I Say I'm Okay ~ Uwais Coetzee

I say I'm okay.
That's what I say at least.
It's what I feel during the day.
But at night it's different.
I say I'm okay
But why am I awake
Writing a poem at 1 am?
I say I'm okay but I do depressing
Things 24/7.
I lock myself up.
Skip meals.
Don't sleep.
Overthink.
When I'm not okay
I find myself in your chat
Because the simple thought
Of us talking calms
The storm.
Even if neither one of us is making
Much of an effort
It's some comfort in
My life that doesn't seem
At all friendly.
I say I'm okay
But I don't think I am.
I know I'm not.
But I say I am.
To avoid ruining your day
Yo avoid spoiling your mood
To avoid being a nuisance
To avoid being rude.
I find myself looking back
To when things were
Actually fine.
When I wasn't a nervous wreck
When I wasn't a depressing poet.
When I wrote poems about life and love
Because I tbought that was what I felt.
But it was a mindless infatuation
With you who I knew I'd never have.
I find myself hurting myself by
Still trying to love the idea
Of escaping in our conversation.
Every word is a pain.
Every leaf is a tree.
Every smile is the same.
None of them are for me.
I know I'm not happy.
I have no idea why.
But every deep breath
Simply ends in athe sigh.
You ask how I am,
I answer in the same way.
Every day is the same thing.
I say I'm okay.



©  Uwais Coetzee


***
Grade 12
***

Sober Mind Unfiltered ~ Gugu Buthelezi

Like photons through skyline I show myself
So if you think you know me you need some help
Mastered the game like I'm Roshi
We're seemingly so close but do you really know me?
I've hated telling people we're just mates
Wanted to make it more special but too high were the stakes
Like a patty on top of the bun, it's really rare
Followed her to get over you but found nothing there
Nothing quite like the sight of you together to make me despair
Learning to let it go, Anna would be proud
You're supposed to take me to the 9th cloud,
Not make me feel like I'm beneath the ground.


© Gugu Buthelezi


***
Matriculant 2017
***

The Orchard ~ Naadir Vorajee

help me to swallow this fruit
that bitters my throat with pain
that poisons both grower and picker
that kills us both in vain

help them see the Path I chose...
through this orchard maze
the Path that lead to this same tree
the Paths we trod for days

the fruit i ate, to feed my hunger
but pride it fed instead.
the idea that seemed so crispy
will only leave me dead!

but i am not the only debtor
both grower and picker pay whole
the fruit had poisoned one man's body
the other man, the soul!

forgiveness is a word in speech
it's rope is tied to two
it tightens when we pull away
it escapes nor me or you

it loosens but only with time
for some it goes by quick
for others that time does not begin
for anger they let grow thick!


©  Naadir Vorajee

***
Matriculant 2013
***

Friends ~ Lindokuhle Mbatha

Music is the answer
Poets have their own answers
Friends support you
Friends backstab you
Friends always laugh with you
Friends never leave you when times are great
Friends always have the answers when there's no trouble
But wait until there's trouble friends disappear
Friends look at you like they don't know you anymore
Friends will do somethings with you
But you'll always find yourself in trouble and they won't be
Friends think with you
Friends are friends when times are great
But when days are dark you won't have a friend


© Lindokuhle Mbatha 

***
Grade 9
***

Her Story ~ Siyabonga Dlamini

She suffers...
She suffers alone...
Her mind is forever clouded with pain...death....
This is not a poem...
this is her story...

Her spirit is broken...
Her will is crushed beyond comprehension...
mine and yours...
even her own...
this is not a poem...
this is her story...

She spends her nights sleepless and in pain...
Confused...
Her mind a war zone...
trapped...
alone...
scared...
this is not a poem...
this is her story...
She sees blood everytime her eyes close...
Her heart,soul and body are dying slowly....
Claustrophobic in her spirit...
She screams but no one seems to be listening...
Slowly suffocating...
Not much life remains behind...
this is not a poem...
this is her story...

Watching her pass slowly...
My hands tied and my mind in a frenzy...
I cannot help her...
She screams but through the glass I cannot reach her...
Broken to a point of no return she dies before my eyes...
She slowly accepts her fate but I don't think I can easily let her pass...
this is not a poem...
this is her story...

The tears I try to wipe from my eyes and hers...
Her spirit I try to restore...
I try to put my arms around her...
but all seems futile...
She seems to be too far in for me to reach...
trapped in a far corner deep in her mind...
weeping and hopeless...
this is not a poem...
this is her story...

If ever the visions come to pass and her flesh turns to blood and her bones to dust...
If ever her spirit leaves this realm and disappears to nothing...
If ever she is taken from me too soon...
I will spend the rest of my days in constant confusion and suffering....
Dying more and more each day...
Sitting next to her grave until I am also... no more...
I cannot begin to explain her worth...
Or the value of her presence...
only that she lives in my mind through thick or thin....
even through death...
this is not a poem....
this is our story...



© Siyabonga Dlamini

Matriculant 2016