The Inkdrippers Review
A publication of Livingstone Kolobeng College -
Inside this issue:
God
By Carlota Castigo
Going to School
3
The Food Monster
5
Black Coffee
6
Breathing Out
9
Letter to Old
Self
10
MIRROR REFLOECTION
12
Being Alone
13
Do You Ever Think?
By Selloane Sebele
When I was alone and had nothing
I asked for a friend to help me bear the
pain no one came except…God
When I needed a breath to rise
from my sleep no one could
help me except….God
When all I saw sadness
and I needed answers no one
heard me except…God
So when I am asked who I
give my unconditional love to
look for me other name
except….God
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Do you ever think of what will happen when the
earth ends?
Not stop spinning but just end.
Will there just be a white light and bang!
Opposite to a solar eclipse.
No screaming, no movement, no inhaling fresh or
polluted air
and no exhaling?
Will we really see him?
The man upstairs? Our father and savior?
If we do, will he welcome us with open arms or
will he
put us in a line and show us one-by-one our
wrong doings?
Will he be what we all think or the opposite?
Will he tell us all the things he told us not to do
and that we should have done them?
Do you ever think of that?
I do.
The Inkdrippers Review
Untitled
By Wada Dintwa
Strength is overcome by weakness
Joy is overcome by pain
the night is overcome by brightness
and love – it remains the same
Going to School
Teenage brain drained at dawn
with my sleepy eyes, I give a big yawn
zombie-like steps...walking down the stairs
feeling tired and blue having no clue
why I have to go to school.
Grades and tests…what a mess!
Following me like a pest
slowly I put on my school vest
I see dead people
Crawling through the drain pipes of my mind
I shiver and shake to the voices in my head
feeling so scared, I grab my bread
so old and stale and heavy as lead.
Sweat drips down on an anxious brow
the world that’s steady with nothing but cold
through the mission of getting to school
pushing myself but feeling lazy and chilled.
By Bakang Lesetedi, Carlotta Castilo,
Mpho Dikole and Kelly Sebina
Hamster
By Princess Boateng
Hamster, Oh hamster
Oh how your body resembles a ball
Your big, brown fur fascinates all
Your chubby, big cheeks hide your cute little feet.
Oh hamster, how great thou art!
Monday Morning Blues
Coffee-stained Monday morning blues
lipstick stained wine glasses contrasts the cloud’s hues.
Sewage smelling streets that we walk once or twice
I hear nothing but the sound of blurry tunes
when finally a shot of caffeine strikes a glint of hope
on the already tarnished Monday.
Then memories flow back from an oh so trashy Sunday
Trashy Sundays? Trashy Sundays ring like bells in the back of my ears,
screaming voices of women on street corners
women who often pierce trashy words on a holy day of worship
causing uprisings and commotions in the temple
The puff of my ignited cigarette as I try to forget the past week
now puffs of smoke have turned to cigarette scars
and vodka on my breath because it is the only thing making me feel alive
on this coffee-stained Monday morning.
I am wearing sunglasses, avoiding the thought of the blazing rays
that would blind my burning eyes but, no, the molten magna that floats
decided to bully my face anyways….bullied me
in ways I could not comprehend.
I lie here trying to understand,
wondering if I still have a fighting chance
but, no, the coffee that stained my day
just won’t wash away.
By Ngoni Moeti, Talitha Tim, and Tshepiso Mogomela
Page 3
The FOOD MONSTER
Page 4
By Rushi Amin, Keaobaka Bome and Chipo Mazhani
Teary-eyed monster ate my lunch
I wish I could give him such a punch,
a stupid, crazy baboon with lots of junk
in a world of wonder and funk.
As I look at my lunch, I think too much,
monster in my mind reminds me of the time
it ruined my mood
because it devoured my food.
But now I must leave the past in the past.
And turn my thoughts off fast.
I leave my world of lustrous desires for food,
although everywhere I go, everything looks good.
My frustration drowns in the pit
of my rumbling stomach
my mind feels the pity
of my empty tummy.
I feel the heaviness of my emptiness weighing me down.
My goal can’t fold it and my eyes keep folding.
Yes, my heart keeps numbing,
slowly losing emotions and gradually growing colder.
By the second I grow weaker,
I see a bright light flashing towards me.
Is it my angel finally calling?
The teary eyes of the monster cannot compare
to the drained tears that rolled down my pale face.
