Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
Unsang song
To the body that buried crying souls turbulence is emotional
Womb for a wormhole life is optional,
One night stand for stars die quicker than supernovae and wrapped in
Mummifying sheets .thighs for dear dairy to hold record of men who came for visit.
The same thighs measure a how deep is the cut to the fetus should be.
No tiny hands or feet for lullaby songs.
back door clinics welcome unwanted life for the cost of living give life no meaning.
pillow talks to seek a place under the skin where lust resides,
for what reason should a latex determine the fate of responsibility?
rough talks heat of pleasure where demons dance for the sad tune of reality.
palms rough like surfaces of hard rocks,
tin men walking around with empty chests,
when prides are sold over the counter for a one night stand.
Friday afternoons are used for slaughter,
on the fourth termination, count increases every fortnight,
body heavy with smell of death around the waist like a waste site.
who smells the coffee when waters keep breaking for pleasure?
by:TSHEDISO SEROKI
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
Ebola childreN
Sons and daughters of dead bodies
orphans to fading villages,
victims of hunger and malnutrition.
your skin peeling of your bones
limbs keep treading on soil filled dead glories
children of empty promises where graves await your deforming spirit.
children of ebola,sons and daughters of designed suffering
totems of early parenting,
culprits of stolen foods,victims of child trafficking.
servants of deaf GOD,a body a day keep death count on the rise
who dies next?
children of secluded places,bearers of broken faces
souls as tired like the world has shattered on their fragile shoulders,
children soldiers.
carrying more bullet shells than buckets of clean water.
children of child prostitution,
sons and daughters of dead constitution.
children of open graves,
whose time is limited to chase their dreams six feet,
these dusty foot philosophers know that this land
has nothing for them but painful price.
sons and daughters of agape wounds,
who address these kids when no one is looking?
buzzing flies scavenge on skin filled with debri and broken DNA,
children of nomads in pursuit of happiness.
victims of portruding bellies and marasmus.
your mourning is silence by bags of rice
your tears comforted by sceptical eyes,
who dares to step on grounds filled with death
if not for a price?
this poem can not offer serenity to a mourning orphan
nor give food to the starving stomach,
how many graves have been dug to bury parents when children
are left as head of families?
this poem is not to spill elergies and tragedies
when African child bleeds,no one sends bandages
but only media coverage.
by:TSHEDISO SEROKI
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
THE WOMAN IN ME
she sometimes wears stilletos
but she comes from the ghettos,
she has a fine taste in music
she hates music of broken hearts
and crying children.
she loves gardens and the smell of freshly roses
she is a hopeless romantic,
yet she does not love romance but fun.
she wears turban for thoughts as she wraps her mind
with wisdom.
she wears her nails ,as tough as wrinkles
she keeps claws so she scratch her way out of abusive relationship.
she knows disco lights but she keeps her body
indoors for police lights come in sirens to have her body
to dance for music of insults or pay with her thighs.
she wears make ups sometimes,
she hates to see black eyes on her and fake smile.
she is curious,men call her medusa
as she leaves them as stones-tombstones.
she is an emotional wreck,she throw tantrums like mood swings
she gave birth to tornadoes when she lost her wings.
she wears lip stick but she can swallow a man
without her mouth,
no man wants a woman with a mouth.
by:TSHEDISO SEROKI
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
letter to Iraq
beneath your skin lies terror,
your sons and daughters die young
i have seen their limbs tread on bombs ,
play grounds for dead bodies.
death comes by night to orphan children by morning.
for what purpose does life serve when mothers bury their young?
school classrooms for refuge camps,
streets that were once rivers has turned to blood baths
where children miss their mosque prayers to pick their fathers dead bodies.
your air heavy like your lungs are shackled by tears
hunger pangs for bomb blasts,
another house demolished like a broken heart,
i have seen how media bandages wrap your wounds
without knowing timeless sepsis,
your lips keep uttering silent prayers
for knees have been crushed to the grounds,
your cracks are seen on the silence of your wounded soul.
from a humanitarian.
allah-ukhba
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
I Found myself Speaking to my Shadow like Vagina monologues, nothing Constructive Came just Her Name.
Superstar of The Ghettos whose Number Is Called By every corner Where Guys Discuss their next Victim.
My Heart For A playground
My Heartbeats for Fading Sound.
There Were Times I could Feel her Under My Stomach like Butterflies now She is The Puke I want to take Out of My System.
She was my Sky but When night Falls My Scars were in form of Stars,She became the Wormhole that Sucked every emotions in my Soul.
My Spiritual band played tunes out of human mind,
With my walking stick I was looking For Love only to Be Blinded by words like I love You.
She Strum my Ribs for A Broken piece I kept Looking For.in My Lost Tune,
Pain became frequency frequently reminding me Her Waves were always on the Hi me On low Self-esteem to match Our Broken String.
She slipped under my Skin like night Creeping Under the Sunrays.
I Caught Feelings Like Trees catching Their sapple Fruits,
She Broke me from top to my roots......
