POSSE SHAMELESS: Chasing my being by Jazz Africa

Jazz Africa | June 14th, 2011 | a poem a day challenge | No Comments

Raw meandering, turning, twisting and spinning movements of mountains
Up and down the slopes, peak on peak.
Rude, sharp turns covered in uncooked wild grasses of the slopes.
Li-tšetšenki, mekholitsoane (lizards) and goats reaching heights unregistered
Abound yet, sparingly, with fact….no tact
Yet with pride, proving naturally grown wealth
Clinging and rising for sunshine on eroded dongas
Wallowing, weeping shapes and figures

Eroded pieces of land left bare
Like a sobering orphan abandoned
At a train station by an unforgiving mother.
Better grasses glowing on better soils, so to speak
Movements of never ending echoing voices afar
Ayiaheeeeeee ayiiiiiiiiiii aheeeeeeee
Anticipating change from the unknown
Tea, bread, cheese, a steak, a blanket are not for my use

No, you misunderstand me!
You keep confusing me with your own panel-beaten desires stuck in your brain
Your own thoughts of how I should look like, or feel like,
Of how I should shake my….move my waist as I walk flip flap down the street
Your thoughts of what I should possess and should wear
What my soul should bear!
Who, why, where, how, when!!!
I am not a pear
So well configured and structured
Check, I have punctures
My skin has pores
I am not perfect

Confusion swallows you
Picturing me like a child representing your own unwritten, incomplete reports
Listen to me and learn my path, hear my wailings, hear my cry
I request not what comes from your world
What I need is for you to leave my land alone
Stop with trying to change me into your own personal wish washes

Posse comitatus chasing my being,
Trying to figure out who I really am
Trying to replace my hand eating habits with your cold steel cutlery
That shows my disfigured images as I try to swallow your cheap foreign rice
I love eating papa with milk,
I like to eat papa and morokho damn it!
I chose to use my bare hands as I eat my meals.
On the floor sited like a child asking for forgiveness
My food I enjoy

I enjoy walking barefooted so that I feel the pain of those
Pointed stones massaging my cracked feet, unmodified,
Mapping the walks of my feet
Johnny Walker, monna oa motsamai (a man always on the road)

A golden suntan pitch black, deep mahogany skin tone
Lovingly shining and smiling,
Tattooed by blazing winters, year after year
Cracks on my back (Meta not meter *so mi so doooo* singing (sing if you enjoy sounds))
Metamorphosing the journey of my footprints,
On soils holding the mountain kingdom up high
My back alone bares my soul
My personal tracks are indeed my own to claim

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