Christmas Tradition

It is claimed by the church
A tradition dedicated to promoting Christ's birth,
For generations, it has been so.
So no one dared to inquire about its legitimacy,
Everyone just goes with the flow.

Originally established to bring pagans and Christians into one fold,
All for the control of an empire that would soon collapse,
We still sucking on the Roman Church's vile tities,
Yet we call ourselves Protestants,
Search for the truth instead of saying "there's nothing we can do, it is a tradition"

Ask yourself,
Look at the holy Bible Itself,
Is there any date written for His birth,
Or His death or His resurrection?
None.

Fuck Christmas then,
And fuck the tradition,
Holy Day my foot!

But hey I am just a messenger,
You don't have to agree on anything I just said,
Advice is, watch out,
Beware of being a suckling for yours,
Your only past and future,
Shouldn't we learn good things from our beloved church?
Yes! we ought to but never follow blindly.

{Christmas Tradition by Michael Van Thamson Makade, Courtesy of TT Writings, 10 December 2015}

In Search of Mbuyisa Makhubo

One must find peace in order to move on.
Now peace has become a nightmare
38 years of not knowing where this beautiful soul might have been
Mother died of heartache in 2004, asking God to bring back his son.
I can see the heroic notch in you on the Soweto Uprising photograph,
Monograph I have of you is that you were truly in the struggle.
Hector was in safe hands, I believe you conquered his fears,
What a brave 13 year old.

I do wonder if maybe you no more, where can I find you?
Surely at your gravesite somewhere I will say thank you.
I do wonder if you still thriving, Where are you?
Indeed, I will say you are the living struggle.

I have given myself this quest and I wish and hope to fulfil it.
A treasure like you belongs in legends and archives.
Probably mama Makhubo will also rest in peace
I can imagine those tears of many many years.
Trust me Mr Makhubo I feel the pain circumvent the imaginaries,
Your spirit I must say is reborn inside me.
Your act, compatriotism, comrade hoist keeps me going.
Thank you beautiful soul.

Vakele Genu


{This is going to be published tomorrow, Wed 8, June 2016. There was never a poem that speaks a brotherly love as this one. It also narrates and exposes the discourses of the June 16, 1976 -the untold stories and feelings that we may never know except if it were for writers like Vakele Genu}

The Void

Where there is ...

A man there are troubles

And there is little rest.

Where there is  ...

A woman, there is love 

And hope and continuity.

But they both....

Ma a perfect match (or not always?)

And there is almost something, divine

And some life endures for a time unknown.

Anyway ...

Who can really judge?

After all, the hearts of man are 

Nothing more but mortal.

Can then we trust in all our science

Or afford to hold on such unpredictable unknown?

Cause even the wisest of philosophers,

Cannot utter with certainty the blurry future.

I mean, even if it were possible, I doubt it.

Therefore, do we say there is ...

Hope? Not in any man or woman

Because deep inside them there is just ....

The void.

{The Void, Courtesy of TT Writings, Wednesday 04 May 2016}