Where Is The Love?

I continue 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, pealing 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 flaking hopelessness, to the descend of my every footstep.

Every person with whom I converse tells me that Iooze with negative energy, but who can blame me?
When, in my quest at every corner I have met only 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 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 mistook
For a soul-mate.
So, “where is the love”? You ask me!
In my journey of a hopeless miles, I have come ti 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.
Rather, love is to be shared, to be given away freely.
So sprinkle it all aroun, 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 regret and hurt. 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. And 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?

When your heart has been broken enough times, the messages of true affection never really reach their intended and rightful destinations, all 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, and a part of a squad of  guys who play catch with the heart of another Adam’s rib, the 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. Death is indeed imminent. So 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 soul. 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”. A bright light then shined upon her infecting her with a  strong sense of hope. It is then that she understood 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 which He would rewrite her story, the story of her new love life. The throne from which she knew, He would remould her heart anew, because she knew, she knew better, to seek Him first, the potter. Today when she walks the streets of Gaborone, just as only Jesus’ disciples saw Him after resurrection, only worthy men see her, because she has been born again, revived and restored. Nowadays she only lies in a bed lined with sheets of divinity and will only give herself to a man triple-checked by the Trinity. Because now for any man to woo her, it is through the way of one but three avenues, either the Father, the Son or the Holy Spirit.


You introduced me to Love

You introduced me to Love
You introduced me to Love
Whom I thought I knew
But I didn’t.
You are thee ultimate package
Of a “must have” in life.
I have really enjoyed
The warmth of your friendship
Over the years.
Here is to an ionic bond that
Shall last a lifetime on earth
and beyond in the Heavenlies.
Written By: Banyana Baxie Kebalefetse
For: Yvonne Tsona Mpofu
Tsona and Bax

Dear Life

Dear Life

This is it, I’m done. I’m done trying to figure you out.
I had thought even amidst the mystery I had at least
Found a track upon which I would tread without traps
Planted at every curve along my way with you.

I’m done telling myself I know what no man knows not.
Your elusive slippery moves elude the grips of me on
You, so excuse the news that I have let loose the love
That used to hold me dear in His arms for the soothing
Sweet taste of sin.

I know it has not been long enough to claim, that my
Sudden disdain of Him, was as a result of an unholy swim
In a pool of unvirtuous gin. But I have since learnt yet
Again, that knowing what I may; Life my friend,
You will always have your uncertain ways that lead to
That one place where grace always has to find more space
To abound more grace.

So I’m done! I’m done trying to learn the moves to your
Elusive dance.


Purple Light

Today I Write

Today I Write

I realise, when the words come
And you don’t heed the call,
The word then leave and as such
A part of you has been denied
The chance to live.

For some time, inspiration has
Come knocking at my door, but
Too many times I have let her
Down, I’ve let her walk away
while I was too busy with other

But not anymore. Today I put my
Foot down, I will heed to her
Voice and answer the call. Today
I will write, and afford the
Inspired faculties of me to live
Through these words.


They say ‘absence makes the
Heart grow fonder.’ And so I
Wonder; as you embark on this
Journey to wander unto a land
That birthed your mother, how
How much more have their
Hearts grown fonder for yours,

You spoke of your Aunty, your
One and only you called her,
And the excitement that brewed
In her heart, expressed in the
Sound of her voice when you
Called her.

Travel with your heart as white
As moon, and may the hearts of
Us, of those you leave behind
This noon, find fondness that
Binds our thoughts of you in

As you traverse the roads of
Dust with the silent hearts of
Those we’ve known but past.
Remember the first and last,
That He may take to task the
Lurking dark. And may He
Clothe you in luck until you’re