This I Knead

(Written and Recited by Katlego K Kol-Kes) I was younger last night and I dreamed of candy Before I knew that sweet things Are often better left untouched. I was younger last night and I dreamed of forever Before I knew that eternity Is worse lived than the fairytales teach. I was younger last night and I dreamed of “I’m sorry” Before I knew that words can’t heal A broken smile or a shattered heart once surrendered. I was younger last night and I dreamed of holding hands  Before I knew that being too close for comfort Sometimes leads to burning tyre necklaces and forced intercourse. I was younger last night and I dreamed of home Before I knew that brick walls Are no safer than battle fields. I was younger last night and I dreamed of memories Before I knew that forgetting Would be the antidote to keeping my loved ones so. I was younger last night and I dreamed of death Before I knew that even an unwelcome acquainta

In my continued effort to build my appreciation of poeticism in my mother tongue, I hereby share this poem by R.D. Molefe. As if to throw me into the throngs of politicised thought, I read the following poem after I had already decided on which poem to upload, and now I have changed my mind. I hope it gets you thinking as much as it did with me. SOURCE: nourishingfoodways.com Motse-mogolo wa Mo šate, Botswana.  - a poem by R.D. Molefe Maabane ke feta ka Mafikeng,  Motlotlegi Fawcus a ntaetsa,  A re , "Mpiletse Seretse a itlhaganele,  A tle a utlwe phetolo ya kwa Moseja,  Ya kgang tsa maloba a di nthoma,  Ba Pusokgolo ba iteela mafoko.  Ba re ke huduse Mo šate kwa Mafikeng,  Ke o rwale ke o ise Gaborone,  Ke o huduse kwa ntle ga tiego.  Kwa Gaborone metsi a tla bonala,  Ngotwane a kgala  re tla epa didiba.  Madi a teng ga re bolo go a baya,  Re letile khunou ya kwa Serowe,  Ka ke ene mojaboswa wa Botswana.  As if in some wicked ton

  Sapiosexuals are a fairly new phenomenon, but this label’s gaining popularity fast enough to be featured as an option on OkCupid . Where most of us want a partner ‘who listens’, very few us have what it takes to nab a partner whose interest is piqued by our speech. What’s an easy way to spot a sapiosexual? They’re aloof, quirky, sarcastic, and untouchably sexy and they’ll most probably (still) be single this Valentine's Day . This isn’t to say that the average sapiosexual won’t be titillating someone else’s cerebellum over an seasoned bottle of wine this Valentine’s Day, but in the event of knowing, or finding, a single one, a few pointers can’t hurt. First of all, sapiosexuals find intellect more attractive than physical features but they’re not asexual. They do want to rumble in the jungle, it’s just that you may need to provide some topical distinctions between a rain forest, the busheveld and a jungle before you get into things. In this day and age where w

There’s a Lesbian at my table. She sits adjacent to me and eats the food I make. She chews well enough –   with her mouth closed. She doesn’t swallow too loudly, Or slurp her drink. This Lesbian at my table bides her time by calling me “Mme” , and seduces me with offerings: “ Nka lo siela tee?” and “Ke tswa go reka kuku e e sukitshana.” I suppose she has learned well – she can slip herself past thirsty eyes and unchaste ears. I found the Lesbian at my table where I had left my beloved child. She seems to have consumed her like a hungered bird – waited too long through a rainy night and awakened to find no morsels creeping along the moistened earth. When I sat down for our evening meal I thought I saw the tassels of booties I had knitted while swollen like a mango at summer’s end. They were yellow like the sun whose over affectionate kisses had me too ripe to touch and unforgivingly tender.  They slid between her lips