of land can do to the soul of a people
Who're forced to accept the lie that their survival
Depends on them working for a slave's wages...
I am an African and I know that even today my people
Are still subjected to the pain of the whip and the jail house
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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(Lyric Poems) To Whom Shall I Tell The Tragedy Of Our Illicit Romance?
Beloved.To whom shall I tell
The tragedy of our illicit romance?
Darling.Do you love your husband
Truly and heartily and justly?
Sweetheart.You take the cellphone
The phone rings.You call us to
Party with you at your hard working
And much maligned hubby's expense
You're the star expert hostess tonight
You entertain us.You're loving you are
In your element you sing like the little
Bird when you see us wolf down the
Exquisite Mediterranean dishes you serve
And your despised husband...he's the
One who looks for the crumbs who rushes
Out of the sight of the titled guests...
He hides under the bed in the children's
Room and doesn't show his face lest his
Huggared and rugged and rough appearance
Should peep in and cause offense
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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I sleep by day and I forage by night
I am the pelican
That hunts by night
I am the Manakadan I
Dine alone at midnight
I am the bee I sleep
All day long but stay out
Of the reach of my sting
When my stomach groans
Like a croc to hunger
I sleep by day and forage
By night.The day is bad
The sun is too polluted
Don't tell me
The day's bad news
My night's been bad enough
I sleep by day
I forage by night
I make my nightly forays
Past houses I hear
The muffled cries
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Out Of Africa Comes
Out of Africa comes...
The beautiful idea of ubuntu this
Forbidden philosophy of humaneness
That humanity so badly needs today
Out of Africa comes...
Malnutrition and hunger and disease
Children of Africa...
Why do you die
In your thousands everyday and you
Refuse to throw away the superstitions
That don't protect you?
Sure.Others have had their own dark ages
And their black death and they have done
Away with all those burning of witches and
Really cleaned up their acts
Africa you must open up to innovation you
Must be ready to accept the marvel of
Technology and invention it is absolutely
Wrong to live in fear and ignorance and
Let yourself be scarred away from experimenting
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Go home and die
(For those who died because of the holocaust
Of the AIDS denialism of Thabo Mbeki)
'Nobody knows you when you're down and out
...as for friends, you don't have any'
From a blues standard by Jimmy Cox
You saw them cover up for their cronies
Who should have hanged for the gross
Misconduct of causing the deaths of ten
Thousand innocent miners and a political
Solution was concoted to silence their widows
So you decide to hit the road to sat foot at a mine
And you take one last furtive glance at them
Who are imprisoned in the mines and fear
To go to the township because the place is full
Of tricksters and tsotsis of no particular origin
And you see the women who sell AIDS and quick sex
Under the trees and you want to live in a hurry
And you look at the boys who prostitute themselves
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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The Criminal Doesn't Know When To Stop
-a proverb of the dead of Avalon Cemetery
(In Memory Of The Victims Of Mindless Violence)
You see my brada those smart
Looking smug faced white nonatjies
Rich women bro' neh each
One of them carries a scar
Of humiliation in their hearts
And they know it he he he...
Ek se this is a black man's country
We rob the white ousies every night
We rape them day light nine nine brahs
Djy sien it's easy groot mahn since well
Ons chee ddi garden boy the tjotjo
And we sommer kill the kitchen meit
And ons ginger ddi miesies en ddi kitchen meit
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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This The Closed Chapter Of Their Premature Ended Lives
Yonder petite Lady Curvaceous Curves
Is the best thing to have dangled the dry
Hips in the gray colored streets of the less
Remembered condom strewn parts of this town
Your eyes light up immediately and your spirit
Is filled with the nightmares of hope when you
Hear the jazzy rattle of the trombone of her bones
Her very presence lights up the dormant fires
Of impassioned desire in the loins of the rat
Toothed men who must be paid even if they have
Gone on strike and left the cement in the
Wheelbarrow next to the savaged corpse of Ben
life is the oldest eternity of gloom
Follow me to the mountains
The fish eagle is feasting in tears
The vulture has not run out of meat since the
Beginning of this season of lust and death that
Is why the air you breath smells like burnt pork
Close the door.The putrid smell of death is too
Much dear.This is why the Zen doctor says we must
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Where the bright lights are dim
Read the two letters
One from the attorneys
Another from your father
Read fast because the old
Man is retiring.He might
be dying even by now
What says my father this time?
I don't want to be bothered
with burdening family troubles
Read it loud so we may laugh
I want to go out in the city where
the bright lights are dim
Your father is angry with you
Apparently you are blasting his
money on booze.You are womanizing
And you are neglecting your studies
Your father is very worried
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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