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ATLAS-TO-CAPE EXODUS
RAINBOW BROADBAND
Traitor Mandela
Chillax
Twenty-seven years in prison
Apartheid venom
Fails to corrode his bones
Iapartheid aithethi isiXhosa
Aiyazi ukuthi
Aigobeki le ntsimbi
Robben Island
Made the man
On the one hand
Broke the man’ soul
On the other
Threw his boxing gloves
To the sea lions
Chillax ashore
Gather no weeds
Hammer away rocks
Abound on the island
Protective gear
A remote idea
Rock chips and dust
Mess your eyes up
You can’t cry freedom
You can’t see
When you couldn’t care
About
Carving freedom out of stone
Rock chips and dust
Clog your nostrils up
You can’t smell
Misery of the people
In the air
In as much as
Post-Mandela’s death
People can’t smell Corona
That way it can’t be real
And the people continue
To die like flies
In as much as
Mandela’s
Liberation of
The people of
Mzansi is fake
Fo sho
This is the land
Mandela sold away to
White man’s burden
Legacy perpetrators
They call them
White Monopoly Capital buffoons
To whom
Gupta brothers
Came’n added
Colour’n spice
’n pocketed
Mandela’ sellout inheritors
Dazed in agarbatti smoke clouds
When you thought
Weed was bad
Eroding
Mzansi land
Left, right and centre
Fo sho
With their cupidity machines
Thinking that
Gravy train
Conspicuous consumption symbols
Ferrari and Maserati
Exhaust polenta to
The people of Mzansi for sho
Meanwhile
Maybach leverages mortuaries
Competing for corpses
Around Mzansi fo sho
Some corpses dappered in
Johann Rupert’s
Jewellery empire vanity chains
Stones upon which studded
Wouldn’t feed even
Insects and worms
As is the nature of stones
Who knows that better than
Northern deserts’ pyramids
Perhaps
We should all head south
Go detox
White man’s burden faeces
On Robben Island
For the illusive redemption of
Africa burning
In self-perpetuatory
White man’s burden
Transgenerational trauma
Self-annihilatory black curse
Some look up to
The Pyramids of Egypt
Findings in
The bowels of which
Only confirm
Our once upon a time grandeur
That’s all
Non-revolutionary
Static pride
In ancient times
Disconnected
With realities of our times
Just keeps us sinking
Beneath our rivers
In the age of
Global warming
Of not Mandela’s doing
The Nile shall
Swallow the pyramids
One of these days
What you gon’ do
When the pyramids’re gone
The Congo shall
Flood the belly of Africa
Someday
Who’ll be left to say anything
Whoever’ll be looking
To find Lumumba’s bones floating around
Shall be doing so in vain
The Zambezi is coming
The Kariba Dam’s already
Getting weary
Listen to your basic instincts
What you gon’ do
When Sharon Stone’s
King Solomon’s mines are gone
Wake up
Dude
Put seventy
University
Degrees
To good us for once
For goodness’ sake
It’s okay
The Greenback’s on the streets
Mzansi Rand’ still
Real money fo sho
Got Mandela’s face
On it, neh
Wathi
Pamberi ne ntontoni
Umtu
(Oh, thixo, bawo, Nkosi sikelela!)
