Boitumelo Oliphant Poems

They thought I was Black
They thought Intellectual inadequacy and my fitness for enslavement is what characterises me,
They thought their greed will widespread the defilement of my model for social harmony,
They thought removing my name from the national agenda will broaden my lack,
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Woke up in the morning, be-buzzled by a strange comfort of an apparent artefact scent doffed upon my reality,
Without much tangle I drift from this tally graciously notched in a bubble of ego imagined in the emptiness of things.
I call onto what glory I find in this enigma. Comfort that tables glossy around a passim of reality.
Be it known, more deterioration befuddled with what dims extra care for the unseen, I remain close to sight still.
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Excuse me lord
Today I had to taste my shed,
Heavy as my head was I rose up
I went to my sanctuary at my while embracing my degrade,
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Victory’s mandate
Tats and Tutsis of the Bantustan native deter my horizon as millages on my yard-speed unfold,
Today I behold the glory apparent on my fellow African’s fate, because of the watch of this day… 1976
On the outskirts of oblivion, I observe the heart of the day as my brother, my saviour steps into a Zloty Street in Soweto,
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I am indebted
How do I bypass the burden put on me by my makers?
The chants of their toi toi are demanding my dues,
Their silence is shouting loud at my mislead being, for I have become like a restless chid,
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Like the Twa, the tutsi and the hutu peoples in the kingdom of Burundi I claim your core
Flawless Dances I see in the Mount of Cameroon, home to the native makossa and bikutsi melody as I realise solace.
Like the worst of the worst…in Mr Obiang’s collage of Equatorial Guinea I refuse to let go
I grumble at my dilute in my advocate’s absentia Mr Haile Selassie for by his tally a panacea was realised for the oldest site of human existence known to boffins, Ethiopia. I should have made mine realised by my solace’s carrier?
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I behold your beauty as I entangle myself in what seems your bosom’s belt,
So down to earth that you denied your person a shadow’s dent in the sun’s scotch as agony and pain rang your bell.
A mystery, that is the drops of your Meta by the way side palming through and throughout your very conception.
You left glory’s sit and came to par with dust.
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Never had I understood a pater’s warmth.
Being brought up in a size four ménage yet accompanied by solitude’s bypass,
I passively behold the daunting desire of his affection as it lures me into dismiss.
Did I miss it or did it miss me, I remain out of sight.
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Diagonal to my reaction is the opposed voluntary knighting often induced by the arming of contemporary deities.
Be heading my vertical temperance down folding destiny, I realise that my mushy ditsy is lying at sight with the damned.
Chased by what seems fate she falls into agony and lashes out as she embraces an ambush sought.
Her world is shadowed by a daisy skillet thought to haunt the undiscerning. To rescue is a bypass only saddened to interplay the corners of time.
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When time enquires of my twit, tell her I am out of ink
When communication asks my where abouts, disclose the mystery of my distance
When destiny seeks to part with me, ask her to leave the keys under the door mat
When providence is no longer on my side, know that she now has my back
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