Sir Tshiamo Modise Poems

Ke dirobaroba nakedi tsa ga Mmasedi' a Mphela
Ke tlou ya ga Mmammipa-a Moatshe
Pholola matlhare, Pholola Matlhare oo Masudubele
Motho wa ga nthapele ga ke ntse
...

Fa nkabo ke itse kene ketla ipala mebala ya kgaka
Fela bontle jwa gago bo a nkgaka
Ke aga ke felela ka lele reng ke mabele
Mme o ntebe ekare ware ipale ya kgaka eseng ya serurubele
...

It’s good when everything is bad
You don’t have to get me to dig what I am saying
Yeah it’s cool to be hot, are you confused?
That’s swagg in the pushing
...

Being aware that what she uttered to his ears were sweet nothings meant nothing.
He continued to listen with a bogus gesture of promise and understanding.
The reason being her sweet mesmerizing voice which sounded like a piano complemented by a harmonious coherent single cord harp, and her company which soothed his soul and gave it the buoyancy of floating whenever his heart leaped.
The music and luxury that no man would wish to either cease or forfeit had it been within and never beyond his control.
...

We sailed through the night like never before.
He was ticking and tocking.
I was tossing and turning.
Caffeine had extended the distance to the shore.
...

I am not shy I am not!

It is just that whenever I gaze at your face
My mind executes words that do this beauty some injustice
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Expecting us to reconcile
Is like building a brittle wall as a remedy for a while
Forgetting that inside BEE nepotism, e-Tolls', and money greed continue to pile
Be warned that the wall shall break to haunt like that of exile
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From you I am not anticipating the world.
For it has been neither enough nor ours in the first place.
I vow to ignore all the relationship boundaries that limit your ownership of this God granted space
Yes, reach for and own the stars,
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Ghetto the sea of shacks & sharks the sweet-hazard that has my lifeline written upon
Leth’imali! Sounds of the sharks appearing from the pitch-black shade of shacks
Knifes, books, crime and penitentiary rehabilitation, to live these are the ropes we got to hang on
SOWETO, my mother's nest. So-where-to asked forefathers that had our black backs
...