Perception

We are constantly speaking through time,

Walking on emotional strands in the air suspended by validity,

Comfort in our backpacks front pockets overflowing with precepts and things of the sort,

We are constantly speaking through time holding open conversations with God

face to face made possible by lenses of hope, knees down praising validity

let our minds not be agitated by inconsistency of mind states

to perception we must hold and uphold,

Yes time validates genuine expressions and to time we will look up

but perception, perception is infinite.

 

 

Between me, you and infinity lies streets that blends in skin colours of a different race

randomly chosen every second of everyday and every night,

streets whose drainage systems overflows with blood of puppets and puppeteers

of different skin colours, men and women confused soldiers brought to this world

to feed the forever starving sun to a point of obesity,

At the corner of every street we stand holding open conversations with god,

Each one of us holding dear to his perception however random, repercussive,

different, distinct, original, however crumbly, each to each originating from a different server

constantly craving an upgrade,

At the corner of every street we stand and watch furrows on the roads

that flows blood as demographics continues to change perspective,

Each one of us holding dear to their perception –

 

 

Powerless to none, giving in to some, to this day we still get tickled

by the wind that blows west and stung by the wind that blows east,

Our morning voices can scratch and etch permanent screeching laments to the sky,

Our breaths can dissipate the golden colour that paints beauty to summer horizons,

Ideologists by nature, exposed to various angles of view,

happiness is imminent, we cannot help but to purge through the pores of our skins

bursts of happiness to saturate our atmospheres momentarily.

Whatever the origin, however crumbly, valid, distinct, different–

We stand at street corners having conversations with god, watching death,

Trying to comprehend the concept of happiness, each one holding firmly to his perception,

Perception is infinite.

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Short Story of A Stoner

Expose emotion to the eye of the clouds the clit of mother earth,
We fall in love with your rays for your love itself we are too infant to handle,
Expose emotion to the eye of the sky and they too will learn to evaporate,
The laws of chemistry must be upheld.

To age and calendars I salute, life has nothing more to teach me
Than to rain on me unstable raindrops of stability bearing lessons
On how to skate on my quivering concurrent trails of thoughts,
I parted ways with insanity the day I got stoned and called my mother
asking her what my name was, she laughed at me, she laughed with me,
I laughed at me too; she thought I was joking,
In another completely different universe parallel to this one
I was sitting in my stony henge of a house fiddling with concepts
weighing fragments of dreams on a balance scale,
All around me was modernised black and sticky tar
that made up winding roads that led to nowhere,
across all four walls of my stony henge of a house life lessons were written,
invisible to a sober eye and one of them translates:-
“we die, we are reborn, we get happy, we get sad and the circle continues,
right in the heart of the Cartesian plane these contingencies make
build for yourself a castle and let it stand fully erect praising sunshine
and waving at stars”

Life really has nothing more to teach me. . .
At that moment I understood my stony henge of a house, the winding roads,
the lack of description in this poem, the Cartesian plane and my mother’s laugh,
At that very moment fully under the influence of green herbs
I understood that between death, rebirth, happiness and sadness,
Whether I face them stoned chanting in infinite space,
Whether public perceptions serve as pats on my back when I need it,
The stony house was my castle of rest,
The winding road was were my daily routines took place
In which while rounding and rounding in infinite circles
I met death, rebirth, happiness and sadness countless times.
My mother’s laugh represented how one’s mind can be entitled
to its own confined domain, sheltered from external influence.

To age and calendars I salute, life really has nothing more to teach me. . .
I couldn’t mess with time, I couldn’t live with myself, even time is not forever,
Some dumb idiot must have peeled off the label that said “handle with care”,
Someday soon time will grow a mouth and tell tales of a stoner
whose path was not imaginary, my path is not imaginary,
I just failed to see my path because in my haste to chase the sun
all I saw was the clit itself and my misunderstood weekend casualties
that bore me a son I refuse to name.
And to the sun I exposed my emotions proclaiming my infatuation
and to nothingness my poor emotions evaporated,
With the herb wearing off now, let me shut out the gong sound of my thoughts
and try to make sense of the words I just wrote.