No longer was I terrified of him
but of the fate that awaited me.
Brother’s Smelly Shoes
By Bakang Lesetedi
Again and again, a day with no shame
My nose in pain and not for my gain.
He says he cares; he says he’ll try,
But never again will I believe his lie.
Smelly shoes and stinky socks
in a room with no perfume.
The thought of it
OF going home
to a prison back there
with no windows
is just as dreadful
as being a hero
with nothing to do
and getting a zero.
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Page 5
The Inkdrippers Review
Dreamer
By Rosy Maseko
I am a dreamer,
A hopeless creature that
lives in a bubble of imagination of what was…
What is that I dream of,
you ask?
I dream of men who will
love their wives the way they love their mothers,
A world where women have self-respect, where
children learn responsibility, rather than
learning how to drink and smoke.
Society is dead Souls are lost Respect is an old memory to which
the old generation holds…
What are we living for?
This is like no other poem
you have ever read!
This is a piece of honesty,
a piece of inner pain.
Take it as a poem of hatred
that is intended for you.
Young men have become dogs
who prey upon the ladies with nothing
but inflated flattery and lies.
Young men have become dogs
who prey upon the ladies with nothing
but inflated flattery and lies.
Society sees no wrong in this.
Young ladies believe their beauty
prevails in their shortest dress
And not their naked faces.
Society does not put a stop to this insanity!
Yes, self-respect has become an ancient term
Older men have no morals,
Older ladies have no standards.
Society is a joke!
A generation that has lost direction,
A generation with no ethics.
We are lost…
We are pathetic.
This is like no poem
you’ve ever laid eyes upon
this is a loud, heartbreaking cry
of a lost generation
Are you a dreamer?
If you are then
you still have a little bit of humanity
Black Coffee
by Ngoni Moeti
As I sip a shot of
my every day booster, it shoots
straight to my soft spot
Its aroma awakens
and untangles my knots.
My roots and stems become
virtual, my being penetrates,
so deep that I can’t help
but thirst for more of this beverage
as my hands mold the mug
with love and care
My eyes look at the black ocean
that leaps wide and free
A reflection of my being glares back at me.
My sweet cup of coffee***
Home-brewed with love, without
A hint of milk just dark enough
It’s decaffeinated stem gets to me.
I start to reminisce about the Garden
of Eden where Adam declared his love
for Eve
As I declare these ultimate words
I must admit I am lost in this world
For once, I feel laws of physics don’t
apply to me for I have rich
liquid that is proportionate to gold.
My sweet cup of coffee.
The colour black represents
and defines my skin.
My originality, Africanism.
The ‘Co’ stands for my
confidence that has built
A house right in my body.
The double ‘F’ stands for and defines
My fascinating femininity.
My pride, my joy where I belong.
As the double ‘E’s’ provide
more power and rage to this
Description, they speak loud
words of wisdom like those
of Solomon.
Do not deprive me of my
earthly esteem that was
the only inheritance left for me
by my African writers.
A voice was given to me,
A song to add lyrics to
but I choose to raise my ceasefire flag.
I declare peace, and for that
“Let there be joy in abundance”
Let me drink my coffee,
My sweet cup of coffee.
As I continue to sip another shot
of this amazing creation in a mug
my eyes dazzle and spark
for I have finally found peace
in my sweet cup of coffee.
Ribs
By Carlotta Catigo
Roasted by live fire
we eat without forks.
We dive into the juicy sauce,
the charcoal flames leads
our noses to the grilled spicy meat
As it gets to your mouth
time is timeless
everything stands still.
Ribs, the friend
that comforts you
when you are blue.
Ribs, the machine
that guards the heart
and prevents the pain
and heals the scars.
Ribs, the piece
of you that has blessed
you and created Eve
from Adam’s rib.
The Fight
By Elijah Mututu
School, the place where the people all fear
the bullies beating others if their words are not clear
The home of the wedgies, wet willies and creams in the
light
and the home of where people see a really good fight
The arm lock, the coach slam, the battle’s in place
Clotheslines, spine-busters and a fart in the face.
The loser is down and bruised to the bone,
the victor is proud while sitting on his throne.
The crowd is cheering they enjoyed the show
The champion looks at a child too close I know
He was pat on the head but he was angry.
Oh No! It was a total knockout or a TKO
Living by the Ocean
By Estomichi Kyatwa
Open the eyes of early morning
seeing the ocean and getting ready for a swim
a little boy is screaming
trying to get help from his mama from drowning
the hurricane begins… and it’s coming.
