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Best Poems Written by Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa

Below are the all-time best Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Rise And Fall

The sky was never the 
limit for those who sook 
to defy the norm. They 
soar to the highest 
heavens like eagles and 
become one with the 
storm. The staffless 
Moses of the black 
parliament never 
beheld gods in nude 
form. We never beheld 
change in the days of 
warriors that might 
make humanity  
transform. Spiritists and 
scientists war amongst 
themselves to try and 
bring about a god of the 
new age. We collided 
with the soul of an 
atheist and met a nude 
man in his rage. 
Parliament became a 
harlot of the nation and 
sold itself to foreigners 
for free. Poetry and 
song became the 
struggle as bullets 
ripped through the 
hearts of Apartheid 
slavery. Sons and 
daughters were 
imprisoned more than 
they were educated. 
Freedom ended when 
Mandela was set free 
than when he got 
incarcerated. Souls 
were purchased for the 
wealth of pimps in 
armored suits. Rapist 
pastors were 
government spies who 
daily anointed 
brainwashed recruits.  
We became the sheeple 
believing we were 
faithful followers of the 
wolf in cow skin. And 
everyday we witnessed 
the rise and fall of our 
blackness than the rise 
of Satan through sin. 
We. ran away from 
victory than chicken 
legs in a pot of gold. 
God wanted to talk to us 
yesterday and we all 
put him on hold. We 
rapidly sold to the idea 
of becoming fables and 
had our stories untold. 
God took our glory like 
a thief in the night of 
our falling and replaced 
it seven fold. Now gays 
legalize marriages and 
priests rape their 
daughters. We've 
allowed our hearts to 
feel more pain than 
lesbians slain in 
Zambian slaughters. 
The world bore arms 
and lost the war before 
they fought us. Our war 
with drugs was the vain 
battle of the new era. 
Black tore itself apart 
like bad partners, and 
thanked the man in the 
mirror. Caught up in 
these shackles trying to 
relieve myself of these 
battles with self. More 
multi-faceted in the soul 
than African culture and 
Indian wealth. Everyday 
in hospitals and prisons, 
my brothers and sisters 
fight for their health. 
The knowledge of 
power and wisdom 
never gave a black man 
his own strength. Never 
saw the change of 
history before it 
metamorphed before 
us. The generals of the 
satanic age had a 
monumental plan to 
slay  us. The Dutch gave 
way to parciality than 
racial agendas through 
color. The poor fight for 
their meals like dogs in 
a cage and die for their 
valor. Media 
misrepresent the 
disenfranchised and 
legalize their deaths. 
The unity of the 
unemployed poor was 
shaken by a Tsunami of 
jealousy. God give us 
this daily bread, 
because we stole it 
through burglary.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014



Details | Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa Poem

The Forgotten Path

As 
it 
was 
that 
in 
my 
pain 
I 
felt 
the 
agony. 
Building 
up 
inside 
me 
like 
a 
Jericho 
wall 
that 
refused 
to 
fall 
was 
my 
misery. 
I 
forgot 
the 
names 
of 
those 
who 
shot 
the 
same 
people 
in 
the 
struggle 
with 
me. 
It 
was 
never 
discussed 
how 
we 
can 
get 
focused 
through 
the 
strain 
of 
the 
chain. 
The 
Abels 
of 
the 
Dutch 
people 
were 
the 
evil 
spirits 
that 
murdered 
a 
Cain. 
In 
unsettled 
homesteads 
in 
the 
wilderness 
of 
pity 
hanging 
filthy 
attire 
on 
trees. 
Our 
women 
danced 
for 
their 
men 
and 
their 
women 
cooled 
our 
faces 
like 
a
morning 
breeze. 
Through 
your 
many 
outcast 
brothers,you 
created 
a 
vessel 
that 
spread 
your 
disease. 
They 
structured 
gay 
constitution 
and 
made 
prostitution 
businesses 
out 
our 
sisters. 
Established 
churches 
to 
tutor 
slaves 
on 
the 
slave 
trade 
and 
rapist 
ministers. 
For 
long 
have 
we 
endured 
the 
pain 
not 
insured 
under 
the 
reign 
of 
terror. 
Blood 
has 
been 
spilled 
and 
my 
fathers 
raped 
and 
killed 
trying 
to 
settle 
the 
error. 
We 
are 
one 
but 
not 
long 
have 
I 
begun 
seeing 
black 
in 
this 
bloody 
mirror. 
Color 
is 
just 
a 
craving 
of 
the 
whitewashed 
masses. 
When 
was 
it 
that 
you 
forced 
Dutch 
vocabulary 
upon 
the 
dark 
skinned 
classes? 
And 
when 
we 
rallied 
in 
the 
streets 
against 
it 
you 
chose 
to 
shoot 
us. 
Now 
your 
christian 
institutions 
are 
trying 
to 
brain-
constitute 
us.
If 
war 
was 
never 
the 
motive 
we 
would've 
saved 
more 
lives. 
Now 
you've 
created 
democracy 
and 
raped 
our 
wives.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa Poem