Revolutionary Africa
Been at war
With itself from during
Anti-colonial struggle days
Civil wars continued upon
Independence attainment
Free at last to play out
White man’s burden
Transgenerational trauma
Self-annihilatory black curse games
To this day
Freedom is a relative state
In all African states
Basest result of state dysfunctionality
In Africa
As elsewhere
Is a constant
Tyrants everywhere
Including America
Staying alive
Feeding on
Murder in all its execution variabilities
Survivors rot in jail
People endure suffering
In all its construction variables
People dream of life-supportive
Freedoms elsewhere
Since Mandela’s
Betrayal of
The African self-determination cause
Twenty-seven years ago
Mzansi fo sho
Has yet
To degenerate to levels
Of truly liberated
Free Mother Africa
Making a mockery of
Pan-Africanist dreams
When free Mother Africa’s people
Give up on the miseries
Of their tyrannical
Genocidal
War-torn lands
Of once upon a time
Ancient Mega Star Warrior Kings
As accessible to today
As
The horizon of history
Choose to rather not
Get roasted walking the Sahara
Drown treading the Mediterranean
There’s a rainbow broadband
Linking the poles of Africa
From the Atlas to the Cape
Making a joke of
Cecil Rhode’s Cape-to-Cairo
Highway dream
Following this rainbow
Many an African soul
Crushed under own meaning
Of true self-annihilatory African liberation
Land in awesome Gauteng
Cradle of Humankind grounds
City of gold
Mystical
Below and above
The ground
People begin to breathe here
People grow wings here
People reach all corners of Mzansi fo sho from here
People’s dreams come true here
The rest is magic
Argh, cxh
Afro-xenophobia
Comes and goes
Now and then
Mzansi fo sho
Playing out its own version of
White man’s burden
Transgenerational trauma
Self-annihilatory black curses
Call it divide and rule devices
I’ve asked before
Who’s better
Who’s worse
Same difference
Same shit
The southern-most
Tip of the
Africa-long broadband rainbow
Touches Robben Island
In this lament here
Nelson Mandela legacy spirit infused
I lay my head
On the anvil
In this lament here
I proclaim that
Africa’s future’s anchored here
Prove me wrong
If you can
Hammer my brains out
If I’m wrong
Come along
Join The Rainbow Nation’s march
To go detox itself of
White man’s burden faeces
On Robben Island
For the illusive redemption of
Africa burning
In self-perpetuatory
White man’s burden
Transgenerational trauma
Self-annihilatory black curse
Singing
Africa unite
Desmond Tutu
Knew
May His Soul Rest
In Eternal Power of Love and Peace
It’s all in
The rainbow
Of humanity’s diversity vibrancy
Embrace it
As it garrisons you
In Mzansi fo sho
Desmond Tutu’s magical
Rainbow Nation
Where tyrants
Cave in under the law
Whilst
White man’s burden faeces
Detox movement goes on
Bloody messy
As it gets
As it was in the beginning
END
©Simon Chilembo 28/12-2021
SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
January 02, 2022
Tel.: +4792525032
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AMERICAN NIGHTMARE
DIDN’T GO AMERICA
And, so
I didn’t
Go to America
I felt robbed
Yet again
God had decided
To screw
My wishes
Yet I had prayed and prayed and prayed
Prayed since I was a child
I saw beautiful America
In the bioscope
Swept me off my feet
Made me believe
I could reach for the sky
Higher than him
Upon the World Trade Center
I was smarter than him
After all
If only I could
Get into the screen
Off the wall
All I had to do was to
Go to America
I dreamed
Heard on the radio
As
Neil Armstrong’s first one step
On the moon
Was reported
For mankind
Was recorded
When other children and I
On my township streets
Enthralled
Sang about that moment
Monna wa pele
Ya hatileng ngoeling
Ke mang
Ke Armstrong
It was clear to me that
In America
The world couldn’t hold a man down
I’d go to America
When grown up
I’d be doctor in America
I believed
Science ruled in America
The day
I ate
Father Hammel had earlier
Convinced me that
I was a chosen one
Child of God
The bishop-with-no-name
Later came and
Patted my cheek
Nearer to the heart
My entry
Into the kingdom of God was confirmed
My wishes
Would be her command
For as long as I lived
America brace yourself
But
I didn’t
Go to America
At night
Year in and year out
I slept
Deep as I could
In the event that
Spirits of my ancestors
Came my way
I’d be wholly
Receptive to their guidance
As to how and when
I’d go to America
I went on to sleep
Hours on end
In daytime
Many a year in
Many a your out
To no avail
I didn’t go to America
Dejected
Faith gone
To places I couldn’t fathom
Only God
Only ancestral spirits
Knew
I felt cheated
Terrible
First
They dropped me
Not only
In the darkest continent
Africa
But Africa
Where my blackness
Was a curse from birth
Where
I only dreamt
Blood raining on me
Everywhere
In everything I did
Every bloody day
I’d at times wake up
In a fog of blood
All around me
Hard to breathe
No wonder
Ancestral spirits
Could never reach me
Could never speak with me
In South Africa
Land of my birth
God favoured
White people compassion-deprived
Favoured with greed
Favouring oppression of the conquered