By: Tshediso Seroki
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
FAMILY PORTRAIT
My teacher once told us to draw a family portrait,
i was 8 and drawing was never my stronghold,
but it was my teacher i had to do as i was told.
this drawing was not going to be straight.
well in my household there are three colors i know
its black,red and white.
my mother was more painted with bruises on her her face-BLACK
Her nose bled over weekends for my father was an artist.
sometimes my mother would be crossing her hands across her
face like x marked the spot where the next blow will land.
i did nothing but to cry tears silently for i was afraid of my father.
A FAMILY PORTRAIT, a memory of how arguments lingered on our dining
room like chandelier,as for a picture of my family together i wanted to improvise other colors,but black was more concentrated on my mother's left eye,
red was more on her broken heart.i was the precipitate of white of my mother's
wedding dress.
the more i wanted to draw the picture of US happy family the sadder i got.
on my picture my mother stood on the left
for my father said she can not do anything right,
and on my right,it was my father with a face of worn out gladiators
as in him there was nothing left
but anger.
on my left my mother was dressed with yellow dress
covering the remains of her pride,a sad face to go with the dress.
her smile was like a worm hole swallowing everything around her even me.
she stands waiting for another blow so she can swallow her ego and cry in silence.
my father was more of a drummer he would beat my mother bleed
through my tears,i was the discord of the music my mother would make
every time my father would strum her.
he was the black shadow that take the white of my light
and leave it red on my mothers face.
my mothers shoulder broad enough to carry my father's
remains while her spine collapsing from waiting for grace.
how do you preach confidence to a child with a broken heart?
on the right,my father dressed in shredded pride he wears black trousers
he was like a stone dressed in flesh with skin
more like a mosaic of misinterpreted feelings,
he was standing there like a boxer in a ring to seal the fate of my
mother.he right hand held on tight to bottle of vodka.
i was that bottle of vodka every time he break her into pieces.
me on the other other hand saw silver linings.
when too elephants fight grass gets injured.
i became the bridge between two broken pillars
my chest was an alter of sacrifice,
i was the painting my parents drew in black and red.
by:TSHEDISO
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
Yesterday I Remembered how, I wanted to write you a lover Letter On Bouquet of Roses,But My Fear Keeps Jumping Out Of My Stomach In Search For The Right Words.Like What Are Your Greatest fears?
Mine,To Squash my Throat Trying to Swallow My Pride For You To See My Nakedness.
I am aware Of Things Like Unspoken Depression That My Mother told Me About like Son Try To Fit In,And My answer Would Be How do I fit In when I'm the missing Space. WELL when I saw your Face That Gap was Filled by your Beautiful smile.
My Young Boy In Me started Jumping For Joy In The Garden I built For I Have Met Even to Make Me Whole Again.
Reality Struck Me Heard On My Face Like Earthquake Moving The Grounds,Your Beauty measures 7 on A richter scale,which Man wouldn't Be shaken By That.
So In the Pamper of Night The Rainbow That I picked On My Imagination was made Out Of your Skin Tone And Of course Your Eyes The Best Thing That Replaced Stars.
So If In You I see A mirror, then Your Soul Knows How To Make A Mosaic of Beauty, So Everytime I say You are Beautiful I mean,
Your Warmth Touches me on the Darkest and coldest Places I Know.
Oh Darling, For I know This Poem May mean Less to You but More To me,
Even If I can be Blackberries in The Palms Of A cave Man.
As long as You Squeeze me With Your Hugs,
Don't Chew and Spit Me out,
Eat Me As Sweet And keep my Skin Inside You.
Even if I want To Crawl out Of Your Heart, Keep me In Like Breath. Heartbeats can Stop in A brink Of shock.
Just Keep Me In.
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
JIHAD
daughter of slaughter reason for my laughter,
the cornerstone of my happy ever after.
daughter of slaughter hope for the better.
my chest was once kingdom of scars,
ribs were battlefield for emotional wars.
you wrapped me around your skin as if you waited to detonate
i exploded from within the fire in me told me this is fate,
my palms searched for your flesh every time pain grew
having butterflies in my belly is something new.
your body movements for blowing winds
Orion's belt to figure you when my mind spins,
things like walk in park are a dream come through
with wounds from my past this feeling is something true.
daughter of slaughter,i am a dust of a man
emotions spring out of my body like dreams of a pen.
the frequencies around your smile still make me wave with hi and lows
your hellos made me see your four halos.
if love comes in form of broken skeleton
daughter of slaughter you are the frame that keeps me whole
by:Tshediso Seroki
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Tshediso Louw Poem
HE
he ripped out his flesh for her to come to life
she wears his scars,
he knows his wounds through her body language
she scratched her back on the walls of his soul for safe passage.
he is down on his knees prayer a distant lands and stars,
his chest a temple of temper,her face a body of sacrifice.
he is broken man,his rage mimic the flow of volcano
her skin a snowflake,she keeps melting to her curses
he defied her marital verses,
her heart ripped out fatally like KANO.
MORTAL combat,he wipes dark floors with her ego
she keeps her silence hoping it will get better.
He comes with a smell of brewery,
to her the stench brings tragedy.
his son ,on the corner learning beatings by night
to practice by day,
always caught up starting a fight
for he thinks its the only way.
he keeps walking on her like like stairways up to lift his ego,
she covers her shame with make up,she does not know how
to let go,
he is a man and a man is broken.
by:TSHEDISO SEROKI
Copyright © Tshediso Louw | Year Posted 2016
|