Wednesday, March 1, 2017




There Was once Men wearing Turbans,
Now its Called Doek on Fleek,
prison awaits When truth you Speak.
relax its Start of the Week
Alas look how full are Tarvens;
Girl's in robes and boys in wrongs;
Money in tatters and us in loan shark's
Tarven owner's And mourners;
Poet's be rebellious,
Let me start a poem,
To my comrade's let me sound conscious,
As long as the rhyme will be our honours
So what do you think?
Feng shui,
Fuck her without a condom?
What about us, kids and unemployed?
Army not deployed, good guys and no killing in war;
Feng shui, she gone my girl,
Friend! I am opening myself to you;
Blue as the world may seem,
Power to the people!
Money must buy you the land!
As government said, we all shall eat bread.
Khusela judge Xoyana and Tshediso Seroki


The title has got nothing to do with a poem!
Who cares in this life we living anyways?
The good die young,
The bad live longer and die of greed.
Even if you Justin bieber,
Nothing lasts forever.
Who knew we would be dying of swine fever?
They give you Apple's,
For your spears
And then they are in control of your tears,
Like 9/11 tragedy we make profitable movie's,
As life continues,
Leak your wounds,
Loved child, as it was written in the furry tale of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Nobody gives a fuck; tough luck!
Weep no more,
You not alone,
Prayers won't help us much and we should have learnt from that by now!
In the system of the evil,
We forced to name our kids with clan names like Melville,
In order for them to get jobs easily,
What happened to Martin Luther king Dream?
As we vanish like a stain from white sheet,
Shit, shit and shit has been a language we all understand,
Buckets full of it,
Trousers full of it,
And lately poets mouth is full of it,
Is it the prophecies of Sobukwe or 27years of Mandela behind bars?
Let's make a joke and laugh about it,
Our president never got a formal education!
The Shepherd is on drugs and horny,
Mind sexing sheep's and pigs don't even hear the words he speaks,
Ventriloquist he seems,
Under the sheets his fit!
And obviously he misplaced his leading stick,
So writers stick to what they good at,
Writing books as part of history,
That will never be picked up by teachers and teach the teen's,
Bcz nobody gives a shit, about the kids or future
Give them food and send them to the streets and hustle donation!
Let them organise a mob,
Carry machetes and unlicensed guns kill each other,
And blame the police for not doing their job.
Glued to your TV sets,
As the President tells you about raise in taxes,
And lame advice to minimise yo expenses.
Come December holidays with the false claims that Jesus is reborn,
People are forced to spend their rands.
This poem will never have happy ending if I don't feed you with incense!
Isn't it what we all forced to love,
Yes love, nobody gives a shit about love even the so called loved ones,
When the guns are drawn,
Taxi man wants his rands in ten,
They all look outside for the saviour to come,
And I brought all these things in one page,
To play my role in this game of life,
Persuade you to come with me as we change the world.
Now this poem of apples and Spears end,
Khusela Judge Xoyana


When I say white murderers and black mourners,
Bitter sweet poetry and I lose civil rights movement members.
To regain realists.
But when I say black murderers and white mourners,
Best poetry award and I get air played,
To regain false friend's.
I am getting closer to truth,
Scaring them youth,
The brown colour in my eye can testify,
That love is indeed blind.
You say money is a root of all evil but,
You sue me when I use these lines without paying you cent,
Does my dark colour give you that aggressive scent?
Black goat's,
Swear no oath,
To be accepted in the kraal dominated by white goat's,
To a lions taste buds they taste like other goat's.
As gold from the soil comes out black,
So is the moon give way to sun rise,
Man trade his life for life after death,
Back then when father's use to feed their son's,
Now the father's got to stay fit so they can dig graves for their Son's.
Most of the horrific shit happens when one is hungry,
And even Bee's will kill you for their honey,
Government official robbed man land and its not funny.
The cause of I death can be traced on the lines I wrote.
Man must not bang to beg,
I fail to understand why would you compare the blood of Jesus with a wine?
Broken and divided people look clumsy in these church uniforms.
Not much we can do against the movement of the sun,
Than to give a dignified burial,
Roof over the young ones head,
It's filthy manners feeding on bed.
World belongs to all those who breath,
As we respect ancestors for they were here before us,
An idea that became a thought,
Now he's a man in no man’s land,
What are you fighting for?

KHUSELA JUDGE XOYANA: is the founder of the Street Poetry (Death Of a Sonnet) group on face book. He is from South Africa, lives in Cape Town Western Cape Province speaks both English and his mother language is  IsiXhosa.

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