Biography of Nkululeko Mdudu
Nkululeko Gilbert Mdudu is a goat herder who grew up in the villege of Shiloh near Queenstown in the Eastern Cape. He was largely influenced by his grandfather, Simon Gilbert Mdudu who; along with his wife Beatrice Mdudu(my grandma) and the magic of the legendary true stories of their lives have shaped me. I am mad about my culture'and the world is a diamond', they said; but mainly about the story of how man creates his own Universe. All my poetry is from a place I call 'Ireshire' which is my world and soul. I have been called many things, but sadly not a poet. this could be due to the fact that poetry has always been a part of my life, only not as much on paper as on the tales that bind me to that place....the things one can do in dreams(like have two birds in the hand but wake up only to find a closed fist) , yes I have always been haunted, and helped by my dreams and the messages that lay hidden within them. Maybe I was not meant for this world for it is far too limiting, but from my limitations I have learned to fly inwardly to the planet of my soul. It all sounds mythical, as do I, sometimes, but a voice is what I'm looking for, not in language but in life. I struggle to understand the burdens I carry but I'm drawn to carry more; not as possessions but as pals.
- ! ! ! -My Love Has Loved You Best~! ! !
- ! ! ! Does Black Ink Ever Turn Grey?
- ~The Brief Moment(When She Was There) !
- $! Who Said.....
- ``~An October
- ! @~Zihla Ngamqala Mnye~~
- A Letter Over The Phone
- ***! ! The Kid Inside Me*#
- ! ...Written On Sorrows' Page
- @-Why Should I Write-
- 2....Almost Alive....1
- ...'Dr Phil
- 12: 11: 12
- ! ! Something To Smile About `_;
It starts off as an ordinary day,
four alarms ring at fifteen minute intervals and I lay
there half awake between thought and dream.
Like a maid or mother she knocks loudly on the door...
'Wake up it's late! '
And truly it was- the dream had died till another night,
a species extinct in the world of thought.No habitat
on waking hours for this creature of the night,
so he hides himself as an imperfect plan