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

Email: tlhokza@gmail.com

Website: www.survymash.blogspot.com

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

Beauty and the Curse

Our eyes stayed locked,

Every blink led us to a different diversion,

Every tear carried us in its joy,

We overcame our presentiments,

Overseen tantrums decay in our own cavity,

Our eyes rested under colourful sunsets,

Beauty existed within us.

Eyes might engage,

But we lived in solitary,

Our hearts carried crystal stones,

Yours shone in stilettoes,

Tight artistic dresses,

Red lipsticks,

Brazilian weaves,

And cars your mother presaged you about.

Mine carried nothing but,

Pure love and un-trampled dew,

It carried nothing but,

The blossom your mother’s cries showered in anguish,

It carried your father’s sanctions,

Your tattooed body scars,

Your childhood memories,

And our first day in courtship,

It carried our couple of forever.

Beauty fades in compliments,

Cat walks crawl in ridden beds,

Souls can be recaptured,

But beauty does not emerge behind pulpits,

Beauty is a curse,

Remove the blinds,

Look within your soul,

Who are you?

By: Ts Mashile

The latter, letter

This letter carries an art of pain,

An artificial strain covered in ice-cold tears,

A heart sparkling with morning dews,

And cursed sunsets

It carries caved echoes,

Voiceless symphonic serenades,

Empty jars and recurring integers

It carries a smile on windy outskirts,

Island peaks,

Lonely offshores,

Abandoned homes,

And deserted book covers

It carries a blurb of untold stories,

Suffocation of crippled hearts caught in blasphemy,

Curses tiptoeing in vain,

Great minds idling in constraint thoughts,

It’s no writers block;

Its untold stories let for no pen to find,

Author to unfold,

Ink to run out,

And tears to die on.

By: Ts Mashile

Twenty Eight (28)

We gazed at the moon as it reflected its kindness unto us,

Caressed nature's curves as it nurtured our love,

Burned out our hearts to fume our souls,

Harmonious sounds harnessed the galaxy in our eyes;

We traced our future on every tip of the stars,

Meticulously staged our horoscope,

Found peace through the empty skies.

We kissed on the twenty eighth day.

Our hearts reformed,

Found comfort in every heartbeat,

Cleared lethal fumes under eyelids,

Dismantled fine glass on trust issues,

Fashioned “hate” on transparent temples,

Enslaved our thoughts with distortion;

Our golden had left your silence,

We held unto nothing but hope,

We held unto nothing but twenty eight.

Sadly I'd be twenty eight,

You twenty four,

My waist will still be twenty eight,

Yours thirty four,

I'd have twenty four hours to live,

Spend the next seven-eight loving you,

I'd bring the garden to Eden,

Review my vows just to see you naked again;

If only you had been persistent enough,

If only you had stayed a little longer,

I'd have married you at twenty eight.

Now I sit here,

Proclaiming nothing but clear skies,

I sit here,

Taking collection of my hindered eternity and the taste of your love;

My moon has been left wounded,

Unpleasant sounds took over my galaxy,

Our future faded on isolated stars,

Zodiac salvaged my nightmares.

I'm twenty eight today,

Clear skies found joy again,

Nature grew curves before me,

Zodiac remembered my days,

Comet retraced lost planets;

My face is clearer now,

Goodness and mercy found me;

But what is the twenty eighth without you?

By: Ts Mashile

Street Dreams.

We are forfeits living in blurry dreams.

Morals and ethics prelude our anxiety,

We conform to society's expectations,

Paved hills alienate our ideology;

Hipsters,

Hood rats,

Recall our poverty.

Flooded pockets bled over our streets,

Capsized evil deeds over good;

Now broken glass,

Gun shots,

Hallucinations,

Populate our eardrums.

Pride,

Perched dreams;

Fall before beaded eyes.

Our lives blend in street credits,

And empty jars.

By: Ts Mashile

Help Me Reintroduce Myself

I was conceived on the sixth day,

Erected from fetus on the ninth month,

My inner voice roars like thunder in comfort days,

While the skin rage in excitement in pensive skies;

I am known by the stars as a son,

But possess a different alias on the ground.

I have been exposed to love at a tender age,

My vulnerability towards women leaves my stomach in cramps and heart burns,

Insecurities are my snares in human thickets,

I live to haggle with the heart's desires,

Its destiny lies on thin ice,

Puerile love distorts my life’s spice.

Clan name Tau,

Lion,

Not stuffed Cecil.

I resemble the pentagon of victory,

Reign over foreign stars,

Retrace my name on lost planets,

Seek clearance in blur obstacles,

Restore vivid in downturned eyes;

That's my blurb,

Ask Comet,

We met a few times.

I spit gravels,

Words alter my ego,

Corniced diamonds relieve my weapon,

I outline hatred as peace,

Dispose the weak into corpse,

They know of me as cold,

While meticulously admire every fold.

I am the faded version of my father,

Strengthen every fiber under thorns;

I am my father's sins,

I am my mother's cries,

I am my family's ties,

Enemies ache over my happiness,

I am the unopened chapter,

I am what you see.

By: Ts Mashile