Oh Boy!! Am I done?
I can’t stand the death
The beauty of nature is stealing my breath
But I’m doing the math,
trying to figure my way out.
The Inkdrippers Review
Page 8
Betty
By Oratile Koti
Biting into her jelly and butter sandwich
her plumpish face is pretty,
Pretty heavy.
Betty loves her dresses. She loves her
hoops and boots, making herself look pretty
she does it pretty well
One glance and you wish you were
her.
Hating him
By Carlotta Castigo
Her innocence taken away
her half forever gone
and it’s killing her,
living like this.
He threatens her -she is ready for a slap in the face.
He can’t hurt her more than she’s been hurt,
can’t bruise her more than she’s been bruised.
She can’t think straight when she’s around him,
fear tries to make its way into her heart,
fills her mind and tears her down.
She hates it,
hates herself,
but most of all hates
that she allowed him to bruise her.
His words are a knife going through his chest.
When did she lose herself
in this thing called marriage
He took all the good in her
and turned her into a bitter old woman.
I had pondered and wondered
how she really does it,..
finding clothes her size.
Betty is pretty,
pretty heavy .
She is a bus
but walks briskly
swaying side-to-side
everything bouncing but
yet in place
Pretty, she sure is,
and heavy in her world.
Breathing Out:
Blood on my
Fingertips
By Talitha Tim
Breathing out words…tongue-twisted, self-inflected words
because I’m breathing out poetry like the breaths of
air, the sun loses each time the sun dies a little
every time the moon rapes him
I am breathing out poetry like the deaths committed by young
girls whose virginity is lost by the birth of children whose
fathers were monsters because they cannot escape the sun
I am breathing out poetry like the alcohol scent that stayed in
your reeking body and slowly escapes from your mouth each time
you opened it to speak.
I am breathing out poetry like the red in your eyes that
have been crying blood in the form of tears when you
found blood on your sheers.
I am breathing out poetry like the dirt you cannot escape from
feeling touched all over, feeling dirty on such pure skin,
I am breathing out poetry like the man that sleeps in your bed
and uses your body as a place to hang his insecurities in
I am breathing out poetry like the children who are awake at
4am bleeding from their finger tips because they are writing
poetry with words that cannot make it to their lips.
I am breathing out poetry like the dust you humans breathed
in to make your bones, like the words you inhaled to create
your souls, like the very essence that now makes you whole.
I am breathing out poetry like the man who tells his woman
he loves her and slaps her in the face just to prove it.
I am breathing out poetry like the woman with scars on her arms
and marks on her face because of the man she claims to love.
I am breathing out poetry like the 16 year old
who’s pregnant
and has already mentally murdered her unborn baby,
I am breathing out poetry like that girl who just got
compared to a female dog because her body was used
by a male who couldn’t keep his parts to himself.
I am breathing out poetry like the child who just
got defiled by a man decades in age of her,
I am breathing out poetry like the man who
consciously decided an infant who could barely walk
was fit enough for sexual relations
I am breathing out poetry like the boys who are
taught women are property to be bought, sold or rented
I am breathing out poetry like the grown woman
with her hands in between her legs blocking everyone
out because she was abused
I am breathing out poetry like the article that just
got shared and supported by this undeserving world
that an HIV positive woman raped by a man
should’ve worn special underwear to warn him of
her status.
I am breathing out poetry and it’s exactly 4am and I am
done with the world
where rape is a culture.
Page 10
The Inkdrippers Review
A Letter to Old Self
By Ndiwo Kelapile
You have grown
and I guess you’ve become wiser
I never thought you would be
who you are now.
You have learnt to accept failures You have learnt to be strong You are stronger than ever
never thought I would say this but
I am very proud of youProud for all the brave things
you’ve done.
I am happy to call you me You have learnt to love
and accept yourself
for who you really are
and that will make you an over-achiever
not an under-achiever.
You are beautiful inside out
and there is nothing that will ever change
about you like a bird that needs wings to fly.
Page 10
I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you
And I hope you remember me too.
I love you, old self
But the time has come for us to part.
I love the new you, old self
But it’s time for me to say goodbye
I will miss you old self.
For me, good and bad things
you brought to my life.
This was just me saying
my last goodbye.