As they knew it in Europe
Where they had been scummed
Their previous lives
The wretched of the wretched
Reproducing the ever wretched
Of the earth
Souls broken
Dehumanized by their own
The original landed
Self-imposed rulers of man
Creators of God
Who ruled
By the sword
Subsequently the gun
Now the drone
Not forgetting
Intercontinental ballistic missiles
No blood, no victory
No blood, no insurrection
No blood , no subversion
No blood, no suppression
No blood, no subservience
No blood, no annihilation
What a bloody mess
In Europe they had kingdoms
They had the church
In South Africa
Kingdoms morphed into Apartheid state
The church remained
Multi-pronged
In the name of God
Of many faces
The wretched of the wretched
Propagating the ever wretched
Of the earth
The only thing they knew
White people spilt
Black people’s blood there
In South Africa
People killing people
Became a way of life there
Not much has changed
So much blood everywhere there
People stabbed
People gunned
People molested
Bled and ran
Bled and fell
People died in pools of blood
When I saw blood
I knew I was alive
I got older
I knew I had to
Get out of there
America calling, baby
Came out voice blazing
Singing
New York
And all my doubts were squashed
I just had to go to America
New York
New York
City that never sleeps
Just perfect for me
Too much blood
In my dreams
During sleep
Mr Black President Mandela
Of South Africa
Came and went
As if from nowhere
Mr Black President Obama
Emerged in America
Went and buried
Mr Black President Mandela
Black Power
Circle of life complete
In Mzansi fo sho
Mr Black President Obama
Of America
Charmed
All charmable people of the world
Incredulous
Angry White people’s worlds
In disarray
Black-people-detesting cells
In their blood boiled
Resorted to the only trait they know
Violence
Pervasive as porn
Diabolical must be a place in America
Where they don’t know a thing
About democracy
Tyrants
Getting kicks out of
Shameless display
Of ignorance entangled in
Bungled communisocialism theories
Heads or tails of which
They don’t know at all
Founded upon slippery
Coagulated blood-paved intellectual grounds
Some gone to school
I can’t help but wonder
From which planet
The books they’ve read are
Their libraries must be
Drenched in blood
They must have been taught by
Crooked professors
Fake
Blood-sucker intelligentsia
Soiling academia of the world
Ivy League universities
I gotta ask
What went wrong
With these people
Or is it you
What’s become of you
Once upon a time
Revered seats of knowledge
Astonishing
Black people of the world
Caught Obama fever
Chronic
Need no inoculation
Obama ain’t Corona
Got
Obama talk
Got
Obama walk
Yah, man
Bob Marley had said it before
No more cry, man
Dry your tears
Black child
Martin Luther King’s
Dream had come true
We had overcome
Free at last
America
Watch me
I’m coming home
Where’s the party, babe
There’s
The Un-United States of America
Amidst the Obama euphoria
I heard a gunshot here
KABOOM!!!
A gunshot there and there
KABOOM!!! BOOM!!!
Black man
Ceased to breathe here
Ceased to breathe there
Die
Nigger
Die
Reality come home
Gruesome
Genocidal Apartheid South Africa
Upon my heels
White America
Not unlike
God-favoured
White South Africa
Compassion-deprived
Favoured with greed
Favouring oppression of
Black people
People of colour
Rose
Showed its true colours
Emboldened
Raw to the extreme
No brakes
No remorse
Despicable
Mr President Doughnut Prump
Hit the scene
Raving mad
Apartheid lunacy
Taken to another stage
Up or down
Just as vile
If not worse
Mr Vice President Pence’ gallows
Spelt it all out in
The Capitol gardens
Obscene
Like they used to
Parade the streets with
Decapitated heads
Of their own
On stakes
In yesteryear’s Europe
Delinquent
White America
Spoilt brats
Seek to burn San Francisco flowers
On Madame Speaker Pelosi’s head
Shut her beak
Meanwhile
Paul Gosar
Unhinged
Animates
Ms Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez
Woman of colour
He could never match
In any way
On the digital world stage
Ghastly
Appalling
Repeating history
As is customary
Killing his own
In 21st Century America of all colours
On the streets
In the name of justice
For paralysed-Kenosha-police-seven-times-shot-in-the-back-unarmed
Delinquent
White America
Spoilt brat
Kyle Rittenhouse
Just normalized
Vigilantism in America
Comprehension bereft
Children of America
Just fallen deeper into
The abyss of hell
Horrendous
Out on the streets
On a
Longevity enhancing jog
Unarmed
Posing no threat to no one
Black America young man
Met his demise
In the hands of
Genocidal white America’s
Travis McMichael
In the murder trial court of whom
The latter’s defence lawyer
Wants not to see
Outrageous
On second thoughts
They can keep their America
My God ain’t too bad after all
Neither are my ancestral spirits
Gonna find me
Pure white as snow
Polar bear
END
©Simon Chilembo 18/11-2021
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CONSEQUENCES – A Poem
CHOICES
Akin to
Dead men walking
Free spirits
Are indifferent to pain
Suffering unbeknown
Know no barriers
Are of all times
