LETTER TO ELINA by Frans Malatsi
I don’t normally do this
But I commonly view this
As a form of self expression
Sister the aura is sweet
Damn is good to meet you
I know you seldom-welcome strangers
But please listen to the voice inside my heart
I know I have lied to you
I know I have cheated on you
I know I have mistreated you
I know have misleaded you
I was adamant that I would not
Feel this way about anyone
You proved me wrong
You hung on to what you believe in
The fire-place is burning
But I am still cold
Monday, August 10, 2009
Life
LIFE by Frans Malatsi
Like a rainbow
You have different colours
To some you are sweet like vanilla ice cream
To some you are harsh like
George W Bush on Iraqis
What can we do to be the best we can be?
Why do we have to go through adversity?
To know the true meaning of life
Is life about giving birth?
Or ceasing breathe
Everything in this world
That is blooming
With unprecedented joy
Could not be irrefutably termed as life
As the old fog takes me away
I won’t lose sight of what I have got
And what this life means to me
Maker of this life shield the eyes of the innocent
Reality is getting sketchy
The fine thin line is really shaky
Life is like a balloon
There are always strings attached
To some part of your being
And it hurts like hell
Every time the thread cuts into your wrist
Like a rainbow
You have different colours
To some you are sweet like vanilla ice cream
To some you are harsh like
George W Bush on Iraqis
What can we do to be the best we can be?
Why do we have to go through adversity?
To know the true meaning of life
Is life about giving birth?
Or ceasing breathe
Everything in this world
That is blooming
With unprecedented joy
Could not be irrefutably termed as life
As the old fog takes me away
I won’t lose sight of what I have got
And what this life means to me
Maker of this life shield the eyes of the innocent
Reality is getting sketchy
The fine thin line is really shaky
Life is like a balloon
There are always strings attached
To some part of your being
And it hurts like hell
Every time the thread cuts into your wrist
State of my mind
STATE OF MY MIND by Frans Malatsi
I was born the right constellation
I belong in this place
There’s a will so there’s a way
It all relies on me
I had to fall down a million times
For me to go high once
I will never let down
Though I know people are laughing at me
My umbilical cord is still hanging
My forefathers are still smiling
I will break my chains
I hope I find the way that leads me out
Purity will help me go through the day
I am a constant rebel against the system
A cult of domesticity
I make my point quintessentially African
Mother Africa take precautions
To save your child from sudden death
I was born the right constellation
I belong in this place
There’s a will so there’s a way
It all relies on me
I had to fall down a million times
For me to go high once
I will never let down
Though I know people are laughing at me
My umbilical cord is still hanging
My forefathers are still smiling
I will break my chains
I hope I find the way that leads me out
Purity will help me go through the day
I am a constant rebel against the system
A cult of domesticity
I make my point quintessentially African
Mother Africa take precautions
To save your child from sudden death
Letter to Lethabo
LETTER TO LETHABO by Frans Malatsi
I knelt down and prayed
That God bless me with a baby girl
He did, but only for a day
I thought you would bring joy
In my life
But you left me with tears
Rolling down my cheeks
I look up in the sky
With the hope of seeing your face
The only thing I see is dark clouds and stars
Your mother and I
Are still in pain
We miss you every single day
I know you are in the hands of the almighty
But I would have loved to hold you tight in my arms
You will remain my first-born child
May your soul rest in peace
I knelt down and prayed
That God bless me with a baby girl
He did, but only for a day
I thought you would bring joy
In my life
But you left me with tears
Rolling down my cheeks
I look up in the sky
With the hope of seeing your face
The only thing I see is dark clouds and stars
Your mother and I
Are still in pain
We miss you every single day
I know you are in the hands of the almighty
But I would have loved to hold you tight in my arms
You will remain my first-born child
May your soul rest in peace
Listen
LISTEN by Frans Malatsi
I try to spin the world on my tongue
And count the days of my life
God will continue to love
Even if we cease to pray
I try to spin the world on my tongue
And count the days of my life
My existence is a purpose
That I will serve with a smile
The parables in my psalms
Blow briskly
Looking for a way out
Hoping that blind eyes will see
I write with the intent to penetrate
People’s minds and souls
I am relatively a native
I am many things
I am a friend to others
And an enemy to others
In my lies resides
A lot of truth
I carry darkness within my light