Cheese Hater
By Kenneth Kabanga
I’d rather be starved
but not eating cheese,
Feeding it to the doves
instead of Buscopan pills,
fascinated with a browse,
which keeps my self at ease,
Slaughtering innocent cows,
then their milk will freeze.
Gone in a Blink
By Isis Sibanda
Walked through the park
to meet my naughty pet,
who broke my heart
and didn’t have a regret.
Anty’s Cake
By Jessica Mogomela
Their creepy little feet
as they march about
the chocolate covered delicacy.
As I see their little faces
grin in the delightful mess
they have caused
Hours of hard labour
they care nothing about
all the they think about is the sweet,
the oily and the soft cake
Building little homes
in the treat she made
for us
These bloody little things
as I move out in disgust
swamping their homes
is the ultimate goal
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He ran from our home,
probably to a rich partner.
If this was Rome,
I’d surely threaten it.
He left no clues
to where he went.
I hope those folks
have cheaper rent.
On this walk, I dreamed
that my dear buddy was okay.
But I realized it wasn’t what it seemed
cause it’s my fault he ran way.
When I took my last drop of tears
I turned my head to the left side.
To my surprise, he just appeared
my fluffy, kitty never lied.
The Inkdrippers Review
Let My People Go
By Ngoni Moeti
Every time I hit the stage
and get it on blazes
I always get in return…
Eyes that speak louder than
the voices that piece at me up front.
A trap.
I flap my hands so that I
may be free but the hatred
blows me back and low self-esteem
swims up through my neck vein,
til it reaches my brain, then
washes away any thought
of being victorious.
Biting onto defeat, I raise my
cease fire flag.
Intimidation has built a house
in my heart.
I fall onto my knees and
look up to the sky only
this time I envision a heaven.
Humbleness overwhelm me and
a voice hits my heart like
a strip of lightning
I obey its every command
like a Zulu warrior
taking commands
from Ushaka,
absolute devotion.
My silence cannot protect me
nor can my bravery defend me.
I bow my head
to succumb to all the thoughts
that keep repeating in my head.
What happened to liberty?
justice is fading away
from just a glint of light
to a Great Gatsby of darkness.
I thought my hair
had defined my Africanism for me.
It is still thick with a story
that has not been narrated.
Who is to narrate it?
I want to run and dance free
under thy African sun
with my legs like that
of the Kgalagadi hut .
With the kink in my hair,
I look just like my great grandma –
Natural.
Bathing in the hot sands
that camouflage my scars thriving and stroking
with my spirit of freedom,
finally the heavens
have been the tears of the sun.
I thought my hair had defined
my Africanism for me.
It is still thick with a story
that has not been narrated.
Who is to narrate it?
The answer is within the lips
of an African African,
a phrase that has lost
its sole meaning but has got
freedom within.
Let my people go.
Page 12
Eyes
By Princess Boateng
The Vamps
By Ruth Lesetedi
Cold blooded bodies
the undead humans
friends to the witches
and cousins to zombies
They come seeking the one
who’s only lived once
Tiptoeing and creepy crawling
into your room without a sound
Beware, it could be you
The one who sleeps in a lovely room
Tossing and turning with a daring eye open
They come to your room
for delicious warm blood.
Many different colours, many different themes
Many different sizes, all looking at me.
Blue, green, yellow, silver
All colours of the rainbow.
They look at me and I look at them.
My eyes are nothing compared to theirs,
just plain old walnut.
They stick out amongst the others.
I think they like are the most unique eyes
in the universe.
What about you.
What do you think?
ARTWORK BY ELIJAH MUTUTU
Page 14
The Inkdrippers Review
Real
By Selloane Sebele
Skipping years to leave the country
I grew up in knowing nothing as I was at
a young age Leaving my mother
for the first time entering a new world
that is unknown to me
Dear Friend Lost
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By Carlota Castigo
These days the memory of you hurt, and
I am filled with ‘what ifs’ that I find
myself asking
Why not me?
Why you?
And I regret that I never called you
enough,
spoke to you
enough…
Every day I miss you more…
They say time heals all wounds
but this one will take a lifetime.
Today thoughts of you
came crashing down, and
I could not stop the pain.
I try to think you’re in a better place, so
I don’t feel so broken down.
I know the true meaning of life
is too short.
Memories of you
have become a part of me
and keep me going.
The strength you have given me
is motivation
to make my dreams come true.
