This I Knead

Last year, in a spurt of patriotism and feeling too removed form my language - Setswana, I went into Botswana Book Centre at the main Mall and bought myself some books. This collection on poems by R.D. Molefe titled  Mešomo was one of them.  It is terrifically thrilling to gnaw on the jewels of this language and study under the deft hands of a seemingly relaxed, yet equally precise, writer. Here is an offering. I will be putting up a few more of his work before I serve my loaf of Setswana poetry.  *I happened to buy a Coke from the lady by my house and it turned out that it had my name on it! The universe shared a Coke with me and now I am sharing poetry with you.  ______________ Mešomo Maloba, fatshe sa ntse le iketile, Re ne re disa kwa gare ga dithota, Tsatsi le phirima re lere dinotshe, Re tle re tshotse le mae a dikgaka, Mešomo ya banna ba maabane. Ba kajeno bona go šongwa dikuku, Go ratholwe dibotlolo go lelalwe. ...

No way out, but in. (It's a pun.) Is your promiscuity getting you all knotted up?  Whether it's with humans, food, or with your words, most of your promiscuity is a survival trait of lonely souls. There are elements of life that we tend to feel are too much to handle so we find securities. For some that security comes in the form of bulky arms or a heaving breast. For some this security comes in wolfing down and inhaling the formula to indigestion, heartburn and obesity. For some this security comes from filling the world with words. The latter tend to be the most popular and we veil ourselves as poets, politicians, artists, but never as lonely liars. I happen to be one of these promiscuous people, I whore myself through language. My linguistic freedom may be misconstrued as informedness, intelligence, aptitude or being articulate, but in it's truest form it is the child of loneliness. Loneliness is not the evil here, it is a fundamental part of the human conditi...