Ordinary People

I could live in a ‘shack’and still proudly call it home,for I have discovered the luxury of now. I could live in a shackand still proudly call it mine,for I know the winning of a mental lottery,the luck requiredto secure … Continue reading

If No One Remembers

NB: The below is based on a previous poem called Courts of Public Opinion.

An ambitious boy-turning-man sits behind a computer screen, working on a faulty Excel spreadsheet. He’s scouring the document for errors while he engages in a philosophical conversation. Someone asks him, “Don’t you realise that every privilege you have was earned for you?”
“What do you mean?” he says.
“Someone fought for the comforts and rights you have now.”
“Did they?” he asks, tone the way it would be when responding to any corny, bleeding-heart statement.
He continues to tap on his keyboard. He doesn’t ask who this profoundly generous person was, or whether it’s one person or an entire group. He takes his rights and continues to tap away at them, without ______.


What were we expecting? Gratitude? Appreciation? The recognition of a sacrifice? More nonchalant tapping?


More nonchalant tapping.

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Copyright © 2020 Tebogo Ndlovu

Courts Of Public Opinion

They all wish she’d go off to wherever it is that washed-up revolutionaries go to retire. No one hears those bastards now and everyone else tries to forget them, spewing, “Who did they think they were? Yanking tradition by the braid, upending utopia?”

Now, the rebels sit in reclining leather sofas… hands perusing old books, hands down pants, hands in cat fur… ponder how they changed the world, ‘helped people’.

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Copyright ©️ 2020 Tebogo Ndlovu

Duty

I asked a boy,
dog yelping at his feet,
“Why do you beat that dog so sorely?”
Response: “Because he took my toy.”
“Who told you to strike when he misses a beat?”
“My father, surely.”
“And why did you listen to that ploy?”
The boy let out freet,
“Because I’m supposed to.”

I turned to his mother
-gaunt and dying to slumber,
“You take care of the woman
Who gave birth to you healthy and human,
Then scarred you when you were but a girl
For she thought you too pretty, probably bad spell?”
A nod she offered, plus two.
I pressed same lady, “How did you forgive?”
Response: “Well, aren’t I supposed to?”

I asked the slave
who stayed when rendered a stealthy way out:
“But why?”
Swift reason he gave
Void of all doubt,
Subterfuge, slight or sly,
“Because I’m supposed to.”

I asked a soldier
who laughed while he shot unfortunate prisoner of war
-skin taut against latter’s osseous matter,
“Why? What for?”
And he began to banter,
“Don’t ask me! They said I was supposed to.”

I asked the mirror
why I did that thing, such senseless stupor.
She shot back with fervour,
“Duty.”

 

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Copyright © 2011 – 2020 Tebogo Ndlovu

HumansPoems On Anger and Poems On Anger, Volume 2 are available on Amazon at $0.99 each.

Good At Life

Dear Aunty Noma, 

I write to you
With epiphany
In addition sound mind.

Kindly neglect to mistake 
Candid statements below 
For lack of manners, 
Or madness - God forbid
(sign of the cross). 

Here is my response
Concerning that 'girl'
You ask of so intensely
In your signature, 
Caring tone. 

Yes, she sat for the big exam 
And failed it. 
Yes, she finally married the young engineer 
(the one from Solobbon’s parish) 
And left him. 
Yes, her uncle got her that job
And they fired her the next week.
Yes, she was embarrassed.
Yes, she wished she were a hit with you
Complete with society's blessing. 
But she's bad at living your version of life. 
Yet clearly she's excelled at her own. 
Would you like to try the latter some time?

Yours undoubtedly, 

Me. 

All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2011 – 2020 Tebogo Ndlovu

HumansPoems On Anger and Poems On Anger, Volume 2 are available here at $0.99 each.

Duty

I asked a boy,
dog yelping at his feet,
"Why do you beat that dog so sorely?"
Response: "Because he took my toy."
"Who told you to strike when he misses a beat?"
"My father, surely."
"And why did you listen to that ploy?"
The boy let out freet,
"Because I'm supposed to."

I turned to his mother
-gaunt and dying to slumber,
"You take care of the woman
Who gave birth to you healthy and human,
Then scarred you when you were but a girl
For she thought you too pretty, probably bad spell?"
A nod she offered, plus two.
I pressed same lady, "How did you forgive?"
Response: "Well, aren't I supposed to?"

I asked the slave
who stayed when rendered a stealthy way out:
"But why?"
Swift reason he gave
Void of all doubt,
Subterfuge, slight or sly,
"Because I'm supposed to."

I asked a soldier 
who laughed while he shot unfortunate prisoner of war
-skin taut against latter's osseous matter,
"Why? What for?"
And he began to banter,
"Don't ask me! They said I was supposed to."

I asked the mirror
why I did that thing, such senseless stupor.
She shot back with fervour,
"Duty."

All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2011 – 2020 Tebogo Ndlovu