Wake with me

In 2007, I think – it might have been 2008, I performed a poem at the Guild Theatre in East London. I think it was the Sidla Sonke Poetry thingamabob, featuring a lot of great East London poets. There were some very young people there, which is good as it keeps poetry on the move.

Stagnant poetry is a lot like still water – it loses its purity and becomes stale.

“Wake with me

In my Africa

To the bellowing of drums

And the howling of the winds.

Wake to the

Greetings of the sons

Sun kissed by summer’s lips,

Drenched in the African heat

That is my reality.

Come

And walk with me.

Wake with me

Talk to me

About self-confessed martyrs

That chain their promises

To gold spawned tragedies

And walk on mined death

With diamond encrusted soles

And souls plagued with betterment wishes.

Come

Please walk with me.

Wake with me

Talk to me

Be with me

When my foreign brothers

Ravage my sisters

And my mothers bear witness

As my father sits on hope.

…”

- © Walk With Me (2007) – an extract

Like I said, the social-conscious whatwhat side of me will not let me rest.

Namaste.