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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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DREAM OF AMERICA – A Poem
DREAM OF AMERICA
Dream of America
Incongruent with
Visions of America
In the eyes of
Apartheid abused
Brain’ screwed up
South African boychild’s
Long-sighted eyes
Of whom saw
Paradise in America
Through
Township Hollywood bioscopes
Until in adulthood
Seen with eyes from
Best of Europe
21st Century
Shit of America
Spews all-time high
Unhinged idiocy
So brazen
It hits
All fans in the world
Fills up
All wind tunnels of the world
People can’t breathe
It
Shit of America
Hallucinating that
It’s the best of America
The greatest nation on earth
Whilst
It
Shit of America
Mayhems against
Beautiful things
All that is life-supporting
Of progressive thought: truth
Of positive action: science
Of life-enhancing material artifacts: mathematical quantifications objectified
Rendering
African boychild
Half blind
In confusion
In disillusionment
In shame
In fear of
Obliteration of America
From the face of the earth
By its own
Deranged
Pathetic
Shit of America
In adulthood
Rendering new
President of America
Number 46
To
The other day
Ask
A rhetorical question
You don’t have to answer: what is wrong with these people
Alas
Shit of America
So dum
It can make
Neither head nor tail
Of the question
Goes on displaying obtrusively
From
Minute-to-minute
Hour-to-hour
Monday-to-Monday
Unabated
All year round
Live in live eyes fixated
On Live TV
On wide screens
In closed and open domains
Even in palms of our hands
Performances of stupidity in the extreme
In violence
Spewing venomous language
Only possible
In a shithole country
From the deep south
Paul Simon’s melody
Springs forth
Ladysmith Black Mambazo-like voices wail
Somebody says
We are what we eat
What do we shit
We shit what we eat
Shit of America
Eats own shit from
Six-hundred-years-old pit latrines
Embodied in ever insolent
Acts of blood-thirsty racial hate
Rationale of which is
Founded on idiotic
Small-mind games
Throwing a nightmarish shadow
Over just the idea
Of Ivy League universities’ existence
In the land
Crushing ideas of
African boychild’s
Acquisition of
Superior education
As envisaged in the
Dream of America
Ever so paradoxical
With engineering powers to defy gravity
Both in space and in
The belly of the earth
Medical skills taking
Human life existence on earth
To ever higher levels of well being
Consolidating ideas of immortality
Becoming reality
Rattling ideas of God as
The creator and destiny of life upon death
Against
Shit of America
Soiling
Dream of America’s
Glorious creative arts culture
Blurring
Grown up
African boychild’s
Visions of America
Of hope
Of earthly salvation
In a perfect world of
Equality for all
Fraternity for all
Liberty for all
Cream of America
Are my sisters and brothers
My friends
In the land
That
Shit of America
Is ever so fervent
To burn alive
While the world
Friends and foes alike
Watch in dismay
If not with glee
For their differential wishes
Varying intentions
Cream of America
That is my people
Radiates love
As that is
What they live on …
(Continues in the book MACHONA POETRY: Rage and Slam in Tigersburg)
©Simon Chilembo 27/08-202
SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Telephone: +4792525032
September 09, 2021
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PS
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WHEN FRIENDSHIP DIES
FRIENDSHIP RULES
©Simon Chilembo 2017
Thinking about it as a grown up man, I’ve found that in my social interactions at all levels, I am driven by only two concepts: fairness and justness. The thesaurus lists the two as synonymous. Operationally, though, I take the liberty of applying “fairness” in relation to the good-bad duality; and “justness” to that of right-wrong.
I postulate, therefore, that if it is fair, it is good. It is uplifting. It is praiseworthy.
If it is unfair, it is bad. It is devious. It is condemnable.
If it is just, it is right. It is life supporting. It is revered.
If it is unjust, it is wrong. It is destructive. It is punishable.
