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POI- No automatic alt text available. This great month of May – sometimes endowed with cloudy mist  dawns  while  evenings are dressed  in  shadows  in a journey  to black pitch caves of  savana   nights. May ,the month  of  hooting owls , laughing hyenas and regretting baboons, WINTER is knocking  our dizzy brains and quite a tough  and a  musical festival  in  African jungles . The Tenor  of   the evening  chilly winds, the soprano  of  hooting  birds , the baritone of barking  baboons  and the tempo of  laughing hyenas. POI affords to bring to  you our readers , followers and personalities  , an  inspiring personality Poet , Performer, Published Writer and Creative arts activist Rebaone K. Motsumi.  The Poet and artist   is  proof beyond the shadow of clear   doubt   , the princess  blessed with  verbal dexterity  and syntactical thoroughness . Her poetry is a must READ. Rebaone is a fast rising poet based in BATSWANALAND present day Botswana.  She   boasts of her magical choice of words. POI presents Motsumi to you enjoy  her  heart-beating  and soul-ticking poems.

POI can be contacted  at inspiringpersonalities@gmail.com . You are all  free to comment , follow and like our  articles.

 

I WRITE BECAUSE…

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This blood running in my veins…                                                                                                                             has got excess reserves measured in gallons                                                                                                confounding even the most astute                                                                                                                                         As sternums heave and strain under duress                                                                                                                                               of words hidden and decompressing                                                                                                                                                    in a heart much too small to contain them

Veins pulsate with surplus crimson                                                                                                                             Ruptured syntax convene with scattered semantics                                                                                                      As I bleed cerise ink from pen                                                                                                                                                       No choice have I but to pour myself out                                                                                                                          Lest the air becomes privy to thoughts                                                                                                                 solemnly promised to paper                                                                                                                                                      In fervent presuppositions of adultery kept at bay

I write because no choice have I been given                                                                                                                    But to pour myself out                                                                                                                                                         To pour myself out                                                                                                                                                            Pour myself out…

 

MY RAINBOW

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Only I know the colour of my rainbow                                                                                                                                      Dark hues, soul coloured of black crow                                                                                                                                     Blue blackish innuendos tarnish immaculate tendencies                                                                                                                            Turning them into grey overcast skies                                                                                                                        Screams of delight screech over smiles of red painted lips                                                                                                                                                                                                 as slowly you uncover the hues of my soul                                                                                                                      Meanwhile increasingly uncovering your perfect will in me

Only I know the colour of my rainbow                                                                                                                                   But then there is you                                                                                                                                                          having gently insinuated your hallowed dominion                                                                                                                         over my earthly abode                                                                                                                                                           You are arrived…                                                                                                                                                                         I’m nowhere near your rapturous flawlessness                                                                                                           Ha! Royalty has always been the bane of my existence

How fitting that I be privy to kingdom secrets!                                                                                                        Secretly secreted away in unknown places                                                                                                                  I have rendezvoused with angels                                                                                                                                                                                  They equipped me with royal priestly etiquette                                                                                                       Singing praises to Him who declares freedoms                                                                                                            from the entirety of His benign heart                                                                                                                           Light beckoning to souls galumphing in inky darkness

Trudging through the muddy alleys of life                                                                                                                    Feet cracked, cracks caked with fine dusted filth                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Sandstorms not withholding their bludgeoning…                                                                                                                                         in contentment not found                                                                                                                                                   My palms were always meant to massage love into feet                                                                                           having traipsed forlornly through heartache                                                                                                       The kaleidoscopic colours bursting forth are my rainbow let loose

I cannot hold on to the colourful constellations circling                                                                                                   Circles in-cased in my mere existence                                                                                                                          let them colourfully attack your senses                                                                                                                            as I let go and create another rainbow                                                                                                                           Whose colours will only be known to me

 

 

 