I try to spin the world on my tongue
And count the days of my life
God will continue to love
Even if we cease to pray
I try to spin the world on my tongue
And count the days of my life
My existence is a purpose
That I will serve with a smile
The parables in my psalms
Blow briskly
Looking for a way out
Hoping that blind eyes will see
I write with the intent to penetrate
People’s minds and souls
I am relatively a native
I am many things
I am a friend to others
And an enemy to others
In my lies resides
A lot of truth
I carry darkness within my light
Penis monoloque
PENIS MONOLOQUE by Frans Malatsi
I am thick as a guava juice
I am big enough to pose a challenge
It is true that black men are well endowed
In the right places
I am thick as a guava juice
I am big enough to pose a challenge
It is true that a black man
Will blow his own whistle
Until a black women steps in
And tells us the truth
I am thick as a guava juice
I am big enough to pose a challenge
It is true that black men are well endowed
In the right places
I am thick as a guava juice
I am big enough to pose a challenge
It is true that a black man
Will blow his own whistle
Until a black women steps in
And tells us the truth
Tshepo
TSHEPO by Frans Malatsi
In 1979 in a small township a boy called Tshepo, was sent on an errand by his mother to buy a bag of mealie-meal. Buying mealie-meal was the chore he hated most. And every Sunday his mother would send him to the Spaza shop on the outskirts of the township to by mealie-meal. It wasn’t the distance he minded or that the mealie-meal dust would make him dirty. It was the owner of the Spaza shop the upset him most. The man’s name was Makhudu and he always tried to short-change his younger customers. When they ask him to return their change in full, Makhudu would throw the money on the ground and start swearing. Makhudu was the only spaza shop owner who sold mealie-meal. So despite being a prick he was also a successful businessman. Lebotlwane was a small township in Hammanskraal, in North West, which shacked about 2000 people. Everybody in Lebotlwane was poor, even fewer had jobs. Tshepo’s mother always told him that money was the root of evil. He pocketed the R5 and dashed out of the door. When he arrived at the spaza shop he saw a group of people chanting and singing. Sticks and garden tools were held up as they dragged a man through the streets. Dogs were barking. Tshepo went closer for a better view. The man that was dragged was naked and he had a tyre around his neck, which he kept trying to remove. Makhudu was the man with a tyre around his neck.
Tshepo was scared and surprised as to why is Makhudu, a businessman, being beating by community members. And he overhead a group of women say that he had raped a 16-year-old schoolgirl. Tshepo knew what was going to happen to Makhudu and he also knew what was going to happen to him if he took too long with the mealie-meal. He reluctantly trotted off to the spaza shop, and he was happy that he was not going to pay for the mealie-meal. He took two bags of mealie-meal and walked back home. He knew that soon the police would be coming so he tried to walk fast. Three men came running from the direction of the spaza shop and they almost knocked him over. After a short while a police van came speeding behind him. He was so terrified he dropped the bags and stood still. The police asked him if he saw three men running on this street. He knew the men were in trouble, but he told the police that he did not see them. The police left. That night sitting on a bench with his mother. He wondered if he should give his mother the R5 or whether he she keep it for himself. His mother started talking about her racist boss and how they are being paid peanuts at work. Tshepo knew that he had to give his mother the R5 so that she can be able to buy more mealie-meal and other foods for both of them. He kept wondering who the schoolgirl Makhudu had raped was and how was she. “Tshepo, switch off the candle before you sleep okay,” his mother said. “Okay mama,” he replied. He looked around the room for his mother’s purse and it was laying on top the fridge. He took out the R5 out side his back pocket and put it inside his mother’s purse.
He looked outside the window and he saw police cars raiding the township. He was surprised that his mother didn’t ask him why he brought two mealie-meal bags instead of one. The next day his mother called him in her bedroom. “Tshepo, did you see the people who killed Makhudu?” she asked. “No mama,” he answered. “Why did you steal his mealie-meal?” she continued. “I didn’t steal the mealie-meal, mama, I took it,” he answered. “Do you know that if anyone saw you, they can send the police here?” she asked. Tshepo was starting to panic. “By the way, thank you for putting the R5 in my purse, we really need the money,” she said. He looked at his mother with amazement and they both laughed.