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Dance With Me

My dear soul, it’s just me and you tonight,
I will plunge you high above into thin air happily
and dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat
heart beating like amplified finger snaps
snapped carefully to arouse the night.
Let I dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat
waiting to catch you when you come down
just so I can plunge you back again.

Let the sound of your sweet scented voice
– Sweet enough to induce smiles on frowning roses –
soothe my existence as I walk on the grains of your skin
walking down to drown on the lines of your palm.
Dance with me, dance with me to the rhythm of your heartbeat
as I celebrate me finally embracing love,
In anybody else’s eyes I am just a name but in your eyes,
in your eyes I am a perfect replica of God’s blueprints of man,
Dance with me as I learn to step in the name of love
stealthily moving towards the lines of your palm
wherein I will drown to awake no more,
let I drown in your palm and the sea of emotions
that attempts to agitate you will learn calmness,
I will drown in the palm of your hand to emerge
As the once used to be soul chaser who has found his soul.

My dear soul, it’s just you and I tonight,
Dance with me. . .

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We need not Say Nothing

We need not Say Nothing
We were here first, laid out before us was a different entity
stretching as far as the outskirts of knowledge different from the current reality,
We took care of earth and built heaven from scratch
with stones we curved with our bare hands,
Mother Nature was always pleased with us and to return the favour
she taught us the secrets of creating and manipulating artistry.
We framed visions of images perceived by the mind alone
and hung them on the walls of the hallways of time
for future generations to bow down in respect to us.

We were here first I say –
When emotion came swirling down from the essence of humanity
we took it in like men and women of a first generation and blamed no one,
We discovered love and kept our mouths shut
for future generations to rediscover and redefine it,
Had we known they will redefine it with vile personalities
of course we would have claimed its birthright,
We witnessed many births and reincarnations of reality
through circular and spherical lenses and zeroed mindsets,
We didn’t stop there – we rebelled against rebels
of a peaceful existence with our words and our words alone,
Our words alone allowed us to metaphorically showcase
the contents of our hearts while we stood in front of our reflections
challenging oblivion to deadly duels,
Subconsciously subtracting unnecessary substances
to evolve and resolve missed perfections.

Our story never reaches an end,
Endings are reached by they who let hopes hang and die,
We have lived, served and got served,
We will live, serve and get served – we were here first,
Let they who choose to believe what they want to believe
believe in what they choose to believe but we were here first,
Occasionally alchemising our bodies to expose the glory we bear within,
But we need not say nothing, let alone say who we are,
We were here first!

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Rain to My Garden of Thought

Let me water my garden of thought with the words of craftsmen
and the sensation exuded from flower buds of September,
Arm myself with spacious rooms in mind to gather the joy
of the radiant summer nights and get ready to charm her.
She will be easy to find, I know her rendezvous,
I will find her as usual sitting down under a rainbow sprinkling drizzle
over thirsty clouds the gray matter the source of words of craftsmen
the soothing water to my ever thirsty garden of thought.

Being the amazing goddess she is, not your typical mythological
goddesses made of rusty stone with pebble eyes,
I will find her scribbling down the manuscript to the mortal guides,
The manifesto of mortal guards, angels whose joy she feeds on to stay alive,
I will find her, I will find her like I did before I knew she existed,
Like I found her as the glowing light that shines around my feeble heart,
Like I found her as the seed to the craft dangling on my lips
that I grew to call poetry,
I will find her because my love for her was embedded in the stars of heaven
way before I knew that each day is cut short by the setting sun,
It knows no fright it searches the evergreens for treasures
and return to present before her the garden of Eden,
I will find her and simply charm her into submission
with this five words: “Let I fly with you”

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Rhymes and Frames

When love be the moisture to the tips of our felted pens,
Our minds are unending sanctuaries of ink the glorified city
from where sleeping Angels awake to blow dry the morning mist
with their sweet flavoured breaths,
We float back against the comfort of heavenly clouds
and watch our felted tips lick perpetual ink before making love
to white feinted and margined landscapes and portraits.
Rhyme be the pseudonym to the offspring thereof,
seeds of hope to burdened souls and lingering sweet tastes
on the tongues of hungry children of Verse,
As we stand horizontal to the wall and perpendicular to the ground
fists up measuring the direction of the wind,
hearts throbbing ecstatic about breathing through another day,
Inside us flows life in raw untainted form stretching from
the margins of our brains to all four corners of the earth,
little by little that life surfaces to find us waiting patiently –
We document life on the face of Rhyme for hungry souls to feed
and frame it into mind-scapes for exuberant eyes to feast on!

