Tuesday, 26 January 2016

Broken Promises, Youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7pf4VaGkqA

ABOUT AUTHOR

 He is known as Tlhookomelo Survival Mashile, born 1993/11/03 in a small town called Sabie, Mpumalanga, raised in a township called Leroro. His interest for literature started off at age 11, started off by compiling lyrical content into poetry, until he was able to write on his own. In 2013 he relocated to Johannesburg in pursuit to study Law in the Vaal University of Technology. Exposed to poetry, he started performing on various stages, such as Jerry K poetry session in Newtown, creating a name for himself. His stage name later formed to “Survival The-Poet”, working alongside Taelo Motholo, and Jerry Kaposa, a film director.

His work has been published on various publications such as Joy Magazine, Coinage Books, Contè Magazine, to name a few. He owns a poetry App on Google Play Store named after this book, The Poet’s Dream.

Contact details:
Postal Address: P.O Box 84
                           : Leroro
                           : 1273
Cell: 071 274 7486
Twitter: @Survy_mash
Facebook: Survival The-Poet Mashile


We Rhythm

Pounds of flesh beat rock,
Beat rocking to soothing melodies,
Vocalists,
Cubase keys,
And silent notes, fixed on symphonic combustions,
Exhilarating on mixed sound waves colliding with heat patterns,
Cultivating pleasant rhythmic elements for kind ears to mingle with,

We have dug past serenades,
Granites,
Just to find the comfort layers our hearts could conform to,

We stumble our feet,
Tiptoeing to tempos,
Drumming,
Flutes our late great drummers left for our hearts to pace with;
Now the present is clicking,
Tripping,
Snapping,
Beat boxing,
Composing,
Dancing to sequences that simultaneously transcend with our pulses,

To every house beat our hearts elope,
To every soul our hearts bleed out,
To every jazz rhythm our hearts startles,
Happiness liberates generously in our chests humming sorrows absent,

Thus we chant,
Ululate to every beat boxer,
Music composure,
Producer,
Ghost writer,
For this is the rhythm,
We are the rhythm,
And we rhythm

By: Ts Mashile

Flashbacks

We were entities once,
The spheres in both eyes carried the world in its core,
Our future looked less of dynamites.
We walked through rocked edges,
With our toes pinpointed to crystals.

We have dug past diamonds,
Exploited minerals,
To hold still the future,
Carried our sun past havoc,
Confusion, mayhems,
Yet remained stationary as the wind blew along with the hail,

We reflected one another past each other’s walls,
We were humanitarians back then,
Possessed peace in our sleep,
Brought nature to a halt,
Reviewed to find a purpose for our heavy breathing;

Now I walk into retail,
Everything has become of your nature.

The teddy bear owns your eyes,
The cashiers carry your smile,
Soundtrack overflows with your joy,
The nest of roses dwells in your fragrance,
I reminisce on irreplaceable moments spent on back scrubs, and foam play,
The bottle of pain killers reminds me of the midnight run to the filling station,
The pillow cases held memories of all the tears I tumble-dried;

I live in presentiments now,
How I thought there was a missing Bishop on my board,
When it was essentially her,
My Queen;
I have lost myself in the eclipse of her true skies.

By: Ts Mashile

No Pun Intended

I cannot see beyond this page,
My words have become inferior to those who conduct tyranny in their strides,
I have walked through dark shadows,
Green pastures,
Shallow streams,
Open graves,
But never looked down on any path,

My struggles could only remind me of ancient days,
When kingdoms fell in each other’s dens,
When inked feathers collided with hessians,
Galvanized swords with corroded flesh,
Iron rods with bow-and-arrows,
And entities with entities;

It reminded me of my mother’s days,
When her tears could puzzle up the hail teenage activists necessitated to retaliate,
When her blood profoundly splattered visible the emblem engraved under our pigment,
When her scowls and brows stood still to raise the retention banner of our forefathers land,

Into our conquest,
Apartheid fell,
Our old flag fell,
Human trafficking fell,
Xenophobia fell,
Rhodes fell,
Tyrant monuments fell,

Now fees must fall,
Nyoape must fall,
Corruption must fall,
France must fall moreover.

They colonized, and tortured,
Ridiculed our African raw skin while disguised in black robes,
Bibs,
Glittering shoes and wigs;

People run from their reality because it’s dull,
No spill glimmer in it,

And face the light.

By: Ts Mashile

The Other End of Time

I am swimming in a cloud cubed with emotions,
Scurried scars recall my heartaches,
Once cared for galaxies picked in a million eyes,
But erected a home in yours,
I wounded death,
Lived with no regrets,
For your once pure heart held the light of eternity;

It made me realize the earth spun in orbits,
And we were the only constant treasures living in equilibrium,
That although sin lived through women,
I could still avert nature, and stare the world in innocent eyes,
Breathe hope, and sincerity,
For our forever rose with the showers of infinity;

 I remembered when you nursed humanity under your spotless skin,
Giggled our flaws into extinction,
Resemble Ubuntu, and brought peace into existence,

Our spirits linked,
Hearts consumed,
Sons bred fire,
But fatal wounds gave birth to reservoirs,
Eyelids signified hatred in every blink,
Our hearts ceased to speaking colloquial tongues,
But now bare tantrums, and panic attacks on every toss,

We have acknowledged adversity,
Mastered the principles of gravity,
Now utensils have become our forces of attraction,
Magnetic globes panel from morning to sunsets,


Our magnitude is mistaken by servants of love who hold nothing but critical thoughts that forever might resurface.

By: Ts Mashile

House Ten

Enormous clouds pierced down my soul,
Light eyes sparkled back my heavens,
Dent knees shoved crowded skies open,
Old recurring prayers met its decimal;
You my angel had finally touched my Heavens.

I remembered how we first met,
How our eyes discretely locked for no one to decrypt,
How back and forth our hearts paced through the bookshelves,
How words were brought meaning through us;
You taught me how to master the art of handling a woman,
How to seize her body,
Weak point and flaws,

I remembered the four corners,
How shallow they were before your presence was true,
How my echoes carried me through sleepless nights,
How victimized tears flooded its roots, and pillow cases,
How the melancholy of quiet streams, seagulls would set me awake.

I remembered the end of us,
How words became meaningless,
How hate became binding, and consuming,
How broken mirrors, a missing Chess piece,
Lingered with our existence,
How a white Bishop was the only witness to what we had;
Because when our tears engaged,
Tongues lost strength.
 By: Ts Mashile