Dreadful spiced Awful

Let this be the darkest hour before down
When you let my poetry to rain to dry deserts
Of humanity, to replace the fundamental ethic morals;
When the Africa conspire to conceive,
When the Africa comment to communicate,
When the Africa is confused to confident,
When Africa conquerors stop congress,
When communication is disconnected
Send me lord to contain the entire incubus
Acts, to the container of peace and stability.

I will never miss the water before the well Runs dry,
lord I will be the poet in the battle field,
When the Africa's wounds of confusion are grumbling
In the struggle screaming for help,
Help me not to betray the fight before the fight betray me,
The Africa is walking with a salt sour in a rain storm,
Forty me with the words of legends, word of ancestors,
Words of prophets to save the confused world.

poem by Phinda Mkhonta
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Poetry in me

There is poetry in me as a nail hammered in a wood,
My wheel of poetry keeps on willing to rhyme in the hood,
To me poetry has became precious, sacred and cool,
Poetry must be the general talk and walk in every neighborhood,
To me poetry is the way of life; I connect through poetry,
I speak poetry for a reason in any season in any occasion,
For people to take decisions in their missions to make their
Visions spray in between the frame to make dreams vividly.
My poetry is a gasping wind beating blowing in human desires.
I blow away the spirit of self-pity to self-esteem.
When thrown to the crowd I blow with poetry to make hard stone attitude
To calm anger, tempestuous storm to be calmed and soul dry rivers to flow,
The massager in me never favor denial but emotion expression,
This passion in me is a seed for generations to come up to existence.

poem by Phinda Mkhonta
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A-z- Unborn heroes of Africa

To you unborn heroes of Africa
May your eyes filtrate things drawn to them?
May your lips pass effective flames of creative juices?
Juices to conquer the continent of Africa,
May your heart be a riverbank of love for loving?
To keep love to the atmosphere of Africa,
May your mind be a Dark Ocean leaping wide?
Welling and swelling to bear the tides.
To you unborn heroes of Africa, moving
Or pausing, it is our dynamic dream,
May this dream be an unbroken chain
Of ancestors who ever lived to join
All future generation;
A dignity to satisfy our dreams,
A solemn tone to raise our ego to be still,
A sorrow to fortify our heart braveness
Beauty and vividly vision of truth is
Dedicated to you unborn sons of Africa,
Leave behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that is wondrously clear

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poem by Phinda Mkhonta
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Justice unjust

Africa why so much crying?
Africa why so many people dying?
Justice in Africa has prevailed over traitors
While gloomed and doomed with conspirators,
These are the fundamental African ethic morality
We ought to face, as lions in the caves of our ancestors

Africa why so much crying?
Africa why so many people dying?
Tears flowing in our noble land as river Nile;
I witness widows cracked cheeks by tears all mile
This has tore our hearts and cultures to be blamed,
Africa why many castration set in action,
Our brothers fighting while sisters have a bad profile
Moreover, prompt to fatality in the wagons of prostitution.


Africa why so much crying?
Africa why so much people dying?
Where has all the love vanished?

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poem by Phinda Mkhonta
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Africa Rise!

Africa your kindness and loyalty should cover us,
Our enemies are alive and healthy,
We are bent and bowed down through the will of our sadness,
They have made us walk bowed in sadness,
Most of our lives we have wear black clothes as a sign of sadness,

Africa they should fall in their own traps,
Let them grumble in their own nets like fishes,
Let them bury themselves in their own pits,
Let them be embarrassed to speak their known lies,
But rise Africa.

As you do this, do not think you are doing us favour,
For you betrayed our ancestors,
You gave us away like sheep in the market place,
You took away all our talented blood to work in your fields,
You let our enemies push us back while you were watching,
You let them laugh at us but I will not say a thing,
You have allowed them barn our music, languages and attires,
But rise Africa.

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poem by Phinda Mkhonta
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Death Angel in my eyes

In this hat of the ancestors sacrifice,
In this hurt of the spirit of my conscience,
I go because I must leave to feast with the legends,
I am leaving the shining African valleys, agents
I must leave, do not lament, you will rune my journey,
May I put down my soul’s tools?

I am famous in keens and tours of the African land,
Near and far they breathe my prominence,
I was acknowledged by all; traditional herbalist, scientist,
Clowns, technicians, artists, rascals, workers
Lazybones of noble African land but out of the rest;
I need no company from any of them,
May I put down my soul’s tools?

This journey is my specific unaccompanied,
Thought were made; the good and the bad,
The were many wishes and dream to life,
My ambition were still burning to bust achievement
Target were made, jobs already started, the were

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poem by Phinda Mkhonta
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