−Mt

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Time principles by Mutsinda Netshitungulu

Now listen here, you will stand afar and watch time pass you by…
I really can’t explain everything but it will never disappear from your sight,
Some will observe it through broken windows from the comfort of their shacks,
Some will buy PVRs trying to get a better replay-able view of it.
It will be your curse, your blessing, your usual norms and bore, night and day,
The pen pushers will constantly arm themselves with their inky tridents
and build paper staircases trying to define it,
The scientists will build gadgets and toys, clocks and sophisticated
machinery trying to define it but none of you will succeed,
Instead you will both curse Morpheus, why the fuck is he the god of dreams
If there is no god who makes dreams come true?

You will stand afar and watch time pass you by,
Witness the mythical Ice Age, Stone Age, Iron Age, Sex Age and the Information Age,
At some stage in your pathetic lives you will break the ice and finally bath off
the remaining sand particles of the dust from which you were created,
stone your fellow brother trying to rule with an iron fist, master the art of sex
and for the love of money you will call it Kama Sutra, but the information age…
The information age will be your greatest curse,
The bigger it gets the less your chances of understanding time,
It will give rise to insomniacs, xenophobes, the rebirth of Babylon
and little Babylonians, self-acclaimed stars trying to cheat time,
Battles between the moon and the sun and digital versions of Nostradamus,
But the more you try to understand time the more you will move
towards absurdity.

You will succumb to honesty, lies, rains, veins….
Slow down time with narcotics to the point in which you will see rain turn into blood
and feel the same blood tip-toeing within your veins trying to ignite
a palpitation in your heart to get you to kick back, relax and hear the same rain
divide honesty into your side of the story, his side of the story and then the truth.
You will eat and drink sweet and sour hot and cold beverages attempting to gut down portions of guilt but time will always remind you of real time commotions.
You will find joy in weird places and trust me I will be ok with that but…

You will never control time because the souls I gave you are only finite,
This land you walk in is still mine and someday I will reclaim it,
Just because I decorated limbo, gave it night and day, threw in a little green
and called it earth doesn’t mean you will unlock the secrets of its principles.

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Neon Lights by Mutsinda Netshitungulu

Neon Lights

The neon lights are beautiful tonight
Hanging from indefinite heights almost reaching heaven,
Brighter than the street lights that decorates every street
from corner to corner;
Its a busy night for my city Joburg tonight.
One deviation from my journey and I’m a dead man,
I must be a descendant of a clan of fortunate souls
Coz I have survived 1462 days of your highly spoken-for wrath
Each day going in and out, going in and out
the very heart in which you incubate demonic existence.

Seasons change and so do reasons,
They pass through you and leave you standing,
Your neon lights remain untouched and unchanged,
I walk through you on my journey seeking treasures
In which I find God smeared in red lipsticks
on the fresh lips of strange women,
I find divinity in ugly faces
and freedom in the innocent faces of children,
I find beauty in spoken word echoing
through your long neon-lit endangered streets
and I find life in everything I find
knowing very well that death is just a moment away.

For as long as these colorful neon lights hang,
I know you will always cheat metamorphosis when you…
When you inhale dusty fumes from angry men and electric trains,
toxic stench from your decorative dumpsters,
and exhale LIFE!

Netshitungulu Mutsinda

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Words of a Poetic Liberal by Mutsinda Netshitungulu

To my prominent society

We live in a cruel world the order of things has assumed a different shape,
Sunrise and sunset are both the same in my pebble eyes,
I stare and admire as the sun makes its way across the agitated skies
to my broken sanctuary of dreams,
The only thing that remains intact is in fact poetry and her unborn offspring,
unwritten verses the future inhabitants of this world I live in,
the blood that runs though my pain-infested veins, the only element
with the impact to resurrect fallen heroes apart from memories.
But you know what they say – Poetry is for the insane!

