My Swaziland; Mercy oh My Chef

Are you interested in Swaziland

Fascinated by Swazi politics

Accelerated by Swazi laws and customs

The rose was beautiful while still a bud.


Do you find it interesting that

We love solving problems,

The Swazi way.

Simplifying mountains

To crumbs

Hills to dust:


My inheritance,

The smallest but

Most effective psychiatric

Ward in all my world;


No lunatic complaining,

Dreams-tangible dreams

To every paranoiac

To become and to live out in full,


Out of the extraordinary

Comes the ordinary:

From dreams I live

My full life with all its fruits

Bitter or sweet,

A potato of potatoes I am.

Mercy oh my chef of many chefs

The pot is rather

Too hot for my skin to bear:

Why me,

A little water,

This would do me

More good than pain:


I benefit a little-prolong the pain,

Lessen it for a little while.

My master wants chips

Nice crumbly hot



That’s all I am.

A nourisher;

Destined to nothing else but

A rudely hot pot; by accident of birth,

And ever gnarly belly,

Ever so juicily potty worthy

And fresh:


Saucy potty leaks and politics

Psychiatrists and sarcastics toying

Hospitalized hopefuls

Freely born free dumps slaved in


What is the difference

Swazi pot leaks

Saucy politics.


My psychiatric hospital

My prison

My home

My hope

My trap

My delusion

My heaven

My hell.


What is the difference;

Mercy oh my chef of many chefs;

A little water will do me more good than this



Your Mother My King

To he who rules me

To he who grooms me

The one who steers me

Me his son


The son of the

Rivers, the valleys, the glens

Of Africa

My mother.


I who drinks from her fair veins

Eats of her breast and sleeps of

Her calls

Calls from her pores cooling me:


I who smiles from her suns

And sobers of her moon

I find paths of her eyes

And wisdom of her gate ways


Drums and groans

Cries and moans

Bites and beatings

Songs and sorrows

From greed, greens and greetings,


A woman’s pride is her hair

A mother’s jewels is her breast

Her waist is her identity

Her womb her sword soldiers:

Protectors’ projectors:


All poisons, gladly and eagerly


Cut off, all of it nothings

Pull off, all of it meaningless,

Stripped off.


He li-lies

Kings queens princes dancing

Pot naked and it naked

It shines clattering for her own blood.

Bling-bling blinding

All who see naked,

Your mother,

My queen black


Of her sons’ greens of greed,

Stripped off

Cut off

To nothing but shame, pain and neglect.

I present to you your mother my king!

Dear Jehovah: It is women’s day today


I have to write this.

I have a problem with teachers. You see, teacher tend to do things I fail to understand.


A few weeks ago, Times Of Swaziland released an article about one sorry faced teacher who got himself disposed of work because he was caught enjoying himself on top of an unlucky young girls body; living his horrid dreams away.

How is such possible? There have been incest, child-adult/sugar mama/daddy’s explanations and theories too but in all these, I have not yet come across one explanation explaining this.

How exactly does a grown man bridge his human instincts and become an animal (for lack of a better word) to actually dance away his lust on top of a girl child’s body, reap her off of her innocence and sense of security. Violate the instincts that make a man out you?! 


God help us…No mercy needed.

Dear Jehovah: Who are You?

Dear Jehovah

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately (or should I say thinking). I got many questions for you Jehovah.


I know you have provided answers for us in that book they call the Bible but truth be told; they at times not quite enough. I cannot do much feeling like this. Inadequate. I have done every possible thing there is to address how I feel but it seems as though it is not yet enough. I get like every time the hard core questions to life come to mind and swam me like bees to a thief. One very often asked question has to do directly with you-a number of them actually.


Who are you?

Well, this is perhaps the most useful and also the most hopeless of questions I being me can ever ask you. Why? Well, because it is both a believers’ power against disbelief in your right to rule not just the universe but also and very much his mind. Or his belief thereof…

The question of “who are you” is best left alone. But for my indulgence and mine alone; you God are Jehovah, the only true creator and master of the universe. You are He who we should address praises for the creations on the earth and the universe itself (Math 6:9). It once easy for me to live the question at that but then, as you well know; as we men grow we tend to do one of the following; leave the question, ask and get the answer, expand the answer( mostly for self-glory). I happened to be one of those who liked asking questions, getting the answer and expand upon it-mostly because it feels good to me. True to this preference ( I dare not say nature) I found myself asking the question: Besides the Biblical answers to this question-believe you me they are the most valuable answers-who is Jehovah?

I would very much love to goat and say I found the answer but verily I did not.

Instead of answers to his billion dollar question-literally- I got myself confronted by a horde of quite devilish questions I found myself not quite ready if not unwilling to answer. Is Jehovah a psychological invention of both the primarily single God worshiping Egyptians and Jews of old? Is he a desert peoples answer to a need to address  a need for a person powerful enough to enable them the strength found a homeland and protect them from forces sure enough in their power and ability to wipe them off the face of the Earth? Better still is he modern man’s so called powerful alien being who happened to decide to plant and a colony of feeble intelligence and leave it to grow as an un-attended experiment and then prove itself worthy enough to join the rest of universal civilization and intelligence very much alive out there in the universe?


I do not see any of the above questions of much interest to a true Christian. They can actually prove destructive but are they meant never to be asked?

Did the Devil plant them into this my brain and hoped they would be blasphemous enough for you to forsake me as you did Israel and therefore leave to die and perish as he himself is meant to? I do not know the answer to this but I do conclude that it is a question very much tormenting the minds of those who wish and are willing to serve no other Master of the Universe but you.

As for me; I do believe you are out there…I have verily seen you work in my short life. Not in miracles of cause but right in my heart, in my family and very much so in my congregation and the world as is. I have faced famine, eviction, hopelessness, some grief and mortal danger: all this only to find you mercifully pulling me through at the other side. I am looking forward to a world where you will rule directly and let me live the life you intended our father and mother Adam and Eve the day you declared all creations perfect. I not sure of my faith and abilities but should I so be found indeed fit, I will verily enjoy the New World.


I hope I do.        

Empty Chairs (Don’t You Dare Sit Down)

Loved this…try it out

The Fickle Heartbeat

empty chairs

Shared by Miss Parisia B.

Doors stretch wide open daring you to come in. The room is filled with an endless amount of chairs.

We enter in. Our first memory.

Each time we enter we try a different seat. The first day we sat on embrace. It held us and comforted us. It showed us both what it felt like to be touched by someone you love. And when we got up we still felt every embrace. It still replays. The next day we sat in friendship. It was fun. It brought us laughter and hope. We got so close it was equivalent to approaching the sun. Every advancement grew hotter and friendship melted away. When we returned to those daring doors, we had no choice but to sit in love. When we sat down it was a different chair. No chair like we had ever been in…

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Heartbeat: So Long My Loveless Romance

Loved this article…check it out:)

The Fickle Heartbeat

So long my loveless romance.

Shared by Veronica.

So long my loveless romance,
I guess I’ll throw away the flowers he never gave me.
I suppose I’ll burn the pictures we never took together.
I’ll probably spend numerous sleepless nights thinking of all the kind things he never said to me.
I’ll try to forget the way he didn’t fight for me, try to deny that I was never the only one.

The hookup culture has never really appealed to me but when someone so compatible to myself came alone I figured I’d give him a chance. I knew he was only looking for fun, I knew he didn’t want to commit to me or be my boyfriend, but I went with it anyways. The second time we went out together I told him before we even finalized plans that I wasn’t going to hook up with him, and he said that was fine…

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