On March 1st 2019, I hosted my second poetry session called ‘Mic Droppers‘, at CrossGold Music in Gaborone, Botswana. The session was themed; The After-Love Session simply because we’d just ended what is commonly known to be the month of love. So as a way to appreciate my friends and fellow wordsmiths, whom I’d invited as guest acts on the night, I decided to pen down a short piece to say ‘thank you‘, and this is what became of it (I did a whole video for it 😎 ’cause I’m cool like that):
For World Poetry Day 2019, I had to share something that spoke to something larger than myself. So i put pen on paper to capture my thoughts and feeling as we head towards election time as Batswana. Ke kgang e e Masisi (pun very much intended), but we still have to have the conversation while trying our best to divorce all the politics.
From hope to hope we’ve leapt,
We left the ruins of despair to those
Not kept by faith.
Tongues crept and eyes wept a
Decade long, while some as I, awash
With hope, were blinded by jokes. Our
Shoulders were cold to those that
Rang alarms of lashing tongues.
“The man is not who you think he is”,
They said. Most times their tones high
Pitched, though stitched with disdain,
Some truths lay frail at the sounding
Of their cracking voices. And while some
Just news and many a nuisance, these
Were cracking shells harbouring teething
Truths, still waiting to hatch.
So now what? Well, now we wait!
Weighting our fate on the balance of a
New slate who still feeds us pills of a
New hope. A remedy we hope bears
Not the taste of old. For I am told that this
Master is bold, and is of heart. He holds
With fragility and honesty an oath,
To the ‘Rule of Law’
So yet again, with scars and scabs
Whose debt has been to time, that
Fine young healer of all, Once more
We’ve surrendered our yoke and
Entrusted it to a new hope; but
Hope nonetheless. So amidst
This stroke of a dancing whirlwind;
We know naught, if not to court hope
And busk under her rays.
Translation: “Ke kgang e e Masisi” simply translates to “it is a fragile matter”.
And regarding the pun, the word masisi (fragile in this context) is also the name of Botswana’s current president.
I have continued to search tirelessly through the rubble of my being, peeping eagerly through the cracks of my broken heart, and paging anxiously through memories and wishes. But in the paralyses of my senses I cannot seem to find any garment of hope to wear, because everywhere I go thinking hope were there, I only find dead hope, peeling off the walls like dry paint. Every tree I stand under is of dry branches, hope has fallen off with the leaves sneaking under my heels, the crisp sound of hopelessness, to the descend of my every footstep.
Every person with whom I converse tells me that I ooze with negative energy, but who can blame me? When, in my quest at every corner I have only ever met with hopelessness.
But they do try to encourage me, to have a more positive outlook of my troubles and woes, to claim them and use them as steppingstones, towards a less gloomier attitude. But you see, my kind of troubles and woes are only steppingstones, in a downward staircase leading towards an ally in a dark abyss.
They say that love is a drug, and that heartbreak is your body in withdrawal. But you see, what they do not know is that:
Gave my heart a break, from all the heartache,
My heart paid when I placed my heart
In the hands of a foul-mate, that I awfully confused
For a soul-mate.
So, “where is the love”? You ask me!
In my journey of a hopeless miles, I have come to the profound realisation that: love sought, is virtually love bought.
And as in any such transaction, the expectation of any merchant, is profit and a return on investment.
But love does not have a price-tag, it is not a good in a market place, it cannot be traded. But, love is to be shared, to be given away freely, until the natural order of God, punctuates it perfectly into your seemingly loveless story of your life.
And I promise you, like a boomerang, love will always find its way back to you.
The time is Three Fifteen AM, as I find myself wondering under moonlight, swimming in a pool of the concentrated salt-water that is my thoughts; whose piercing sensation cuts deep into my eyes, causing them to weep onto this paper, words, potent with hurt and regret. I try to wipe away the tears, but my hands are covered in red, drenched to the skin with the blood of those that have found themselves wandering under the sharp edges of my so-called-love. I could have sworn that I loved her eternally, but time being time ticked and tocked and knocked reality into that fallacy, and so her fantasy branded with Cinderella-perfection scabbed away all too soon, opening her old injury that soon became a fresh wound. The numbness in her womb seeped up into her heart, masking up its sensitivity to feel any form of true love.
But who can blame her? ‘Cause when your heart has been broken enough times, the messages of true affection never really reach their rightful and intended destinations, because the nerve-endings of the heart just hang loosely between the cracks of your broken spirit. So how do I live with myself, knowing, that I am the breaker of an overly fragile heart, that I am a part of a squad of guys who play catch with the heart of another Adam’s rib, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, Eve!
The doctors say that she has been broken beyond repair, and that even the Medical Aid Policy she subscribed to would not cover the costs of life support of her broken heart any longer. And so, death is indeed imminent. No hope resides in this chapter of her “love story”.
“It’s all in God’s hands now”, one of the doctors hopelessly remarked. But things soon took a dramatic turn the day she whispered a quiet prayer in her spirit. The author of her love story looked down upon her, as she lay on her ICU hospital bed and said, “My child, I see you, and I will cease your pain at once”. It is then that she got to understanding that life is solar-powered, it needs the Son to recharge. And that when He, the Son, said, “it is finished”; it marked not the end but only the beginning, it marked not His fall but rather His ascension on to His throne of glory. From whence He would then re-write her story anew.
Today when she walks the streets of Gaborone, just as only the Messiah’s disciples saw Him after resurrection, only worthy men see her. Today, she will only lie in a bed lined with sheets of divinity, she will only give herself to a man triple-checked by the Trinity. Today, for any man to woo her, it is through one but three avenues, either the Father, the Son or the Holy Spirit.
Written By: Banyana Baxie KebalefetseFor: Yvonne Tsona Mpofu
Days come and days go, but some days don’t just come
And blessèd ones like these don’t just go. They leave
Marks, and live forever, like Hallmarks!
Today, time was punctuated and the pages of its story
Caught a fire, ignited with flames that don’t burn to
Destroy but to illuminate. Today, is the spring of a
Season in the family, the unveiling of a bright, fun,
And colourful flower. Today is your birthday, Gola o
Gole, o segohale o tsohale!
Yvonne ‘Tsona’ Mpofu
Today I ran after the sunset, literally! I had gone out to get my camera from the car to take it into the house and the sun was setting. And as usual my eyes looked about into the wide skies and were met with a beautiful bright amber hiding behind the community junior school. I thought to grab my camera and snap a picture of her quick and I did. But I wanted to see all of her, not hidden behind anything. And so I thought why not find a spot at which she would be all out and exposed. So I went into the car started the engine and hit the dirt road without looking back. With my eyes set on the big and round orange phenomenon in the west, I drove down the Tsatsu seeking the perfect spot for my ‘perfect shot’…whatever that means!
Now a couple of huge dust clouds behind me, I thought I’d found it when I suddenly hit the brakes and did a swift three point turn to veer off the road and finally take my ‘perfect shot’. But as I opened the door, camera ready in hand, I lifted my eyes to the western horizon and encountered a disappearing beauty. I watched as the amber melted away into the bluish grey ngwaketsi sky. And that was it! The sun had set on me and my hope to capture her beautiful flaunt before departure. I have always said I’d sit and watch the sun rise or set but never got around to it, and would always watch it move down or up the horizon. But it never occurred to me that what that meant was that I’d always seen the sun before and after the disappeared or appeared. But this time, I watched it really set. I saw it as its amber receded and literally melt away before my eyes, a beauty I don’t believe I could ever capture in a still picture even it were from a perfect spot, it could never be the ‘perfect shot’.