Yea I’m insane; by all means I’m insane!
I would rather be insane than be sane and same as these intelligent fools
who rule with rules aimed to maim my brothers’ souls,
I would rather be insane than be sane and same as these intelligent fools
whose rules aim to disguise their agenda of tearing out freedom’s soul
from its struggle-based roots and feed it to the birds of the sky,
I would rather be insane,
I would rather be insane and hide behind paper shadows than be sane
just so I can see my brother starving by the roadside,
pushing stolen trolleys for a living, cheated and beaten by a system
that hides behind words of fake freedom, enslaved to a life
that seems to be living him now.
I would rather be insane and spend my days seeking sanity between pages
coz alcoholic beverages are intoxicating but the spirit of a poet
is immune to elemental hypnosis, I still cannot lose my sense of detecting sense
so I know……..

I know how now 12year olds no longer wear underwear for the sake of fitting in,
Yet they know how niggers wear their souls under the soles of their feet
and trample on their frail lives with their super sized egos,
I know how on every street corner a black brother goes to sleep
on the ground harder than a rock every night,
how my lady freedom is begging for refuge at the gates of hell
coz the sights of South Africa are too excruciating for her,
all the brothers who fought and died to secure a place for her in our hearts

fought a pointless war coz now in 2011 we are skilled in scorning her,
ridicule her with pictures of mockery, tie her to the backs of our vehicles
and drag her around in dry gravel electrocuting her with poisonous words,
I know how everyday another voice to the songs of freedom dies
And little by little the songs are losing the light to brighten our hearts
So we blow them like we do candles just before engaging in sexual relations.

I know! I know how all I know is that I know nothing at all so I sit here every day,
stare at the sun try to inherit its energy, steal a lil’ sunshine for tomorrow for
the day is cursed only the illuminated will survive,
But the sun is growing lame, tired of rising to a world of poverty, oppression,
mediocrity in class, continued ancient struggles and voices of poets who are not heard.
And who am I in all this chaos?
I’m just a pebble-eyed stuffed animal trying to get to heaven before curfew!

Mutsinda Netshitungulu

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Wasting bullets by Mutsinda Netshitungulu

I go round and get around my head trying to stop the
merry-go-round that has become my dread,
Reindeer packages of the summer nights could not come any later;
When is Jesus’ birthday coming? Maybe I’ll get a smile for a present this year.
Rain . . . Dear that was yesterday, it doesn’t rain on us anymore,
Now I stand on top of a mountain of memories so close to heaven
I can almost lick moonlight to console my dreadful heart.

Lies are deafening, pain is sickening, I know it’s about time I murder the devil
But every time i turn around to shoot at him all I find is his shadow,
So yes, against all rather positive odds I continue to lie to myself just to get by,
Inflicting more pain unto myself with each lie,
It’s amazing how up until this day I still cannot die,
Let me reflect back to the past right after this sigh -
-SIGH-

I remember when you asked me whether I live in the real world
or in the world I create in my own artistic head,
Time being time, against us, I never got to answer you,
In my mind this is what I said though:
The real world is full of unrealistic measures and achievements
that people are yet to achieve, it gives me something to look forward to.
The world in my head is full of unrealistic measures and achievements
that I’ve already achieved, I bask in the comfort of knowing
that I’m perennially ahead of time.
Still I live in neither one of the two worlds, they are just not enough for me,
My world is instantaneous; it’s in the state of the mind,
It sways and changes like an amusement park full of mood swings,
Its culmination point comprises of me flying on angel wings,
Only when you were here my world – my state of mind -
was able to prevail and last as a coalesced of beauty
comparable to the softness of your rosy-red lips.

I know it’s about time I murder the devil for taking you away from me,
Coz now I go through the day wasting emotional bullets
shooting down trees that so much as to stare at me for no reason.
But, at the end of the day I crawl back into my baby-like nature
in which I was born
And pray to God that I may be reborn!

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