The Kind of Poems

So I write these kind of poems that keep me up at night. Sometimes I write the
kind that I don’t want to write…the kind that bug me until they force their
way out. These poems that tell it as it is… (Nomalungelo)

I write until I can’t help but write it like it is, write
to express, write to inform, tell a story, make history, and let them know we
existed. Write to untie these knots in my stomach, to release these hick ups
from my throat and swallow the vomit, write
till the lifeless shadow lurking by the door gets in and attempts to scribble
every thought out but I still write, write about the things they don’t want to
hear, make them see the things they can’t bear, write even if they won’t pay
me, write, write write…. (Namhla)

Even if they won’t pay me I write penniless
on paperless microphone scripts. I write the things that make them wanna block
their ears, I write the kind of poems that should be under my pillow, as I struggle
to swallow because of the things that I’ve seen, the places I’ve been. I’ve
never been keen to talk about them but I find myself writing about the monsters
on the bareback of a purple woman… As I untie these knots in my stomach (Nomalungelo)

I write with the change of the seasons, with the rotation of
earth, the stillness of waters, the blowing of winds, with the burning of fire.
I write because I am not in control, I do not raise nor set the sun, I do not
ask the moon to come, I do not ask those who dance bare foot to call the
spirits with howls. I write the kind of poems that supress the subconscious and toy with your conscious state of mind,
the kinds that make you ask yourself “WHAT NOW??” As you make me! I write until
word, i said “word” until truth comes tumbling down with emotions untying these knots in my
stomach, revealing the monsters on the
bareback of a purple woman… (Namhla)

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