I'm No born free
I tasted the dust of apartheid
My mother was hiding behind the trees screaming for help
No one was there
No time to sleep
We were cursed for struggle
My father never smiled when my mother would say "the baby is kicking"
Cause he knew,it wasn't the kick of joy
It wasn't a sign of being a soccer star
It was the struggle!

1990 Mandela was out of prison
1993 I was born
1994 the Dom's were free
No more Dom-pass,but not uhuru still
Innocent souls were lost
What was the fighting worth for?

I can forgive but never forget
When De klert called black fools
He said they do nothing but barking
We turned to dogs now

This is for Steve Biko
Chris Hani
Hector Paterson
Raymond mhlaba

Let not my skin define who I am
Let not the earth describe me
I know my future because of my history
I was raised in a town of fallen angels
Where blacks were deceived
Whites felt free
Turn the lights off we all the same colour
Don't turn them on
I want my son to know the history
But to not repeat it.

They say follow your leader
How can you follow corruption?
Zuma this zuma that
Its all illusion
I'll only follow u twitter
I want you to retweet all the ish I'll be posting about you,the ******,The Nkandla part,The Cheating,The Art and the bunch of wives

Yes I voted,I still don't know why I voted
Helen Zille only speaks xhosa in time of elections
Jacob Zuma gives free taxis only to the voting station
Julius Malema will bring apartheid back it is said on radio stations

Mandela spent most time in hospital
All of a sudden his dead
Was he even in jail before?
Oscar Pistorius ran to ****
His now a criminal.

Mandela note on my hand
But valueless

Our economy is dying
Our world is dying

My Dear South Africa..No Power!

You are talking to a person,
This person may be a friend,
it might be someone who you are simply standing next to in a queue.
The awkward proximity palpable,
the expression of indifference to life.
You bring up the weather.

Why is that?
The weather or how tired you are. Of work, of life.
Two topics that strike up a kind of mutual understanding between one another.
We do not even try and attempt to learn something of vague significance or interest. We squander our chances of a friendship.
These 'people' are simply a new acquaintance for those two minutes of silence in the queue.
They fulfil the social criteria while you stand, uncomfortably, waiting to escape.
You are not unkind. You do not seek escape, your mind does. Yet it seizes on these other lonesome, wandering raffles of people.
Who will you draw? What will you draw?

"Thunder?" "Rain?" "A spell of sun in February in the north of England?"
"Never! It cannot be." "Something must be shifting in the universe's core. It MUST be happening, I know it!"
Or perhaps you are inclined to broach the more self-interested turn of conversation.

"Finally, it's Friday. Oh look, you're buying ***** too." "Gonna be a big one!" "I am so ready for the weekend after this busy week." "Don't bother mentioning your problems because, quite frankly, I am simply using you as an external shell of a person, removed from my immediate life and therefore apt as an excuse for me to complain deeply about how much I have to do compared to every other mortal in this long and tiresome life."

Does thou sound bitter?
Ha.
Maybe because it is raining today but I wanted to talk about the Malaysian Airlines plane that went missing over Vietnam or the see-through trial of that ******* Oscar Pistorius or the fact that innocent people are being blown up about 5 miles from where I lay my head down to sleep at night but let's not stray too far from normal, everyday converse towards my sleeping habits. No, maybe I wanted to talk about whether or not there is a God in this universe who actually lives and breathes through our very experiences or whether or not Buddhism is a way of life that I really want to embrace and whether or not you have equally been changed by a class of meditation. I want to hear about your opinions and your thoughts and your ideas and something that you have picked up on in the last week.

I don't want to know about the things that I can observe through my very own eyes.
That is where perception comes in. I want perspective. If you are going to talk about the weather, tell me why condensation forms when it rains against my bird-**** stained glass windows. Tell me why the clouds gather in such menacing shades of noir above my towering filing cabinet of apartments, tell me how the weather patterns are tracked and occur.

For the love of God, tell me how that Kinder Bueno got to be sitting there in that plastic shelf just a millimetre from the tip of my right index finger.

They have now gone far too far,
So many names they have called me and many a time,
A multiplicity of a multiplicity of names,
Time and again, I have ignored,
Forgive them Lord, for they know not what they say,
I believed,
No matter how demeaning and painful the names,
At one time I was called a dog and others,
At the other, pig and others,
And now, Trash.

I refuse to be associated with savagery,
I refuse to be associated with downright human life disrespect
I refuse to be associated with ******,
I refuse to be associated with blatant inhumanness,
I refuse to be associated with Donovan Moodley or Patrick Wisani,
I refuse to be associated with Shrien Dewani or William Nkuna,
I refuse to be associated with Sandile Mantsoe or Oscar Pistorius,
I refuse to be associated with Jacobus Oosthuizen or any of such Satanic barbarians,
I refuse.



Judge me for what I have or have not done,
Not for what Sandile has or has not done,
They are sick, they are crazy,
They are dramatic and narrow-minded,
Seeing me for what William Nkuna  and the others are,
Indeed, they are what they are,
Brutal, inhuman and diabolic,
Barbaric, heartless and savage,
But I am neither either of them nor trash,


I am a man and a very proud one,
I am a man and very proud to be one,
Was yesterday, am today and will be tomorrow,
Despite where their reckless utterances deposit me,
Despite their misguided and narrow-minded judgements,
I am a responsible and caring man,
I am not trash,
Never was,
And never will ever be.

I've never been published, my work is dead.

I can't see an Oscar up in the mantle piece, or beside the bed.

Even a posthumous award might do.

Provided they tell me in lieu.


I'd be the first in the world to have a posthumous Award,

whilst still alive, they can take it back when i die.

I've been nominated 29 times before,

from the schizophrenic, who lives next door,

he has never read any of my books, his eyesight is bad,

It's just the few 'bob' I give him for a few drinks,

makes him think they must be good.


  I may send three chapters of my latest novel, to Harvey Weinstein.

    " Mushrooms come and go , but you are forever "

It's about a serial killer who owns and works in a Mushroom factory,

  He kills only Dwarf's, and uses their chopped up bodies as compost,

for his mushroom factory, he then makes one big mistake,

He falls in love, with a male Dwarf,and stops his killing spree.


  The Mushrooms eventually revert back to their normal compost,

  but taste awful,.. A Romanian community living in Tralee,

report the foul tasting mushrooms to the Police , and.......

  The poison Dwarf eventually runs away with Oscar Pistorius,

who is out on Bail, they become shoe Salesmen,

and live unhappily  ever after.


This is the big one , I can see it reaching the number one best sellers list,

   from New York to Caherciveen,  This book is not just for Dwarf's and  

Iron leg killers,  nor Mushroom lovers..


  By Holly Barrett