Ofentse Mercy Hajane

Rookie - 76 Points [Ofentse Mercy Hajane] (1992-04-23 / South Africa/ Johannesburg/ Krugersdorp/ Munsieville)

Biography of Ofentse Mercy Hajane

Ofentse Mercy Hajane poet

Ofentse Mercy Hajane was reared in Munsieville; a little township located west of Mogalecity formerly known as Krugersdorp, just few kilometers off the outskirts of Johannesburg (Jozi) in 1992 the 23rd of April; under the sign of the mighty brave bull. He is currently residing in his birth place (his Afo-rui-ka) . Indeed a bull never leaves its kraal unless there’s a greener pasture out there. In 2010 he succeeded in finishing his 12th grade in Thuto-Lefa Secondary School. Like all restless post-matriculates he ventured into the world of work, where he got into a community project (CWP) . A year after he enrolled in a college (Westcol College) in pursue of a dream. Besides dreams do not come to those who wait for them to just pop up out of nowhere, do they? Each day is a step toward his final dreams. Although he enrolled in an engineering college, his love to study zoology makes him wonder if he had made a terrible mistake to fly over the lands of metal and machinery.
Ofentse discovered his love for literature in his early years (How early? Let’s just say early enough) .Although arguerably with poetry, he had long love the idea of being a writer, a writer of anything as long as it could launch him out of the real world into a world he created. It was through reading short stories and novels that cemented the foundation of his love for poetry. Although he might not call himself a poet, (“I am no poet but an admirer of words”) but poetry is what bleach out his darkened days. Poetry indeed is what inks each an every step he takes a day. Also the lessons of Philosophy from great men’s like Credo Mutwa, Steve Bantu Biko, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, Gabriel Okara, Plato, Socrates and Aristotle and many others (the list wage beyond endless) , are his greatest inspiration. Not only poetry, novels or philosophy waters him with wonder, also the spectacles of Nature, the majesticity of art and paintings (African and Gothic art to be certain) and the world of science which deals with the very fabric of wonders, complexity within simplicity, Chaos theory and all of the Universe, is where he draws his inspiration from.
He also suppose that the you, the me that Socrates on about, had finally revealed itself (Not that it has been hidden, but it has been hindered by men’s fear, atrocities, and religious norms.) through all of nature, either be animals or plants, poet or writers, singers or actors, artists or painters. They are all us, made into them. Through all of our works are pieces of hindered knowledge flecked wit a bit of a unique character, Ofentse’s; sprinkled with quite a lot of dark poetry, as one might say; Gothic poetry. To him it is an introduction of a reminder to people that fear could be mended into a beautiful thing, however you wish to put it, fear reside in all of us. So why fear “Fear” when could use it, make it our essential parts. Do remember that it is not always the flower that a rose looks so majestic, it is but its thorns that makes it so.

So I welcome thee, dear wary reader, into my work. The work of simple scattered words, stringed together by a typical force of our universe, to pass forth a blank message, waiting to be painted by ye. Through thy imagination’s capacity, my words will momentarily be thine, the message, thine to conjure. Each story, either be true or fable, thine to venture.
For some of these words are laced with dark energy (nothing to harm though) , some are just whimsical, some created with simplicity, some are questioning and questionable, some are just simply happy thoughts while others are as dull as a slow Sunday morning.
Linger if thee might, and it would be my pleasure to tour thee into my little personal museum of thoughts. Just wary of little creature awaiting to pop up any time…. DO ENJOY THINESELF! !

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Black & Untitled

Unto the midst of hell.
I remained chained to my warrent of freedom.
My body knows only the scourge that
dwells deep within the scourgerer.
With thorny whips they tear open his ebony skin.
With his grey hair he seem to feel no pain.
But pain he does endures.
But a foriegn name he won't be given.
Out loud he calls,

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