The Magic Window
The birds are skinny rats
The oceans and skies are filthy cats
Through this magic window
All things fall to the wings of this blue shadow
The lightning and the bright sun are sweet waters
The buildings on the streets are four alters
In this magic window
There is not a pore where reality can pour
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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They Are All Gone
they were all here, and they were my only brothers
although they are all gone, they will forever dwell in my memory
in the presence and in the absence of all the others
they wrote into hearts a message, compiling the pages of their short lives and stories
To my late beloved brothers, your memory lives on
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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In my travels
To this day of brilliant bright lights, I reminisce of all the memories made in my travels warm and cold
I have never written these words scattered across the landscapes of my free hand of sweet verse and prose
In my travels I have paved ways to my future thoughts amiable, like the splendor melody from a sweet old rose
I have seen the future through the power of my free imagination, and a glimpse of my eternity in great fold
Sometimes I sit and wonder if one day I will become a person I dream of in my designs and in my own marvels
My reality born through this very cold experience and the warm future I see, in the shadows of my travels
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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Blackstars of beautiful twilight
Winding all the black thoughts of the golden children upon the lost divinity
Enriching the black history of warm words and the soulful sounds of silent dignity
Lining all the black rimes to the history walls painted by the cold face of humanity
Igniting the black sparks of the twisted science of reality upon these cold swords of invalidity
Looking towards the bright future of the black poetry, we proudly declare the shine of cold thought mortality
Enhancing the forever shine of all Blackstrars, brings about my finding of true serenity
Blackstrars of beautiful twilight shine upon my forever...spark the joy and pride upon my black mind
Blackstrars of beautiful twilight shine upon the land of my black history and dreams, be the vision and true joy of my black kind.
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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From My Perspective
From my perspective
I believe that Tupac Shakur was a victim of racism
So as Nelson Mandela, who fought through courage towards the bright light
Tupac was not just a rapper who stood up for young Black males
But an icon to me, a prophet and a voice of Malcolm X, Martin Luther King
And all the unmentioned prophets
There are many examples of such prophets, the other one Is Biko
He is the hero of me, although we still fight the battle within the minds black
Away from the now foreseen ‘Tribal racism’
I remember the time they released Mandela from jail
I was eight years old,
That was a good day for me.
I also remember the time they assassinated Chris Hani
It was just after my birthday, April the 9th
That was a sad day for me
Although all the true stories are never told
My perceptive forever hold
Your perspectives forever hold
After all, this is Africa the truth here is served dead and cold
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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The Black Victory
The true joy is the measure of self-justice planted in the essence of black beauty; we are the black
soul of mind serenity, we come a long way we cannot fail!
Not at this time bounded by dimensions of poverty and inequality, no! Not within a thousand years
We have survived the storms of cold mentality; our hearts are forever thankful and for an eternity will sing all hail!
Sing for the redemption of all; lost years, the seed of black thought and the time spent in the valley of tears
Upon this day we have carried the burden of our struggle, the sorrow within our tears is our testimony
We have conquered our fears, and the valley of tears painted by the seed of white age and thought
The progress can never be stopped by any measure, nor by law or by white the discrimination living in black Irony!
We shall win as we were meant to win, the black victory, we are the immortal battle that the white masters never fought!
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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A Night At The Roman Gates
The third and the last fourth quarters, made no sound at all
The first and the fourth parts built up a sound upon an old wall
There were scaffolds of gold, traces of all riches beside the fallen towers
It’s the first night at the Roman gates: the last finders are counting the lost hours
The night swift as broken spears, the beats gather into one symphony of delight
Now God watches all this closely in silence and repose
With the Jews and Gentiles sharing a common space upon the history close
Silence prevails in cold shatter: the mood is lost through the art of these ciphers
The senators walk around in silence, building up tumults of joy to all the lifers
It’s a night at the Roman gates: the moon await in splendor and in vivified sight
History walks around tombs of ancient queens, paving words on golden wings
Still memory sweeps this silent night, and places owned before by ROMAN Kings
02-03 March 2008, a first to the collection: 'History Unbound'
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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Chemistry 101
When I see your smile, my atoms ionise
Be my whole spiritual being, be my blessing in disguise
Be my 1s electron, my precious element and I’ll love you more
In good times & in bad, like the times of our father Niels Bohr
Take me to your most secret and serene places
Where the two of us will enjoy, the glance of all possible phases
Steal all my elements, and only leave for me the Carbon
For you are my one and original icon
Violate my thoughts inside, and mostly the inside chemistry
Or fill my empty orbitals with your love and mostly the void within my poetic mystery
Many tears I’ve cried, thoughts I’ve wondered and words scattered
Console me with your crystal symphonic voice, unified as the precious molecules cluttered
Be the back bone of my chemistry divine, and mostly my mentor and true friend
So that like chainless units, our love will flourish like polymer ends
Within these thousand years, come into my life and solely dwell
Like the chemistry of my gentle age, be the magic of me with no spell
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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On The Origins of the Money, the Market and Slaves
Four boarders, languages, clans of colour and an old age of metals
Bare landscapes, rare travels, ancestry, raw sleeves and petals
The natives: The slaves, then the market and the money
The inventions, alchemy, the art a sweet harmony!
The first laws of exchange, ideas of tax and early ideas of wealth
Ideas of centralism, greed and making more money out of death
The role of the slaves, to plough the yards and farms and make more cents
To build the market, to build the market until it made more sense!
To let the whole world know, that for thousands of years evil shall reign
The origins of the market and money, the pure effort of slaves without any gain
The slaves were brought from slavery by blood, sweat and tears
Was that not in vain if slavery now has changed form
From working muscles for a thousand years
To brains not working but greed fills the hearts of the wounded
Will more greed heal the wounds of evil irreversible?
The laws of exchange revisited
Wealth not in monetary terms
Wonder if by loosing we did not gain
Lessons learnt from bloodshed
[...] Read more
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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