WIDOWED VIRGINS

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Burrowing in a deepening gorge                                                                                                                                                  In decadent self-indulgent orgies                                                                                                                              Mourning like a virgin in sackcloth                                                                                                                                           Grieving for the beloved of her youth                                                                                                                     Daughter disregarding her mother’s words                                                                                                                                    For straying and decaying worlds                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Of prostituting selves                                                                                                                                                            In clothes spelling expensive yet screaming cheap                                                                                     Matrimonial beds defiled beforehand                                                                                                            Culmination found in sin                                                                                                                                    Consummation profound, premarital                                                                                                                                         Soundless and keening groans that cannot be uttered                                                                                                  The Spirit’s place taken                                                                                                                                                  By the unworthy given token                                                                                                                                          Of appreciation undeserved                                                                                                                                        Avenging angels of sensuality reign                                                                                                                              Sackcloth cover where in lace ‘twas supposed to be adorned                                                                                            Virgins wear black for men lost                                                                                                                                        Given to the world at no cost                                                                                                                                Husbands given the worst                                                                                                                                                        In brides having long given the best                                                                                                                                      To scavenging birds of prey                                                                                                                                            Gorges don’t spew the burrowers                                                                                                                                                  Who deepen the caves of hades                                                                                                                                           For themselves and demons hate                                                                                                                                     While we cry for our betrothed                                                                                                                                         Who now in decadence stand clothed                                                                                                                        Dead in spirit to the heavens                                                                                                                                                               Leaving the mourning virgins widows                                                                                                                              Whose husbands live in dead-like daily obscenities

 

 

 

 

 

 

…OF AILMENTS

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Hearken                                                                                                                                                                             unto my stricken cry                                                                                                                                                                You heaven                                                                                                                                                                      Because in all I had I did try                                                                                                                               Though life I did not leaven                                                                                                                                                                   Still forces I could not control                                                                                                                                                 In everything set me off                                                                                                                                                               And my life became unbound as a roll                                                                                                                                                                                                                     My chest heaving with cough                                                                                                                                                            Ailments I could not overcome                                                                                                                                             Though I fought                                                                                                                                                                   With this I could not love                                                                                                                                              Could not dare dream to be bought                                                                                                                                  All I do will be in the fight                                                                                                                                                     Till this one takes flight

 

WITCH DOCTORED MASQUERADE

Beady eyes punctuate groans uttered                                                                                                               Careening off limits from shrines cluttered                                                                                                    with debris                                                                                                                                                     resultant of avid fanatics disillusionment                                                                                            Their growls                                                                                                                                                            Their howls                                                                                                                                                                                                    Sending chilly spine tingling sensations to ears                                                                                                          long deprived of sticky sweetness                                                                                                              Sweetness doctored with an after-taste of bitterness

Beady eyes punctuate groans uttered                                                                                                                   Careening off limits from shrines cluttered                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     with debris                                                                                                                                                                   from screeches of witches thrown down caves                                                                                                                     They crow                                                                                                                                                              They hoot                                                                                                                                                                                                                            As owls respond with wide eyed speculation                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       as water flows down to create a dam                                                                                                            reputed to have healing powers                                                                                                                           powers doctored with a crafty astuteness                                                                                                          of vulnerabilities availed for extortion

Beady eyes punctuate groans uttered                                                                                                                            Careening off limits from shrines cluttered                                                                                                      with debris                                                                                                                                                                                from souls and spirits having found a saviour                                                                              discovering destinies long lost to misty and belligerent enemies                                                                   Whose sole aim was to derail and detain destiny                                                                                                                            To the horror of a benevolent creator                                                                                                                        who gently guides in a quest to supremacy

Beady eyes punctuate groans uttered                                                                                                  Careening off limits from shrines cluttered                                                                                              with debris                                                                                                                                                         Of shirked irresponsibility                                                                                                                                     Of exorcised demons                                                                                                                                           which had masqueraded as angels of light                                                                                                                                                                 Now keening in distress                                                                                                                                                                          As souls discover destinies                                                                                                                                    And wrench themselves from witch doctored masquerades

 

Rebaone K. Motsumi -is a young lady from Radisele, Botswana. She is a missionary working with Urban Rhythm Youth Center in Lobatse. she also is a writer with a published book; a poetry anthology called Letters to my Beaux. She performs poetry under the stage name Soetik.  She   also sings and dances as well.

POI is published by Mbizo Chirasha – the Founder of the GirlChildCreativityProject , Writer , Acclaimed Poet  and WordPress Publisher.

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