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See the piles of dirt deposit as they cut their nails!

Their hands didn’t seem heavy when they were taking from our fathers. And now we run away from home to get some piece of foreign peach, while our gardens overflow with fruitful sweetness. Rats are courteous enough to wait for leftovers; these cats snatch our food as we chew it. What’s this curse befalling us that we must collapse and flee at the same time; that our homes are raided by the same figures selected to guard us? You’ll never catch us using these mountain ‘heights’ for a good beyond ourselves. Because our platforms have long been raided, our humanity avidly negated and our voices muted lest we be exterminated. Home is a repository of helplessness.

See us: ever in a rush to cross borders! -Naleli

(Source: newageblawg)

Filed under anarchy assylum third world aspects Lesotho running from lions refugees emigration bad home life african politics

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I am not here to be claimed!

And a man who lost me is the man who lived in the brief moment of desiring to own me. I am not here to be controlled though I comply fully with guidance.

I am here to learn,

And a friend who lost me is the individual who lived in the moment where they stood as interference to the progression of my senses.

I am not here to sleep,

But I oblige fully to letting my head rest on awareness.

I am a woman.

I am human.

And I exist independently from another; my breath powers my own being. I am mass of ceaseless wonder. My density and volumes make my uniqueness valid. There should not be reason before or after in validating my weight, there is absolutely no causation to my form. I am therefore I am worthy. That is all.

Peace, Naleli.

(Source: newageblawg)

Filed under feminist writing poetry feminist poetry humanism i will not be claimed i am newage naleli

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Earlier I cried about troubles. I cried about pain, hurt and disease. I cried to an unrelenting isolation unwilling to join me in my gloom. And when the tears dried I remained; when the wailing went silent I remained and when the commotion stilled I remained. Crying did not change a thing! Crying has not ever reversed any unfortunate circumstance of mine and so surely when the crying stopped I remained.

I appear to remain through the muck and slop endlessly while agony makes its rounds every so often. What is the meaning of this? The continuous opposed duality that does not seem to achieve anything other than its own unfolding: it cannot be balance- two days of pain followed by two days of pleasure never amounted to four days of neutrality. On which side am I if the reality of pain and pleasure is by my own doing? And why oh why do I feed the need to cry in order to remember the unchanging factor of my existence, that through it all I remain? I am yet to figure out the solution to the above inquest but I am sure of one thing- being fussy about the progression of life will definitely cost me!

 Ever striving for simplicity, Naleli.

(Source: newageblawg)

Filed under Micro Story about sadness writting Strange poetry depression pep talk naleli Today I Learned

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The man with sleepy eyes is presenting on forming a group. He wants ‘the brightest’ he says, ‘we will be extending our problem-solving skills to the limit’ he continues and ‘if you are interested in joining us put your name down on this paper’ he concludes. A piece of paper travels with not a drop of ink across the room; no one deems themselves bright I suppose, bright enough perhaps or just enough. It could also be the notion of taking problem-solving skills to the limit that is daunting; because there must be problem-solving skills in existence to begin with. No body dares to join. No body dares! The gathering is a collection of non-darers scared to death of extending their problem-solving skills ‘to the limit’ and of the description ‘bright’ and so they cast shade on their names and suppress all interest.

The man with sleepy eyes is awake. He demands greatness from people who demand little from themselves.

Maybe if he had said he was looking for people or if he had asked for those who are most average some would have jotted their names down. The sleepy eyed man set the bar high up and nobody wanted to rise up to meet it, perhaps he had to drop it low to stimulate participation since meeting the bar would require no effort or courage at all. So easy is it, to stay down when down rather than to move up when we are called to rise toward a challenge? The man with sleepy eyes presents a challenge before he leaves; not the one he writes on the board but the one he impresses upon the mind. Perhaps he wanted those who could go beyond themselves.

The man with sleepy eyes shall be my teacher.

Peace, Naleli.

(Source: newageblawg)

Filed under writting micro story Strange poetry lessons newage today i learned naleli