Eish P.

Eish, joe! Your green dot light is off.

Offline?

This thing must lie maan,

Mara, My Heart bleats beats for you yazi;

Just say hello

I’ll be fine

I’ll surf smurf smiles I swear

Breakdance, be-bop,

Send dreadlock; weaves and waves

I’ll be top, mfana

Mara-My-Heart

Just say hello.

I’ll be fine.

Untitle my heart Nubia

I can’t help it; I get caught taking long walks around the park with Jill Scott after dark

Isaac Hayes, Clarence Carter and Mpharanyane don’t make it a simple matter of cliché’s

Dimples- somewhere close, somewhere where we can jump the primus stove

Everday and in every way in music and in the dance in your eyes
We will smile till we retire-just till we awaken our soul child squire.

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They said he writes like a scribe

But all he offered was a dollar and a bribe

While he sat downing the sun

Reading Sipho Sepamla’s The Blues is in You and Me

In the I and the envy in you

But his... his eyes stay blue and true

Blinded by the remaining remainder

He is a writer in love

Nubia where art thou?

Found her and thought there was no way I could be fond of her

Heart fondler I was but toddler in the matters of love art eish just pop fartish reality

Briskly my mind friskily flirts with the sound of her name; passersby all say, “aga shame!”

Soul bender we rock on like rebels by slender means with a roof under our heads

Singing along with the three little birds on our dub-step prepped and peppered same song

I found her and thought there was no way I could bond with her

Breakdance babe, Carolina my red red wine will the stars ever give us a chance? 

Another one for Nubia, painter of my Heart

I sat with the horn blowing my heartfelt manifesto of the heart

Alone, ostracizing the self for loving and not telling

How do I paint a picture that scripts my closeness to her aptly?

Pulpitised by my desires the scriptures knows of my sins

The trumpet is a puppet of her voice as she paints verbs

I duck and swerve, keep quiet so that silence conceals admiration

Can I talk to you painter of volatile gestures, understand my madness

Let me shun King James’ version, yours and mine could be neo-renaissance

The cymbals, flugals and the trombone blast the songs of Solomon anew

So we shall dance wherever we are welted to the ventricles that maketh Venus

In your tranquility princess I shall watch you make art no matter how hard,

I seek your heart; please let me find it where I think it is hiding, in secret.

She is from a country called Nubia :-)

Nayabinghi, spinning elements on period steroids

Shards hitting ear drums with beat hemorrhoids

Splish splash dashed from Malawi to poisonous Durban

Urban graffiti torched on Tosh’s Olympic torch

Reggaemalytis premonition, mission statements

Missionary kamasutrian Nubian melodies

Black skin sin brown sugar bubbly princessness

Jah Bless!!!

Ginger

The ginger bread man, do you understand?

Clouds are falling, clowns

The rise of the garrison of the, the sun’s son is eminent, sure

The firmament needs reinforcement and a gun on Harrison and DeKorte

Outbuildings are burning, Othello and the black ram turning short

Why are you standing over there?

With three little birds licking lollipops with Iago

One two…

One two three they burp cargo, their farting words worse than it is art

Parting the partition of the ones and twos

Now do you understand, the ginger-bread-man, man?