A Collection of Original Poetry by Students of Ladysmith High School

Sunday, 15 July 2018

Him and I ~ Aphelele Buthelezi

This is a story about him and I
How we both felt broken
and both our truths were unspoken.
How we loved hard before
and both our hearts were sore.
How our hearts needed to heal
and why we wanted to kill -
kill every ounce of pain that cut beneath our skin
and how this apprehension made us kith and kin
This is no customary story - not one with a knight and shining armor and a fairy godmother
But one that has two people entering a rehab from love together just to heal each other.
How he changed reality into his dream
and all he did was write
How she wanted to hold him
and put all the pieces back together so he can be alright
She chases and she falls
From one love to the next
She runs and she trips
From one ship to the 'best'
And when she finally felt at home
It was as though he was loveblind
As though her love to him was just a fiend
We live in a pretentious world -
a world where the truth looks like a lie
a "hello, how are you?" Feels like a goodbye.
Where an "I love you" sounds like a "That's my cue"
my cue to let love past right in front of me
my cue to back off
my cue to let him choose
Whether he wants us to fuse or let her loose.
She was his blanket to his shivers, his defroster to his frozen,
His food to his hunger, his blood to his heart and his tongue to his speech
But it was though he was loveblind
As though her love to him was just a fiend
This world full of hurt :
How him and I try to stay sane
And are too scared to love again.
This is the story about him and I.



© Aphelele Buthelezi

***
Grade 12
***

Friday, 13 July 2018

I Want to Fall in Love Again ~ Naadir Vorajee

I'd like to see her golden face
and feel her heart when we embrace:
A beat so strong, it'll pulse through me
A one-eyed look: Through souls I'll see

A want to feel her warmth surround:
A feeling that never touches the ground
A feeling that only us two share -
An angel walks in Eden, bare...

I wish to hear her tender voice sing
A silent hymn that makes me ring
like bells that call a man to pray
and lead the innocent not a stray

I must  smell her familiar scent,
that once a lonely man's heart straight-bent
that always guided me back to my home
and helped the soldiers that built up Rome

I need to taste her untouched skin
and release our souls locked deep within:
Make us one, to find our place
and bind us both like a knot of lace

This thing called love transcends our space
Our senses does it too embrace
But deeper than we can come to know
its bounds does it not care to show
Perhaps to us, it may never kneel,
why then, do we strive to its ideal?



©  Naadir Vorajee

***
Matric 2013
***

Thursday, 28 June 2018

Hands of Empowerment ~ Ntando Mazibuko

There is nothing more powerful
than the tender hands of a person
A person who gives up her life
to make sure others live on.

A person who takes her time
to mould the ever so shapeless minds
into a sculpture of gold.

A person who carries the future
of many in her palms
A person who aims to enrich
instead of harm.

A person who dries the tears
of a nation’s many faces
A person who makes all of this
seem easy or so it appears.

A person who takes your hand
and says…
“I’m a teacher and I will always be here.”


© Ntando Mazibuko -TRIBAL_AFRXCA

***
Grade 12
***

Animosity ~ Ntando Mazibuko

These streets that we roam
Are the wilderness we call home

I’ve got blood on my shirt
But this blood ain’t mine
I thank God
I guess it wasn’t my time

I’ve got four mouths to feed
Fuelled and driven by need
Poverty is the chain from which we can never be freed
So I stay locked and loaded with a weapon better known as greed
And I’m blessed to find out that I can still breathe
Because…

I’ve got blood on my shirt
But this blood ain’t mine
The animosity clock is ticking
And I’m running out of time.

Bang…
Bang!

The animosity of gang banging
Poverty a mother that gave birth to drug slanging
A suicidal community
Drugs are the rope that’s hanging
But for me, the last bullet in his gun
Ended my time

Now I’ve got blood on my shirt
But this time the blood is…
Mine.



©   Ntando Mazibuko   -TRIBAL_AFRXCA


***
Grade 12
***

Sunday, 3 June 2018

Writing Destiny ~ Mika Datadin

How can I say I am sad?

All that's ever plagued my mind

has been my own poem,

my own writing

I have an unfortunate habit of using

words that do not wish to be used.



I am that one that has put

lead to paper, the one that

has made the mistakes, those

words I believe do not fit,

those awkward lines and harsh

forced rhymes.

All those writings I so regret

Yet I continue to write my

poems as such because I

cannot use the words I wish to.



One day in the future, when I

am in later stanzas of my

work, I will be free to write

as I please. Nothing will prevent

me from scribbling free verse,

independently of expectations.

One day in the future,

I will write my life

the way I wish.


©  Mika Datadin

***
Grade 11
***

Inside My Home ~ Mika Datadin

As I awoke dreary-eyed

I felt the burden of the world

fall onto my chest once again,

Pushing the air out of my

noisy lungs, silencing me from

uttering my helplessness



As I stood heavy-hearted

walking to the family room

the air burned holes in

my ears, as argument ensued.

But I would rather have this

destructive shelter, than journey beyond these walls.



As I step out, I am greeted

by smiling faces and batting eyelashes

small talk and big reactions

There I see a classmate

There I see a distant Aunt

But everywhere I see falsehood



How could you ask me to step into

A world where reality is not reality

Where every smile a scowl

Where every hug is an excuse

To stab someone in the back?

How could you ask me to make myself vulnerable?



Leave me

Inside my home

Where at least we speak our

Indecent truths face to face

Leave me

Inside my home

Where at least I feel

Real


©  Mika Datadin

***
Grade 11
***

Do you fare well in America? ~ Mika Datadin

For Jadida Kalim

We have entered the night to tell our tale

For it is then that we can come out

It is then that we are accepted

And real



During the day we are expected

To show ourselves only to be chastised

We are expected to leave our homes

And face the danger that lurks outside



But in the early hours of the morning

We come out to play

To meet friends from across the globe

To help those in need of an ear

To hear their woes



During the day we are occupied

With ink-filled papers and

Ink-filled minds

Pens grow out of our hands

Formulas spill out of our eyes



But when the sun begins to set

I can meet you over text, my friend

And forget for a while

That you're somewhere away from here, some thousands of miles


©  Mika Datadin

***
Grade 11
***