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38 YEARS AN EXILE: XV
HOME AT LAST! Part 15
RACIST SCUMBAGS – WHITE SOUTH AFRICAN RACISTS ONLY THEMSELVES TO THANK
My 27 year old exile-born nephew doesn’t know, doesn’t care shit about apartheid. What he knows and cares all shit about is that he is a raw South African to the bone, and this South Africa is his land through and through. If it says anybody anything, he is a proud son of a proud Sotho–Zulu man who in his life did take a bullet or two as an active MK veteran fighting for the freedom of our land in our time. In 2076, my nephew will be 89 years old. To his great-grandchildren and their progeny, apartheid will be but a fragment of history you go into GugulazaTI+ (TrillionInfinityPlus, as Google South Africa will be called then) to find out what it was … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book and five others on Amazon).
February 06, 2015
38 YEARS AN EXILE: XII
HOME AT LAST! Part 12 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD? MY FOOT!
SPECIAL NOTE: Link takes us to an article written by a frustrated young lady in Oslo, Norway, who feels she has no place to call home anywhere. Although my writing below may sound harsh, it is not personal. I am writing on the subject in general terms at her inspiration, from my, of course, highly subjective point of view. Believe me, I feel her pain, anger, and sorrow. I am a citizen of the world is another one of those idealistic statements of which poetry and literature are inspired. I am a citizen of the world as an emotional statement reeks of arrogance, ignorance, naiveté, self-centredness, patronization, and imperialistic tendencies. You don’t go calling yourself citizen of the world simply because you don’t feel at home in your country of birth, and/ or your host country if you are an exile in the Diaspora. It’s not up to you to declare yourself a world citizen, as if the world owes you any favours, to begin with …(Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book on Amazon’s CreateSpace here).
December 15, 2014
SOUTH AFRICA: LAND OF THE FREE, HOME OF THE BRAVE
THIS FREEDOM IS MINE TOO
Just had a Lafayette, SanFransisco, feeling this midnight hour: Not a soul on the streets; not even the midnight Black Cat of Suburbia. Only an accasional car this and that way. No police, no private security patrol vehicle on sight. But they are there. Press Panic Button, and they will appear as if from nowhere, in no time. Things money can buy in opulent society.
Strutting up and down, with two buckets as I chose to manually water my street side garden flowers and trees, I can’t help anticipating that from the shadows yonder, someone can throw a projectile at me anytime. If this is my night, they might even shoot, KABOOM!!! Goodbye, Ngamla. Welcome to Mzansi fo sho, land of the living dead.
But then again, I wonder, how free can I feel, and be free and if I go round paranoid of getting killed in my free land? In my world, freedom as a living sentiment in the whole of my being means that I will, and shall, defy death, as well as uncalled for death threats from societal deviants. Freedom is courage to choose to live, and victor over enemies of liberty for the free, the peaceful and peace loving, as well as the progressive. I did not fight for the freedom of my land for it to be enjoyed by criminals and gangsters alone, giving them the prerogative to decide when and how I shall die. Neither can they decide for me how I shall live, enjoy, and manifest uttributes of the freedom of my land. So, I shall water my garden in peace, anyhow, anytime I want to. When done, as I did this midnight in front of a recently planted flower, I shall perform my Tai Chi form powerfully with grace, in praise of Freedom, in profound thoughts of all fallen freedom fighting heroes for generations the world over. There are still beautiful things about South Africa. These are what I’ll take with me to Exile II.
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November 17, 2014
38 YEARS AN EXILE: VIII
HOME AT LAST! Part 8
POLITICS OF MURDER: APARTHEID, GANGSTERS, AND DEATH STORY
Necropower regimes take rule by fear to the goriest level. You are not their friend, threatening their status quo, they catch you, they torture you; information obtained or not, they kill you. On a good day they may kill you first, then ask questions later. If you are their friends, in the inner or the outer circles, same difference, you trust nobody, nobody trusts you. All go with tight golden turtlenecks of death waiting to squeeze, burn, or blow up at the slightest sign of disloyalty. Staying alive is a loyalty reward enjoyed one day at a time. Rock the boat once, and a day can instantaneously be extremely long, the world can all of a sudden seem very, very small, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, smell of death real, and omnipresent, like God … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book on Amazon’s CreateSpace here).
November 03, 2014
NO FORGIVENESS, NO MERCY
I can’t forgive. I never forgive. I don’t forgive. If and when I’m maliciously offended and/ or harmed in any way, I cry, I pray, I meditate, I think.
If I conclude that I have been by intention and purpose, for any reason treated unfairly and unjustly as a way to thwart my efforts, ambitions, and opportunities at attaining any of my goals, there is no way I can ever forgive. Forgetting is out of the question. I am not vindictive. But when revenge hits back, it’s ever so sweet.
In the absence of apology, repentance, humility, and, in extreme cases, penance, on the part of the offender, I can never forgive, I can never reconcile. In the name of progress, because the world will never stop for us, peace may prevail. But unsolicited forgiveness I can never extend, or offer, overtly or otherwise.
I believe in God. I am God. Even God does not distribute forgiveness for free like it’s some Father Christmas goody for children. God gives only upon request, no matter how genuine or false the request is. Just ask, God (for-) gives. That’s what prayers are for … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It”. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)
December 31, 2013
TO ALL DICTATORS OF THE WORLD
I have crossed
The threshold of fear
My head is cold
So is my heart
No pain no more
On my Freedom march
I do see ahead
Your weapons of mass destruction
I am treading on
The carnage you’ve already caused
My eyes see only one thing beyond you
Beneath the corpses of my slain compatriots
I notice the inferno around me
Yet I walk through the fire like Jesus walked on water
I am on a Freedom-yearning high
I am in a Cry Freedom trance
Shoot me down
I won’t feel a thing
You just disappear
Leave me my Freedom
I want it now
I have blood to drain off the land
I have bodies to bury
Their resting places life-long symbols
Freedom does not come cheap!
Someone has to die for Freedom
Someone shall die for Freedom
Before you kill me on my Freedom march
I’m not alone
And, so you know,
The craving for Freedom is universal
My blood will spill to inspire
Other Freedom marchers all across the world
When I breathe my last
Another will inhale my soul
And my spirit shall live on
Much as the souls of my slain compatriots here
Take me higher
I am in a deeper Cry Freedom trance
That’s how we roll
You can’t stop us now
© Simon Chilembo, 26-30/ 03-2011
Defiance at home, FREE State Province (MHSRIP) – WARNING! Imagery may be too strong for some.