In 1979 in a small township a boy called Tshepo, was sent on an errand by his mother to buy a bag of mealie-meal. Buying mealie-meal was the chore he hated most. And every Sunday his mother would send him to the Spaza shop on the outskirts of the township to by mealie-meal. It wasn’t the distance he minded or that the mealie-meal dust would make him dirty. It was the owner of the Spaza shop the upset him most. The man’s name was Makhudu and he always tried to short-change his younger customers. When they ask him to return their change in full, Makhudu would throw the money on the ground and start swearing. Makhudu was the only spaza shop owner who sold mealie-meal. So despite being a prick he was also a successful businessman. Lebotlwane was a small township in Hammanskraal, in North West, which shacked about 2000 people. Everybody in Lebotlwane was poor, even fewer had jobs. Tshepo’s mother always told him that money was the root of evil. He pocketed the R5 and dashed out of the door. When he arrived at the spaza shop he saw a group of people chanting and singing. Sticks and garden tools were held up as they dragged a man through the streets. Dogs were barking. Tshepo went closer for a better view. The man that was dragged was naked and he had a tyre around his neck, which he kept trying to remove. Makhudu was the man with a tyre around his neck.
Tshepo was scared and surprised as to why is Makhudu, a businessman, being beating by community members. And he overhead a group of women say that he had raped a 16-year-old schoolgirl. Tshepo knew what was going to happen to Makhudu and he also knew what was going to happen to him if he took too long with the mealie-meal. He reluctantly trotted off to the spaza shop, and he was happy that he was not going to pay for the mealie-meal. He took two bags of mealie-meal and walked back home. He knew that soon the police would be coming so he tried to walk fast. Three men came running from the direction of the spaza shop and they almost knocked him over. After a short while a police van came speeding behind him. He was so terrified he dropped the bags and stood still. The police asked him if he saw three men running on this street. He knew the men were in trouble, but he told the police that he did not see them. The police left. That night sitting on a bench with his mother. He wondered if he should give his mother the R5 or whether he she keep it for himself. His mother started talking about her racist boss and how they are being paid peanuts at work. Tshepo knew that he had to give his mother the R5 so that she can be able to buy more mealie-meal and other foods for both of them. He kept wondering who the schoolgirl Makhudu had raped was and how was she. “Tshepo, switch off the candle before you sleep okay,” his mother said. “Okay mama,” he replied. He looked around the room for his mother’s purse and it was laying on top the fridge. He took out the R5 out side his back pocket and put it inside his mother’s purse.
He looked outside the window and he saw police cars raiding the township. He was surprised that his mother didn’t ask him why he brought two mealie-meal bags instead of one. The next day his mother called him in her bedroom. “Tshepo, did you see the people who killed Makhudu?” she asked. “No mama,” he answered. “Why did you steal his mealie-meal?” she continued. “I didn’t steal the mealie-meal, mama, I took it,” he answered. “Do you know that if anyone saw you, they can send the police here?” she asked. Tshepo was starting to panic. “By the way, thank you for putting the R5 in my purse, we really need the money,” she said. He looked at his mother with amazement and they both laughed.
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About Me
- DJ FORA
- Pretoria, Gauteng, South Africa
- The man who knows his beats, his people and his business. He is best known as the founder and publisher of Resident DJ Magazine (a now defunct dance music magazine he started in 2006), a promoter of exciting music events since 2002, a talented and technically skilled DJ/Producer and a well rounded entrepreneur. He has shared the DJ booth with South Africa’s biggest DJs like Fresh, Vinny Da Vinci, Christos, Ganyani and many more. His DJ sets straddle between afro, deep and minimal house music. The musical master has borrowed his skills to a lot of producers and artists who appreciate his unique music composition. Fora has been spinning vinyls and discs since 1998, when he was introduced by a friend to house music. After a four year hiatus from the music industry, to focus on his other businesses, he is back with a lot of energy & ideas and he is not planning on slowing down anytime soon. He worked for record labels and publishing companies including Multi-Racial Records, where he worked as a Pr/Marketing Manager, promoting artists like Sisco, Mesh Potato and Simza. Fora is bridging the gap between a traditional house sound and the underground. Brace yourself he has arrived.