Immortality
Is the name of their being
Akin to the wind
Dead men walking
Free spirits
Embrace space
Devoid of sentiment
Propelled by
The fair and righteous
Infused with clear conscience
Akin to that
Of saints
I made my choices
I took my chances
You made your choices
You took no chances
You the illusory chosen one
Sitter on the
Right hand of God
Centre of the universe
In your comfort zone
Delusional
You cry foul
At the world
You decry makers of you
For thorns and no roses
In your comfort zone
As if they
Your makers
Pruned the flowers
And left you in the bush
When the choice to stay was yours
Ultimately
You ought
To have seen the autumn
Cease coming your way
Aeons gone by
Grown man
You could never learn
How to harvest
Never learned
How to sow
In the first place
Akin to
Baby bird
Who never left the nest
Soundless
Mouth agape
From dusk to dawn
Season after season
Anticipating feeding time
Long gone with the elements
Catastrophe
Akin to
Destitute baby bird
Who never left the nest
Your mamma is dead
So is your dad
I could never be them
Even if I wanted to
I could never replicate
Their parental obligations to you
Much as
I long for heiresses and heirs
My progeny
Products of my loins
Carrying my blood
In their flesh and bones
Made not like bread
You could never be them
Even if I wanted you to be
Miracles of nature
Have their limits
Ancient Greece mythology
Created Oedipus
It never worked out well for the man
Poor soul crushed
He gouged out his own eyes
Tragedy
And now
You want to
Shoot my brains out
Kill me dead already
Can you take
The ricochet
Dead men walking
Free spirits
Die only once
Forget the resurrection jive, man
It isn’t I who killed promises of
The fiasco
That is the mark of the beast of
Your comfort zones
All I ever did
Was to seek to
Blow light over your life
Or did I come out too strong
Struck like lightning
When I chose not
To plunge into
A miserable life
Of men of no vision
Succumbed to wretchedness of the earth
When you’ve attuned your eyes
To seeing
Only evil spirits in the air
You could never see
The good of my intentions
Pure as silence
In the domain of
Dead men walking
Disentangled
From thorns of love nor hate
Only drawn towards
The fair and just
Amongst the living
You wanna know
How to grow
The #Midas touch
How to
Reap gold
From what you sow
Open your eyes
To the light
Be humble
Be a little grateful
Look and learn
Dead men walking
Amongst the living
Have it all
END
©Simon Chilembo 12/10-2021
SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Telephone: +4792525032
RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!
PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my 7th book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories. It might save yours and your loved one’s lives.
VREDE
HVA VET JEG
Hva vet jeg
Jeg, som du sier
Er en primitiv mann
Preget av afrikanske jungle kultur
Der mennesker spiser hverandre
Er jeg da her
For å kannibalisere deg
Glemm det, mann, sier du
Her i riket ditt
Er det sivilisasjon som herjer
Her finnes det lys
Noe som er gunstig
For hjerneutvikling, sier du
Som om hudfargen min
Oppsluker lys hvor jeg kommer fra
Tvert i mot, egentlig
Det er ikke tilfeldig at
Dere skriver og leser bøker
Dere som er verdens
Kulturelle elite som nasjon
Noe som jeg ikke er
I stand til å forstå
Med min mindre utviklede jungelhjerne, mener du
Hva vet jeg
Om likestilling
Jeg, som du sier
Som forakter kvinnfolk
Jeg som er ute etter
Å overta ditt liv
For å utnytte deg
Som kjæledyret mitt
Glemm det, mann, sier du
I kvinnerettighetenes navn
Forlanger du at
Jeg skal respektere deg
Egentlig, insisterer du videre at
Jeg må beundre deg
Du er min gudinne
Jeg skal være slaven din
Slaveri tendens ligger jo i afrikaneres gener
Det burde jeg vite, påpeker du
I helvete, svarte fæn
Våken opp
La deg integrere i sivilisasjonens land
Kvitt deg med
Dine primitive vaner
Hør på meg
Gjør som jeg sier
Uten meg er du ferdig
Du er ingenting
Skal du leve lenge
Og nyte det gode livet
I dette verdens beste
Hviteste hvite land
Må du oppføre deg pent
Sitt i ro og fred
Under mine vinger
Din sjel er i mine hender
Vær ydmyk og snill, slaven min
Mamma skal ta godt vare på deg
Snille lille gutten min
Kjære slaven min
Jeg bjeffer
Du hopper
Avtale
Sier du
Si noe, da
Brøler du
Ikke bare stå der og glane
Gjør noe
Vil du slå meg
Vil du pule meg
Gjør ett eller annet
Eller dra til helvete
Hva gjør du nå
Stans
Du drar intet sted
Før jeg er ferdig med deg
Mann, du er stygg og dum
Skam til den kvinnen
Som måtte føde deg
Stakkers dame
Hvor uheldig kan en kvinne være
Ved å føde deg
Så stygg og dum som du er
Og du kaller henne for mor
Fy søren, er det mulig
Ikke kom nær meg
Bare ta et steg frem
Og da skal du oppleve
Hvordan vikingenes vrede flytter fjell
Og skaper tsunamier i verdenshavene …
(Continues in the book MACHONA POETRY: Rage and Slam in Tigersburg)
©Simon Chilembo 07/05-2021
SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Telephone: +4792525032
September 20, 2021
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PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.