When it comes to my friends, I have found fairness playing itself out in how they have accepted me in the way that I am. They have also allowed me to open doors into my life for them, equally accepting them for what and how they are. With the very closest of my friends, the mutuality of respect for one another’s strengths and fallibilities keeps me awake at night some times. It fills me with ever so much joy.
I have found justness playing itself out in hard times, especially.
It is the constant awareness of inter-personal fairness that keeps the love for my friends alive. Fairness constantly sensitizes me to elements of respect, tolerance, and moral codes cementing our friendship. These elements then extend to form the core of the interplay of justness as we all face and seek to overcome the intrinsic daily challenges of life, working either individually or collectively … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It”. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)
Simon Chilembo
Welkom
South Africa
Tel.: +4792525032
June 16, 2017
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: 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…)
38 YEARS AN EXILE: XXIX
HOME AT LAST! Part 29
RACISM IN THE DIASPORA
©Simon Chilembo, 2014
Racism is a constant. Racism does not change colour with location, or time. Racism is not some figment of the imagination. Racism is as real as day and night. Racism cannot be explained away; it is neither an intellectual nor academic exercise. Racism is unidirectional like an arrow in flight. Its objective is to demean, use, abuse, exploit, hurt, dehumanize, destroy, and obliterate; nothing in between. The ultimate goal of racism is genocide.
Racism is a systematized, institutionalized mind-set of false superiority, entitlement, and privilege … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book on Amazon).
Simon Chilembo
Welkom
South Africa
+4792525032
September 14, 2015
38 YEARS AN EXILE: XXVI
HOME AT LAST! Part 26
Schooling in the Diaspora – Kamwala Secondary School
©Simon Chilembo, 2014
1975 was the longest year. My first calendar year in Zambia was nine months long, which felt like time barely existed, with no beginning I recalled being part of, no end, and no direction in sight. Time was an idea just there to relate to indifferently.
The three months on the rails and road it took my family and me to get to Zambia from South Africa had bruised my sense of reality, presenting life’s challenges in a totally new way, and intensity. My family relations internal dynamics changed in ways that many mistakes made along the way have never been repairable.
New things learnt we each processed and integrated each in our own individual lives, each in our own unique personal ways. I often like to think that the extremely high senses of individuality and independence my two siblings and I will exhibit in critical choice times and situations, were consolidated during this time … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book on Amazon here).
Simon Chilembo
Riebeeckstad
Welkom
South Africa
July 23, 2015
38 YEARS AN EXILE: XIX
HOME AT LAST! Part 19 SOUTH AFRICA AFRO– XENOPHOBIA – The Myths
Simon Chilembo, CEO/ President ©Simon Chilembo 2015
Regarding the renewed, more grave, xenophobic violence rocking major cities of the land at the moment, on the ground, enlightened and critically thinking South Africans know that there is more to South Africans’ apparent envy over foreign nationals’ business acumen, as well as their apparent resultant financial success.
There aren’t many social interaction spaces as revelatory of the true colours of individual and collective human behaviour and attitudes as in places of trade, market places. It’s only natural, therefore, that when shit hits the fan, as is the case with the current xenophobic hassle in South Africa, it will be in and around retail business outlets … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book on Amazon).
Simon Chilembo
Welkom
South Africa
Tel.: +4792525032
April 18, 2015
38 YEARS AN EXILE: XVII
HOME AT LAST! Part 17
WEALTH MANAGEMENT IN THE DIASPORA
For an ordinary Diasporant with humble origins from their motherlands, with no history of family wealth accumulation over time and, therefore, not born with silver spoons in their mouths; as well as not having been raised with soft pillows under their wings by virtue of family status, influence, privileges, and power, the Diaspora can present unprecedentedly huge opportunities to earn money, create, build, and sustain wealth … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book on Amazon).
Simon Chilembo
Riebeeckstad
Welkom
South Africa
March 24, 2015
Simon Chilembo 