UNTITLED

The eyes of this world
took a closer look
at the blueprints
of its off-springs.
We emerged from tombstones
of our early ancestors,
their souls resurrected
in our hearts,
so we pumped out
the black blood
and smeared
knowledge
on the scripts of life.

Our voices longed
to be heard by the deaf,
so the inner voice
insisted to poke
their spiritual ears,
now they feel every word
which tap their eardrums.

Rutang bana ditaola
le se ye natso badimong.
Let them know their roots,
as the heavy rains
of Queen Modjadji
feed the thirsty seeds of the soil.

Though sometimes culture
is not realy fair,
because we give life
by taking one from another being.
We pay the grounds
for our good lucks,
No wonder why
we are left poor,
while our stolen
lands are kept rich with minerals
and we still holding the traded
mirrors, looking at
fake reflections of our well-beings.

The cultural revolution
continues, its up to us
whether we hold on
or we on hold
of the mythical scriptures.
God bless the Brainchild!!