Signing papers to be adopted
by someone I barely knew
known to the rest of my family but
someone I am yet to understand.
Years pass and
I come back home different
physically and mentally
as well as my speech
Looked on as different
to anyone I tried to get close to
but I found my place in the end.
Thawed Snake
By Ruth Lesetedi
As it slithers away on its deadly belly
there’s never a day… it won’t attack its prey.
The snake in my fridge I thought it was dead
because of the snow, the hail and the cold.
But apparently it found itself a bottle
of honey and glue
As it slithered away
from the cold frozen thaw
the thoughts of death
crept into my head.
She
By Melissa Gower
So she stare at me like a lion out to attack
I tried to avoid her
but she still finds her way back
It seems like the scent of my thick, rich blood
is accustomed to her nose
where ever I go is her new home
Beast or Feast
By Elijah Mujutu
It is hunting, searching
for meat to eat
so in silence watches its prey
and waits in its seat
The drool dripping down
when he’s watching the food
and licks his fingers
because he knows it’s good
So as he strikes – he goes for the leg
and then the thigh
munching sounds fill the air
but no squeal or cry
The hunting is over
but what do we see?
Me eating friend chicken
at KFC!
She even finds a way to infuse herself into my brain,
trapped confined and it’s such a strain.
Her squeaky voice seems to echo through my head,
tormenting me throughout the day
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to go,
she just can’t seem to let go.
Her movements are slick and strange an obsession
you can even call it a stalking tendency
When night time approaches, I stay awake terrified
that she might just crawl under my bed.
My life is sad, it’s just so bad,
I can’t seem to live with the existence
of the beast that she is.
Page 15
The Inkdrippers Review
Mirror Reflection
By Carlota Castigo
Time has passed that little girl is gone
she looks at the mirror she doesn’t know herself
Her innocence gone and forgotten
I know this girl who lives with the hurt of yesterday.
The Deadly
Millipedes
By Princess Boateng
There is goes
on its thousand legs
up and away through the misty, cold air
‘tick tock tick’ the time goes by
It finally reaches my lowly bed
anxious for the innocent prey.
As I sleep peacefully
tossing and turning
dreaming about the unknown
my head spinning in mixed emotions
I suddenly feel a cold sensation
my thoughts freeze
as I think of my one dreadful enemy.
Could it be?
No.
It moved further up my brown leg.
‘yes,’ I thought.
This is the end of me.
A flashback of my family and friends
comes my way.
It slowly reaches my neck,
inching for a bite.
The mirror reflects her true reflection which is
not a sight to see
all she can see is the ugly self of yesterday
She asks god why is she alive
Her questions are never answered
Her crying is never heard
Slowly she dies in her own pain
Day by day she loses herself
in this thing called life
but the mirror doesn’t lie
ugly is what she feels
not worthy is what she
feels all over herself
She dies a million times every day
demons haunt her she has
nowhere to go
This is a reflection of herself
her true unavoidable self.
At that moment, I froze
as the tip of its short, pointy teeth
touched the edge of my neck.
I shrieked with unimaginable fear.
My heart racing a million miles
only to find out….
it was only a dream.
Dreams
By Rushi Amin
Dreams fulfill what you really want
This may be real or an action
that may change your life.
Bed time stories creep me
with echoes deep within my heart.
That one day I woke up
with my eyes filled with exploding water tanks
one- by-one.
Being Alone
By Melissa Gower
Nothing but the reflection in the mirror
staring at me and the shadow that
keeps on stalking and following me,
Isolation, separation, I just want to be alone you say?
Retarded by the thoughts straining
through your head
disturbed by the idea of no one
being there
No floral scent to smell,
smooth skin to feel
who then do you live for?
What memories do you create?
You see, it’s like being trapped
in a sealed box or being
locked in a cage and having
the key taken and thrown away.
Dreadful, isn’t it?
Dawn and dusk come and
go, you stand there, no one
is home
Lone, solo, mono
do you understand what it is
to be alone?
The existence of no one but
yourself
Really, I can’t stand the
companion of myself…
The change of feeling
And the feeling of the truth you experience
Should not happen.
This shouldn’t exist.
I ask for strength
That can take me through this
Only this is what I ask for…
that I can change.
This thought can drag every living animal
To extinction.
The dream that can change.
Insanity, destruction, nightmares
everything seems so complicated
the silence pounding in my ear
it’s killing me
the void within me is getting
deep.