The One That Got Away

To the one that got away.
Along the ways of memory lanes
I perceive days much better than these.
Days that received much better sunlight,
Cool nights under the moon and stars’ delight.
I remember skies that smiled down upon us
And August winds that sang birthday tunes to the two.
And like sand through the hour glass,
Those were the days of our life that
Descended upon mine like the golden eye
Of the west, as she receded down to her daily demise.
But our time diminished, it varnished away with the ambry rays
Of the beautiful sunset.
And the moon too left our night void
With no voice to sing my heart lullabys.
So goodbye, you that got away.

Our Sun*: Tomorrow!

Patience, my lady.
I know the night devoured our sun,
But act with virtue.
Your Knight comes soon
With the stars and moon for jewels
To adorn your crown.
Drown not in fear and tears,
Tie not knots in your veins,
Let peace sail the tides of your spirit
As we await our time.
Let the rhymes of the vowels on your tongue
Sing serenity into your heart,
Adorn your thoughts with vivid visions
And wear assurances as veils against the dark.
Endure this tedious wait with the mark
Of a promise carved on the doors of our hearts.
Guard your keys to mine with the bars of your rib cage,
‘Cause yours, I hold hidden dear in the core of my being.
Say a prayer, for me and for you
To follow the whispers of God as He
Whistles the wind to direct our souls.
Feast from the bowls of tomorrow’s hand,
The hope that flows like springs that never end.
Feed your soul with the manna of contentment
And let your spirit know:
Your Knight too awaits the golden rays of
Our sun*: Tomorrow!

The Son!

​Today the Son shone on me,

Like a piece of music in my ear,

The warmth of His breath melted my fear.

His rays like a spectrum of violin cords

Coordinated to acoustically amuse

My spirit.

I heard Him with my heart,

And felt His Grace at the tip of

My tongue, He tastes like Love, His aroma

Felt like spsms at the tips of my toes,

His voice looks like a fire that burnt my sin. 

A Son that doesn’t set,

He shines day, night and eternity,

He defines but defies reality:

He is Star, Moon and Sun,

He: is the Father, Spirit and Son

He is all in one.

The Son.

Believe To Receive!

Often times I kneel and plead my needs in prayer,

I feel the need to willingly seek the Lord’s favour.

When tough days show their rough ways I remember to look up,

Searching the skies for signs sent for my eyes.

The same eyes swing side to side too swift to catch His face,

Yet it’s right there, it blinds my sight with its glorious light.

My faith fades like shades of a receding sunset shadow,

My spirit’s too hollow to hold any hope in hand:

And my actual hands too promiscuous to know,

When it’s the Lord that woo my life with a wonderful love.

My thoughts are too numb to succumb to revelations,

To the realisation that comprehension alone eludes salvation.

We need His Spirit like morning manna, to feed our starving lost souls,

That we may behold His true Gospel, and be saved into His sealed fold of Israel adorned with white robes.

Mama’s Hedge Stick Love! (A Birthday Dedication)

Growing up my mother often chose to use a stick/rod to ‘discipline’ me, she would go the hedge tree outside and cut a big enough stick to come whip my buttocks with. She would always give me a short lecture just before delivering lashes to my bum, trying to reach out to me.

For my generation and many before, prior to the “Children’s Rights” and all that (not to ridicule these, but I believe they’ve also created a veil for the indiscipline and misbehaviour some of today’s children, and I speak especially for my country Botswana) , in my country and in our culture, beating your child for wrong doing was an act of love, a way of teaching them right from wrong. For most of my childhood into my early teenage hood, my relationship with my mother is adorned with these bum lashing encounters. But I never hated my mother, not once; not even during those days when she lovingly lined my bottom with hot lashes and left it sore. I loved her (I still do), and even as I cried, I’d shout “mama wee…”, crying to same person who was in that moment the source of my ‘woe’, arousing such cries with a hedge stick. I believe the old saying, “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” was derived from Proverbs 13:24: “Those who spare the rod of discipline hate their children. Those who love their children care enough to discipline them.” When my mother beat me she was disciplining me, it was the manifestation of her love for me. She desired to see me grow and go about a way of virtue, with an ability to discern right from wrong. Not many who may read this will know me personally, but for those who do, they will appreciate the gem that my mother’s hedge stick love has cut and polished.

Many moons and suns have shone, faithfully through all seasons of life.

And likewise,

As mother of many daughters and sons, your hand has nurtured and molded us.

But today’s risen sun and his shining light, sing and shout to you: we celebrate and appreciate you.

Happy Birthday MaMa 😘

Little Stars

Twinkle twinkle little stars,

One foot out the door so far.

As you hop on up to primary school,

Obey all rules and be smart too.

What the teacher says, always do,

Good boys and girls are always cool.

Always do your work on time,

For any of you, a 100%, is perfectly fine.

You should wear your shirt and tie,

Fresh pair of socks and shoes that shine.

You’re the little presidents of our tomorrow,

The heirs of Dr. Khama, whom you should follow.

But surely I say: “this is not goodbye,”

Its a great, ‘hello’, to the open sky.

Open skies with infinite possibilities,

So open your palms and grab those opportunities.

Little stats, little stars:

Soar on high, fly and shine.

