I WILL RHYME

The world will sleep
And I will rhyme

I am, who I am
Time bares no essence
To this flow
My rhymes are subliminal
To your streaming thoughts
Captivating my experience
Click-clocking my crucial breath
My mourns are an abyss
Tears flowing down my pillow
Deceptive to this evidence
Evidence of lost stage
Chronicles of my melancholic woes
Chronologically staged by destiny
I am, who I am

Phlegmatic I am, to this age
Patience made me
Even my adversary knows it
The world will sleep
And I will rhyme

I will pronounce
My nomadic culture
That flows in the stream
Of these veins
Hottentots gave me prestige
In the land of my kingdom
The land of wisdom
To my egotistical heritage
My mind is a lantern
A tribalism of these thoughts
Into a notion of nation
The beat of my heart a station
That resides holistic voices
In the land of Swaziland
Deep into the concave mountains of Zululand
Where the drums speak

The drums spoke to me
I am who, I am
I am Ndebele, moPedi,
Mswati, Mosotho
I am Xhosa, Shangani
Stationery I stand
On the boulders of Zion
Where I pronounce my name

This is who I am
Ngingu Twala
Mnyamande
Mkhonto oduma njengezulu
Shive engenampondo
Wena ka siwela
Shive ebomvu
Mnyango kawuvalwa
Uvalwa ngamakhanda amadoda
Wena ka Nyembe
Nduku kusa thethwa
U Twala lithonga
Lithoga ngokunukwa
“Motswakho ona uwamfirikanya”
For I walk with Batswana too

This mixture is subliminal
I buried my grand
For he lived as a grand
Over his barren grave
I stood, saluted him
My tears not shed
For he was a soldier
His soul is nomadic
Even the Caucasian forks know me
As a crystal purist
The world will sleep
And I will rhyme

 I will write this man
Into a coward he is
A white-bearded Blackman
Who knows nothing about his own
Who mistaken these mothers
To punching-bags
An abusive bastard
Who metamorphosed these sons
To illegitimate sons
However true to the sun
Narcissistic sons of the world

The world will sleep
And I will rhyme

I will write myself
Into a thug
Impregnated by a bullet
Death is my child
Even my ghetto girls know me
The barrel of the gun made me

And I will rhyme

My rhymes will oracle
My beloved Africa
Tears flowing down my pillow
Whose infants are in bondage
Even to this age
From the eve of my birth
Patience made Her
Mother-Africa

There she stands
Her welcoming arms open
Embracing my emancipated breath
Tiptoeing, toitoing, ululating
This genuineness
As pure as the sound of the ukulele
I am
The legitimate son of the soil
Toasting all bygone spirits
Dawning to a new era
My African renaissance
My hope, my dream, my reality
Even the seraphic beings know me
Mother-Africa made me

And this world
Will sleep
And I will rhyme

By Linda Sakazi Thwala