The Real-ish Introduction

I recall one of the very first poems that I wrote.
It was titled “These Words”. I keep revisiting that particular piece of work, not to edit and make it better – even though I would admit that it could do with a face-lift of sorts – but, instead to remind myself of the journey that I have taken all these years.

”These words are meant to assist a lost soul find it’s mate,
These words are meant for broken hearts, not for breaking hearts.
These words are meant to build a family, not destroy its foundations,

These words are meant to reunite a nation, not to split it apart.”

- © These Words (2002) – an extract

I must confess that I find this poem rather repetitive; although I do not believe that it ever becomes tedious. Talk about self-praise!

Since that poem, I have written hundreds of others, which rather sadly have seen most of them fall into the trap of carelessness. And I have lost many of my poems either through plain forgetfulness or allowing someone to take a small collection and never return with it.

”Awunayo nencinane

Akukho nengququ yaphezolo.

Isisu sigqwethekile.

Kodwa, uhleli ekhona uMolo,
Mtnwana kaNontlupheko.”

- © Mntwana kaNontlupheko (2005)

This piece was written during one of my experimental phases. I must admit though that this phase is perpetual, in the sense that I am still in the same experimental phase that I was in 2005 when I wrote this poem, which oddly enough is exactly the same experimental phase that got me started with poetry.

I discovered then that writing in my own mother tongue was going to prove detrimental to my progress and so I stopped but not before I wrote; I AM :

“I am son

Of father. Son to chief.

Untondo kumgca wesizala,

Emva kwexesha.
I am

Ingwe yabantu

Great son of my father,

Filial of amadoda asebuhlanti.
Elephants, great in their pride.
I am

Ugabula ‘zigcawu,

Oqhub’ indlela kwamath’ empukane.

Andizinqob’ macala.
But, I am the son of a blood line

Of kings

I am the chief of lines
…”

- © I AM (2005) – an extract

My only defense for this poem, having unsuccessfully combined English with isiXhosa, is that I had a moment of questionable judgment. That is it.

Namaste.