This is a fun poem written for the class of 2014 pre school graduates, from that Pre-School at the heart of the University of Botswana (UB) main campus I never knew by name, I still don’t actually. The interesting fact is, for four full years I was a full-time student at UB and passed by this Pre-School on almost every day I was there; like I said, it’s at the heart of the university campus. 

Anyway, I was told the piece never made it to them after I sent it. It was meant to be printed out for each one of them as little souvenirs, and also on the back of each copy of their graduation day’s programme, for those in attendance. So now almost two years later, I publish it here and rededicate it to each one of those little boys and girls, wherever they are, and wish God’s blessings and mercies upon their little lives as they continue to grow under His sustenance and Grace. The world is a beautiful place that needs your light to flaunt its lustre, but rain clouds will gather and occasionally darkness may cover the world. So always shine bright, and even brighter when its darkest, and be the silver lining the world needs.

The Rain Song

The Rain Song – http://wp.me/p77UAj-5a
Tuduetso Pretty Nkunyane, God’s own. Loves life, loves to laugh and her greatest prayer and hope is that each person can have an encounter with God. A member of the Seventh Adventist Church who loves the arts and would love to see them incorporated in worship more and writer behind Ring Finger Confessions post on social media. Enjoy!I am a Motswana, from Botswana and I was born and raised in the beautiful streets of Gaborone.

Rain holds a significant place in the lives of Batswana and translated to Setswana rain is pula. Our currency is called the PULA, our national slogan is PULA, when we bid you farewell and wish you well we send you off with the blessing PULA e go nele tseleng which means ‘may it rain on your path.’

When I was a little girl I was taught 2 different rain songs. Whenever it rained we would run outside and jump up and down in the rain singing,  “ pula, pula nkgodise ke tla gola leng” directly translated to English it means ‘ rain, rain make me grow, when will I grow up’.

Each time thunder would sound we used to say it was God’s laughter and we would laugh along. Every time lighting would flash we would strike poses because we said it was God taking our pictures.

The second rain song I was taught I learnt in school and it went a little different to the first one both in language and in meaning. ‘Rain, rain go away come again another day, little Tudu wants to play’.  Each time we sang it we were doing it just for the amusement of the teacher and it felt just like another school task we had to complete in order to pass. Our young hearts had no time or room for complaint or negativity towards something that brought us so much joy.

I am a Motswana, from Botswana, born and raised in the beautiful streets of Gaborone and when I was a little girl I was taught 2 rain songs but only one has stuck with me up to this day.

 “ Pula, pula nkgodise ke tla gola leng”

‘ Rain, rain make me grow, when will I grow up’

As children we understood that rain means growth, it means rejuvenation, it means progress, it means renewal of life. But the older we get the more we seem to fear the rain and the possibilities it brings, we panic at the first sight of rain clouds gathering in the sky.

The older we get the more faint the voice of God becomes to us, the more we become doubtful and the less we trust in the promises of God all because of a little rain every now and then.

I know, sometimes life just feels like one huge storm. Some days it doesn’t just rain but it pours, and we (myself included) feel as if God is nowhere near us or our situation.

We find ourselves desperately groping in the dark trying to find a way of escape or atleast a stop/pause button so we could calm the storms of our lives and just stop the rain. Our screams seem to get lost in all the chaos and our thoughts are so loud and panic ridden that they become so clouded that all our hearts can beat and shout is Master master the tempest rages  and we don’t even hear Him say  Peace be still, not to the storm but to our hearts. We get so choked up from leaning on our own finite understanding that we don’t hear Him say be still and know that I AM God.

We get so consumed by the rain that we forget the rain song, we try control everything and fail to surrender it all to Him so much that we forget the rain dance. But if we could just stop for a moment and listen we would hear that still small voice remind us:

 “ Pula, pula nkgodise ke tla gola leng”

‘ Rain, rain make me grow, when will I grow up’

We would realize that God has always been there and we need not panic. Storms are part of life because they are a part of our refinement process. He would never let us go through anything we wouldn’t be able to handle.

Every single time you have heard the thunder He was right there beside you holding your hand and walking you through the terrifying sound, and each time lightening would strike not only was He watching you but He was carrying you to less frightening lights, the light of His glory.

Every time it rained or poured in your life God was right there besides watching you grow from the experience, even during those times He didn’t send that rain your way. Yes even during those times He tried to stop you but you insisted on walking right into the eye of the storm and when you got there you screamed, Mater the tempest rages, carest thou not? He has always been there slowly guiding your feet to the familiar beat of the rain song.

“ Pula, pula nkgodise ke tla gola leng”

‘ Rain, rain make me grow, when will I grow up’

Maybe it’s the Motswana in me, maybe its my childhood memories of singing and dancing in the rain.

But I want to believe God will never send a storm my way to destroy me or rain on my path if He is not going to teach me to dance through it.

Maybe its my love of the strong beautiful earthy aroma that lingers after it rains, but I want to believe God will never bring rain or storms my way if He has no intention of carrying me through them.

I am a Motswana, from Botswana, born and raised in the beautiful streets of Gaborone and when I was a little girl I was taught 2 rain songs but only one has stuck with me.

With Love, PTN.