This Life

This 
life 
is 
Killing 
me, 
I 
hope 
it 
burries 
me 
soon.  
I 
cannot 
surrender, 
like 
a 
weary 
soldier 
in 
a 
platoon. 
Carry 
the 
moon, 
that 
is 
your 
burden 
forever,but 
you'll 
want 
to 
cast 
it 
away 
like 
a 
demon 
very 
soon. 
Troubles 
are 
big, 
like 
the 
giant 
winds 
of 
Southern 
Asia, 
on 
top 
of 
your 
head 
they 
continuously 
monsoon. 
Guns 
blazing, 
echoing 
the 
troubled 
screams 
of 
our 
sisters, 
getting 
destroyed 
by 
South 
Africa's 
loved 
tune. 
Rastafarians 
getting 
restricted 
from 
touching 
ganja 
by 
"Babylon", 
because 
jail 
cells 
might 
be 
prescription. 
And 
need 
I 
mention 
the 
hungry 
suffering 
on 
the 
Freestate 
streets, 
that 
get 
mocked 
daily 
by 
every 
passerby. 
The 
thing 
of 
government 
job 
creation 
is 
a 
yearly 
lullaby. 
Satanism 
fills 
the 
township 
streets 
at 
night 
like 
police 
brutality 
by 
day. 
We 
cannot 
break 
bread 
with 
the 
wealthy 
man 
because 
unemployment 
systems 
program 
our 
minds 
anyway. 
Should 
we 
just 
throw 
in 
the 
towel 
like 
Pontius 
Pilate, 
or 
hang 
ourselves 
like 
Judas 
Iscariot 
when 
we 
see 
the 
chariot 
of 
hunger 
behind 
governmental 
color 
blinds. 
Or 
should 
we 
march 
onwards 
like 
an 
honest 
troop 
of 
Spartans, 
fighting 
for 
our 
conscious 
righteousness? 
Rebelling 
against 
such 
poetic 
mastery 
is 
like 
throwing 
yourself 
off 
the 
balconies 
of 
life 
to 
show 
your 
state 
of 
worthlessness. 
I'm 
just 
mentioning 
this. 
Because 
killing 
yourself 
after 
raping 
your 
little 
daughter 
is 
not 
a 
feeling 
of 
hopelessness. 
Churches 
taught 
you 
how 
to 
fear 
man 
better 
than 
God,but 
never 
taught 
of 
the 
awesome 
powers 
you 
possess. 
Jah 
Bless.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa Poem

Mama Africa

As 
their 
dogs 
barked 
and 
snapped, 
human 
traffickers 
had 
our 
daughters 
kidnapped. 
Brother's 
keepers 
prepared 
their 
guns 
and 
knives, 
and 
had 
their 
brothers 
back 
stabbed. 
Drained 
into 
the 
veins 
of 
our 
bloodlines 
was 
rape. 
Two 
of 
your 
best 
gays 
evangelized 
AIDS, 
now 
it's 
a 
virus 
we 
can't 
escape. 
Life 
drives 
us 
crazier 
than 
mad 
men 
in 
hijacked 
cars. 
We 
knew 
not 
why 
you 
sniffed 
cocaine 
or 
hanged 
like 
Christ's 
body 
on 
the 
cross, 
trying 
to 
heal 
scars. 
You 
molested 
my 
daughters 
and 
killed 
Mama 
Africa. 
No 
matter 
how 
hard 
she 
cried 
for 
mercy, 
you 
couldn't 
stop 
raping 
her. 
Snatched 
her 
babies 
from 
her 
back 
and 
commanded 
her 
to 
bend. 
Pointing 
a 
gun 
at 
her, 
for 
she 
was 
never 
attracted 
to 
the 
weak 
messages 
you 
send.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa Poem