DECOMMISSIONED – A Poem
Overkill in My World
.. Metal falls
To the ground
Glue and tape peel off and fall
To the ground
Bricks column crumbles and falls
To the ground
I stand tall
On the ground
Plastic shrinks and falls
To the ground
I can breathe …
(Continues in the book MACHONA POETRY: Rage and Slam in Tigersburg)
©Simon Chilembo 13/07-2021
SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
July 19, 2021
RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!
PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.
FARM MURDERS
SOUTH AFRICAN FARM KILLINGS: Another Perspective
©Simon Chilembo 2017
I do not condone murder of any kind. Murder is murder, regardless of how it is classified on various platforms. No murder is worse or better than another. In the free world, we are all humans with infinite variable attributes, but equal in the face of the law of the land.
In the purest manifestation of God, we are all supposed to be equal because she created us that way, in her own perfect image.
Whilst I do not condone murder, left with no alternatives against any real, particularly unjustifiable, threat upon my life, or that of my beloved ones, including my lands, I could kill without thinking twice about it. In my world, there is no “turn the other cheek” contra injustice and evil intentions, or practices. If evil plucks out one of my eyes, I’ll pluck both of theirs, and more. It is what it is.
If I am a racist, it is more a circumstantially reactive tendency on my part, rather than it being an inherent disposition of mine. I hate racism with such passion I cannot help but want to give racists a taste of their own medicine whenever I encounter them in South Africa, and anywhere else in the world I find myself at any time; two eyes for an eye. Reconciliation modern South Africa style has its limits for me.
In characteristic, yet another demonstration of arrogance of power and privilege, a section of the white South African populace sensationalizes the killings of South African white farmers. As if these killings are a calculated, lopsided affair sponsored by the South African state, or some other organized, black peoples special interest entities.
As a humanist, whenever death strikes anywhere in the world, my heart ever goes out to the deceased and their bereaved families. The killing of a white South African farmer is no different from any other killing in the country, or anywhere else in the world. Therefore, I cannot feel relatively any more, or less empathy for the white South African farmer victims and their own … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It”. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)
Simon Chilembo
Riebeeckstad
Welkom
South Africa
November 08, 2017
ZUMA TO GO OR NOT TO GO
- From an independent and private position I find it imperative upon, and within incumbent South African President Jacob Zuma’s prerogative to now step down and resign. By that, he will be preserving whatever little honour as a leader and noble citizen of the land he has left. Moreover, he will be saving the country much international diplomacy and business ridicule and embarrassment.
My imploring JZ to step down and resign is inconsequential of whether I like him or not. Manifestation of any lack of respect for an elder and leader in accordance with “… it’s our African culture!” is of no relevance here either. My stand is based on impersonal well-thought out critical thinking leadership principles and philosophy.
- Watching how the once most revered African National Congress/ ANC and its loyal structures defend the indefensible in President Zuma’s already long tarnished beyond repair image and reputation as a national leader is a fascinating endeavour.
It’s like hopelessly watching a woman I dearly love slowly drugging herself to death on a daily basis. With every new temporary abstinence killing shoot, she has gone beyond believing; she deliberately defies logic and reason. She ever irrationally convinces herself in vain that the new shot would be the very last and most decisive to fix and put everything back in place again once and for all. On and on till she drops dead.
Perhaps with death comes freedom from self-deception … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It”. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)
Simon Chilembo
Welkom
South Africa
April 07, 2016
FOR SYRIAN WAR CHILDREN: A POEM
CANNOT BE RIGHT
Buy book on link. All rights reserved. Simon Chilembo, 2016.
