The Township In A Crystal Ball

By Lonwabo Slumchild Mfuyo

Poet’s biography
Lonwabo Mfuyo known as “Slumchild” in hip hop/poetry circles, hails from Butterworth but grew up in Mdantsane, a township in East London (Eastern Cape). He moved to Johannesburg in 2004 as a young teenager where he explored his love for poetry and music. He has travelled to most townships particularly Katlehong, Thokoza, Everton, Palm Springs, Vooslorus, Dube, Baseline (Newtown) to name but a few and has learnt from giants like Afurakan, Flo, Lebo Mashile, Matodzi Gift Ramashia to gather skills and to discover the meaning of poetry and music. He has always had a love for words and is insightful enough to acknowledge early South African activists and writers on socio-economic, political, religious, emotional, esoteric and psychological issues of the country.
“The township in a crystal ball” is a riddle-like and thought-provoking collection of poems written in a story-telling and revealing manner. It lets the reader into the heart of the township with poetic imagery. Painting the picture of personalities and reactions to a contemporary South Africa, this collection of poems sheds light on many issues. Ranging from alcohol and drug abuse, political betrayal, to unemployment and corrupt leadership, Mfuyo’s Pan Africanist wakefulness persists on realistic criticism and remains richly factual. The book concentrates on rural and township life, and inevitably the city of gold with tales of love and tragedy. It is definitely an interesting read!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lonwabo Slumchild Mfuyo
• Release date: Dec 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9780620727129

Lonwabo Slumchild Mfuyo

I'm an artist with insatiable appetite for metaphysics. I love thought provoking lyrics and absolutely anything with considerable depths. I came from East London (Eastern Cape) RSA and currently living in Johannesburg, show hunting and doing anything in the name of spreading the word. Catch me in book reading places, poetry sessions, and Hip hop circles.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Nothing Like the Township

Chapter 2

On Roots

Chapter 3

On Spirituality

Chapter 4

On Politics

Chapter 5

On Romance

Chapter 1

Nothing Like the Township

A Break

You started blending with abnormality

Wobbling in negative energy tides

Lurching as a hopeless drunk in the outskirts of rationality

Caught by dream-inducing sprites

In puppet strings of surreal realities

Cringing before the resolute eyes of life

As it denies you a break.

You cuddled a goddess of death near the grave

And searched an empty piece of your heart

In that glass smeared with aluminium and dielectric coating

Wincing in exaggerated pain

Ends met in shortcomings and ended up drunk

Between creative suffering and being a novice

And solutions led to a psychotic break.

But then Jean Baptiste Grenouille will be alright

What happened to him either way was just fuelling his rare expertise

Dust will always be the remains of some stars

But for now let him find a universe in chimera tales

In his twenties – seven elves illusion kept him behind bars

Whatever happened to living for life’s own sake

Has become its own lines break.

A Day’s Work

Global economist web hung

He gave trends hugs

Fellow human love tugged

In his barcode carved

And empty heart

He misrepresented words

A neo rhythm poet

Was in nursery format

His fascinating nonsense

Echoed the pain

Of a sick order of the day

Like strength behind goods on a pallet

Stern as a clergy pervert

Life itself came from his wallet

But I guess God himself

Was a carpenter in flesh.

A Kasi Weekend

The entire block emerged from a TV show

Craving to glimpse the globe

Of immortality in the soul

Style and flair crept from popular music echoes

Provoking kids to show up looking like costumes in music videos

The hippie nobility is somewhat an eccentric custom.

Bottles clink and feasts begin

Till the ancient eye of heavens blink

It’s a little blow-by-blow, a little stab wound

A little promiscuity and adventures to the moon

In little plastic bags of white powder that soothed a lady of the night

To a kinky youth of a phantom bliss to a living doom.

You’ve had six too many

And arose to an illusion of faith in plenty

Yesterday must’ve hung on over your temple’s ceiling with that