The Streets

The 
Streets 
1.            
These 
are 
the 
streets, 
they 
possess 
many 
souls 
like 
a 
legion 
does 
a 
diableric 
In 
these 
streets, 
you 
either 
get 
molested 
by 
the 
police, 
or 
if 
a 
sister, 
get 
touched 
by 
paramedics 
Where 
trash 
cans 
are 
feeding 
schemes 
for 
the 
local 
hobo 
man  
Where 
drunk 
brothers 
get 
pick 
pocketted 
at 
gay 
night 
clubs 
by 
the 
manager's 
woman 
You 
might 
get 
struck 
by 
voo 
doo, 
so 
cover 
yourself 
with 
the 
pope's 
christianity 
You 
can 
visit 
the 
graveyard 
hospitals 
to 
sniff 
the 
odour 
of 
insanity 
Where 
you 
can 
step 
over 
someone's 
urine 
at 
night, 
and 
wake 
up 
crippled 
in 
the 
morning 
Curse 
someone's 
granny 
if 
you 
wish 
to 
perish 
suddenly 
with 
a 
comfortable 
mourning 
Because 
of 
poverty, 
funeral 
service 
brothers 
steal 
body 
parts
You 
can 
easily 
get 
bewitched 
for 
leaving 
a 
lady 
with 
a 
broken 
heart
Gays 
can 
get 
married 
over 
here, 
like 
a 
normal 
groom 
and 
groom 
kissing 
the 
broom
Thin 
and 
fat 
ladies 
are 
claimed 
to 
be 
the 
ones 
leaving 
all 
the 
putrid 
odour 
in 
the 
room
Ladies 
get 
ambushed 
in 
broad 
daylight-
Where 
guns 
bark 
in 
the 
streets 
every 
time 
there's 
a 
fight-
Why 
we 
got 
to 
let 
fake 
policemen 
rape 
our 
sisters 
I 
don't 
know-
But 
to 
the 
helping 
hand 
of 
slave 
driving 
governance 
we 
got 
to 
go-
Street 
kids 
bathe 
on 
watery 
stone 
to 
appear 
appeasing 
to 
the 
masses-
The 
streets 
are 
very 
judgmental,blinding 
our 
visions 
like 
zombie 
classes-
Those 
with 
HIV/
AIDS 
are 
a 
stigma 
only 
to 
the 
rapist 
minded 
pervert-
You 
might 
get 
beaten 
any 
time 
for 
not 
being 
a 
drunk 
convert-
Many 
here 
lived 
and 
also 
died-
And 
now 
with 
their 
decaying 
bodies,the 
earth 
is 
satisfied.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa Poem

Powers That Be

To the powers that be. 
I've allowed you to view 
my weakness like an 
opportunity. Give school 
children fatherless 
babies, and preach their 
nudity to the 
congregation. Pagan 
prostitute purchasing 
pastor preaches to a 
godless nation. Commit 
adultery upon the body 
of Christ and a ct 
sinless. Thou shalt not 
eat of the fruit of good 
knowledge, lest thou be 
skinless. Take a wrong 
turn like Brenda and get 
hit by a bullet train. Of 
alcohol abuse, drug 
addiction, and mental 
strain. We don't live 
under the same sun. 
When you were 
wealthy, my poverty 
had already begun. You 
got to university, I died 
from hunger in Somalia. 
Because of my skin, I've 
become victim to 
sickness, AIDS and 
malaria. My protests 
end in bloodshed 
because of gunshots. If 
we hungered not to 
perish, we'd do nothing 
to fill those empty pots. 
String my wings with 
the chords of your 
swollen affection. Allow 
your Jacobs to rule the 
nation, they're the 
masters of perfection. 
Your nation of rapist 
gay men has narrowed 
the country's vision. You 
sodomize my sisters in 
your office,under cop 
supervision. You molest 
my brothers and torture 
a nation. Kill my spirit 
entirely, and resurrect 
an evil nation.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa Poem

Down Pressor

I 
hate 
the 
oppression 
you 
so 
heavily 
bear 
upon 
my 
mind. 
Made 
carry 
heavy 
loads 
like 
a 
donkey, 
messed 
up 
my 
views 
like 
the 
sight 
of 
the 
blind. 
I 
know 
no 
more 
what 
I 
knew 
before. 
You 
came 
to 
South 
Africa 
with 
your 
Boere-
war. 
Chewed 
down 
the 
thinnest 
breadlines, 
and 
saw 
the 
many 
lives 
you've 
torn. 
Raped 
my 
sisters 
and 
birthed 
pink 
babies, 
the 
original 
black 
man's 
spawn. 
Your 
craftsmen 
were 
learned 
in 
bashing 
our 
heads 
against 
the 
wall. 
Then 
you 
lie 
to 
the 
world 
about 
Adam 
and 
The 
Fall. 
As 
you 
preached 
God, 
you 
killed 
thousands 
with 
your 
guns. 
Catholic 
popes 
were 
pedophile 
gays 
who 
married 
lesbian 
nuns. 
Your 
husbands 
killed 
our 
brothers 
and 
raped 
their 
daughters, 
or 
pimped 
their 
mothers 
as 
slavery 
bought 
their 
sons. 
Encouraged 
abortion 
amongst 
blacks, 
so 
you 
can 
over-
populate 
the 
country. 
You 
hunger 
me 
like 
Somalia, 
and 
your 
pocket 
money 
never 
fed 
me. 
Took 
my 
cattle 
and 
fields 
and 
turned 
them 
into 
slave 
labour. 
Thanks 
to 
you 
we 
now 
know 
what 
it 
means 
to 
hate 
your 
neighbor. 
Called 
our 
faiths 
pagan 
and 
took 
away 
our 
herbs. 
Made 
witches 
out 
our 
doctors 
of 
the 
spirit. 
turned 
experience 
into 
science, 
and 
bestowed 
it 
upon 
dark 
artists 
with 
merit. 
We 
now 
have 
become 
street 
kids, 
because 
we 
can't 
make 
another 
riot. 
This 
is 
my 
free 
speech 
like 
radio 
broadcasts, 
try 
hard 
to 
keep 
me 
quiet.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014