At this very moment
In Aleppo City of Syria
Putin’s bombs
Have just rained down
In claimed pursuit of Daesh
Little Sarah’s body
Is shred to pieces
Little Abdullah’s body
Is by waves of fire
Charred to ashes
And goes up
With smoke and bloody dusts of war
Parents wanting
To believe
It’s all hallucinations
Curse Allah
If this is his willing
Then
He’s not so great anymore
May the next bomb
Land on us
Insha’Allah
Please, please, please
Allahu Akbar
They with soundless voices
Wail in agonized helplessness
With tearless ducts like Madiba’s
Wishing there were
Wi-Fi broadband to Allah
At this very moment
Little Maryam
And
Little Mustafa
Clutched
In parents’ arms
Are searching
In vain
For Western freedom and peace
At the bed
Of the Mediterranean Sea
Dead
The bombs had missed them
So
Allah’s willing
Overloaded their escape boat
It capsized
They failed
To breathe under water
More horrified by
The sound of
Tonnes of sea water
Pressing densely into their ears
Than any bombing’s
It’s just as well
There’s no
Wi-Fi broadband to God
Ever cried under water
At this very moment
I cry with grief
‘Cause I’m broke
As in Bankrupt
Valentine’s Day tomorrow
I’ll lose yet another woman I love
‘Cause I don’t have any money
To call her on the phone
Let alone
Buy her a romantic present
I don’t have money
To call my mother
To say, ‘I love you!’
For like to Allah
There’s no
Wi-Fi broadband into my father’s grave
If I had money
I’d call my younger father
To also say, ‘I love you, Dad!’
I’m wearing
Old, faded, tattered clothes
On my body
‘Cause I haven’t had any money
To buy new clothes
Since
The start of
The Syrian war
At that time
Somebody said to me
Tsk, tsk, tsk, ignorant you
Conflict is healthy
Conflict is the essence of human progress
And I said to him
Does Assad really think
He’ll ever crush the opposition
The ill-informed wise man
Told me
I’m a fool
So, it’s okay
I can stay broke
Till there are
No more people
Till there’s nothing left
To genocide for
In Syria
So much
For conflict
For human progress
At this very moment
I cry Europe
Little Farrah
And
Little Ali
Have defied the bombs
Have defied the seas
Have arrived alive
At your shores
Show them what humanity is all about
Independent of what Allah wills
It can’t be right
To deny them
The sweet taste of
Liberty and peace
It can’t be right
That I stand here
And cry for money
For telephones and new clothes
When
Little Maryams
And
Little Mustafas
Clutched
In parents’ arms
Cry for life
At the bottom
Of the sea
At this very moment
I cry for hope
Fuck the money
Fuck the war
God
Amen
END
©Simon Chilembo, 13/ 02- 2016
SIMON CHILEMBO
Riebeeckstad
Welkom
South Africa
February 13, 2016
38 YEARS AN EXILE: XXXII
HOME AT LAST! Part 32
BETRAYAL IN THE DIASPORA
All rights reserved. Simon Chilembo, 2015
I do not know José Mourinho personally. I would be very surprised if he would ever be interested in knowing whether I exist or not. We live in such divergent worlds, miles upon miles apart. I refer to him here only for the one reason that his recent fall from glory and grace finally brought it on home to me that, as leaders, makers, as well as movers of men and women, when the mighty fall, there is one common thread connecting them all, … That common thread is betrayal. Jesus was betrayed to the cross by one of his disciples, Judas. His Chief Disciple, Peter, would disown him three times at the very last minute. But I won’t go there … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order other books on Amazon here).
Simon Chilembo
Riebeeckstad
Welkom
South Africa
Tel.: +4792525032
December 29, 2015
38 YEARS AN EXILE: XXX
HOME AT LAST! Part 30
OWN TURF IN THE DIASPORA
Simon Chilembo. All rights reserved, 2015
Because I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth, the notion that I must be happy with what I have here and now, no matter how little, was ingrained in my head from a very early age. If I could get more by doing what is acknowledged as good and acceptable practices, well and good. However, if it doesn’t work, too bad. Try something, or go for something else, and/ or simply wait.
Waiting never meant for me to just rest on my laurels, hoping for some miracle to happen for the more of that which I want to materialize somehow, without any effort from me, though. If I have to pray, it will be more to introspect and find peace of mind so I can think more clearly, but not for God to deliver it all for free just because I believe in her … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book on Amazon).
Simon Chilembo
Riebeeckstad
Welkom
South Africa
Telephone: +4792525032
November 23, 2015 (more…)
Simon Chilembo 