Details | Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa Poem

That Life

The 
strong 
and 
the 
hopeless 
are 
screaming. 
Getting 
strewn 
out 
by 
harassment 
by 
the 
season. 
I 
hate 
cops 
and 
the 
new 
president 
because 
of 
solid 
reason. 
Legalized 
prostitution's 
got 
prostitutes 
raped 
by 
the 
cops. 
Gays 
molest 
these 
little 
dudes 
in 
taverns 
every 
night, 
they 
never 
stop. 
Imagine 
getting 
hit 
by 
'muti' 
lightning 
as 
you 
try 
reaching 
the 
top. 
A 
sandal-
weary 
life 
we 
live 
in 
pride 
because 
we 
like 
the 
complement 
of 
flops. 
You 
want 
to 
Jub-
Jub 
your 
Mini-
Coopers 
in 
our 
kasies, 
killing 
our 
kids. 
Or 
Metro 
police 
our 
teenagers 
in 
African 
influence 
to 
sell 
sex 
vids. 
We're 
not 
even 
passive 
to 
the 
trauma 
that 
your 
life 
can 
bring. 
Let's 
strangle 
out 
a 
note 
from 
the 
fat 
lady 
and 
make 
the 
thin 
woman 
sing. 
You 
need 
to 
try 
trampling 
me 
down 
because 
you 
know 
that 
God 
has 
made 
me 
king. 
If 
you 
mess 
with 
me, 
I'll 
appoint 
a 
thousand 
gays 
who'll 
clap 
you 
till 
you're 
dead. 
I 
don't 
need 
to 
be 
a 
Raggamuffin 
Rastafarian 
to 
know 
that 
these 
words 
are 
giving 
you 
dread. 
Pope, 
lif 
up 
uunu 
hands 
fi 
stop 
abuse, 
nuh 
lif 
dem 
up 
fi 
touch 
likkle 
pickney. 
You 
die 
from 
AIDS 
and 
all 
of 
a 
sudden,muti 
is 
made 
out 
of 
your 
kidney.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa Poem

Rebellious African Child

When 
all 
of 
them 
were 
holding 
guns. 
We 
held 
knobkieries 
and 
stabbed 
their 
sons. 
We 
sang 
songs 
of 
war, 
they 
shot 
bullets, 
we 
slew 
their 
nuns. 
They 
killed 
our 
Azania 
and 
told 
us 
to 
belly 
dance. 
We 
rebelled 
against 
race, 
for 
that 
was 
of 
potent 
relevance. 
They 
wore 
the 
'Madiba' 
attire 
and 
we 
stabbed 
him 
through 
their 
skin. 
Though 
they 
shot 
bullets 
as 
we 
stabbed 
the 
whites, 
no 
race 
was 
willing 
to 
win. 
Eugene 
was 
not 
willing 
to 
give 
up 
his 
swollen 
arms. 
The 
new 
South 
Africa 
was 
birthed 
by 
bloody 
streets, 
massacres 
of 
blacks, 
and 
pimpernel 
scums. 
We 
reunited 
black 
through 
song, 
by 
the 
tight 
skin 
of 
African 
drums. 
The 
streets 
are 
now 
ablaze 
like 
Moses' 
bush, 
sinking 
in 
a 
sea 
of 
civil 
war. 
Our 
lives 
of 
slavery 
were 
tormented 
more, 
than 
the 
soul 
of 
a 
rapist 
prisoner 
behind 
bars. 
You 
torched 
our 
flesh 
in 
burning 
tire 
like 
witches, 
and 
then 
tried 
to 
heal 
our 
scars. 
Our 
lives 
are 
now 
turned 
fable, 
like 
ancient 
relics 
untold. 
Because 
like 
actors 
everyday 
we 
watch 
the 
drama 
of 
our 
ancient 
miseries 
unfold.

Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014