Meshkerem Age of the Black Sage

By KeaOboka oora Molomo

keaOboka oora molomo belongs to the new post-colonial poets in south africa.
he approaches the genre with a frightening fearlessness, an almost messianic
zeal. A concoction of amongst others tradition, religion and new african history
add up to the molomo cocktail that is his take on poetry. his poetry is a pulpit in
church from which he brings the spiritual and the secular together, seeing the
usually disparate with the eye of Horus a reintegrating vision. for an artist
from the villages and townships, his work is undoubtedly paradigm defying and
revolutionary; unquestionably the offerings of a maverick. suffering no holy cows
he is angry, irreverent and certainly controversial; yet a nation-builder
and an african renaissance man too.
-tswagare namane
Author of My Land (Bits and Pieces)

what i have could be taken, but i will go to the grave being what i am, molomo o
bua ntho tse di kgolo - he addresses higher issues
-dr. mongane wally serote
national revolutionary poet and ceo of freedom park trust foundation

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Mar 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456894351

Book preview

26/01/08

at birth

a girl child’s breast would give you fresh pure-white milk

when you pressed it

a promise that she too

would one day on the face of the future

give birth to another child

stoically shedding her indispensable lamb blood

laying her ethereal and earthly body a full sacrilege down

so life should imprint its mark on her

humbly fulfilling the eternal archaic chain of mankind

at birth

a boy child’s penis would give you liquid silvery seeds

when you press it

a promise that he too

would one day on the face of the future

ignite the veins of the fertile living soil to inspire birth

affirming his status as the mystic provider

who has found his path within the spectrum of mother nature

blessed with a primal one-eyed serpentine master key

patriotically answering to the great infinite quest

of the universe

yet when i revealed to the people of the entire world,

their sages, priests, poets, prophets and griots

that it was under the children that i came to be a scholar

of celestial wisdom and earthly knowledge

i was marked and branded as a fool of all centuries

since the very birth of time

i hope i am not the only fool

 . . . in meshkerem age of the black sage

19/12/08

there is a sea in the tears

tears in the sea

all these things found and revealed in you

pitch black child of waferika

you fruit of all mystic seasons

enigmatic child of trillion times trillion times trillion esoteric existences

rebirths

resurrections

tailless and headless self-creating sacred womb of circles

and spirals

you are in all

all is in you

you who is one and as old

as the supreme creator being Herself

She whom you have been dissected from by bearers of

the un-specularite genome

 . . . this sacred age

being called by your untamed enflamed name

with its consecrated flame

13/11/07

since the days and nights of your hibernation

i have longed and craved the se-namane poetry

and philosophy

you who are what you write

having gone out of your life’s path

to guide my crude ink and virgin hand in its journey

erupting gratitude from my heart will be a crown made only for you on your brow

you the midwife to the voice that has refused to be tamed by the nauseating noise in me

you taught me about the art, the craft, science and origins of the world of letters

when i needed to be clothed as a forced nudist

it was you who clothed me

with your most beautiful new garments

when i was a forsaken prisoner

it was you who made my lonely prison cell your home

when i was in the dark

you took your only lamp and gave it to me you path-finder showing me the way-mosupatsela

you allowed me the space to spar with you in the no holds barred ring of feudal intellectual wrestling

that time when my own ideas began to hatch

and my philosophy was sending out waves

you let yourself be my unwrapped fist’s punching back

in the archaic arena of new thoughts

sometimes you won

sometimes it was a draw

and

when i began to win

it was you who would be the first to announce my victory over you

o majestic dream weaver of the time in my life

the teacher the universe dedicated for me

i have spread the fire of your teachings

to all those hungry and thirsty souls

who yearned for the new dawn

of your name they have always enquired and eagerly asked

‘tswagare namane’

i would reply with all stern validity, loyalty, reciprocity, veneration and adoration

i am not ashamed to admit

 . . . i even drip snot and slime

as i write this about you

to you

i have countless mentors indeed

but in the sacred realm of letters you can lay claim to me

tswagare namane

the brother with full love

the friend in all meteoric seasons

the grandmaster sage

the philosopher

the writer

the poet

the griot

the storyteller

the musician

the great teacher

the modernist cultural campaigner of our rare deeper primal scrolls, stones, metal petroglyphs, tetraglyphs

and hieroglyphs

the universal consciousness father of new revelations

the enigma

the phenomenon

the salt of the world

the light of the earth

the all in one and one in all

son of man

the

totality of all totalities

6/12/07

the children must be taught

that this indispensable earthly experience called life hurts

that the astral state known as love kills

and

yet without life and love

i would not have written for them

nor would they have read of me

life and love

are the identical sign and seal

the twin gifts to mankind from the superior realm

that neither winks nor sleeps

it is fate and destiny in the total spectrum and horizon of the nudity Goddess is

11/07

i wrote a trilogy of poetry

with no man-made modern machine but my own hand

for twelve years i sat in an unfractured circle

of a peace of time,

peace of mind,

silent place and a private life as guided by jenat grant

i wrote on my dead skin, broken teeth

and fallen hair-locks and uncombed beard

with my own blood

the poetry covered the pivotal episodes of my childhood

youthhood and adulthood

on my last earth day my work was completed

the day i finished my three-fold work . . .

at dusk an old black man with the purest

and longest white woolen hair and beard appeared

he was from the enigmatic realm of all our ancestors

—he was the first man of earth since zep tepi

born by the Mother of all our mothers

he was wearing the rainbow enriched unknown multicolor

as his rope

each color symbolizing the names of all the souls and spirits

he led from the sanctuary of souls and spectrum of spirits

he said no word and expressed no emotion

he took the first book

clenched it in his armpits

faded into the mystic kaleidoscope of lightning

married to rain, wind and roaring bellowing thunder

at midnight . . .

appeared a branded, chapped and chained black slave

a voluptuous maiden in her prime time

her name was mother nature

—the mother of all living, dead and yet unborn

she was chained with iron thorn-shackles

from her head, neck, hands and ankles

her arms were tightened behind her back

the chain was rusted and as old as mother earth herself

the chain’s length covered the whole universe

every ring of the chain stood for all the past,

present and future slaves of womankind and mankind

the chain caused her wounds

wounds which bled and pulsated a flow of blood

that never ceased to splash and spread

in her womb there was a sharpened object

attached to her anus and virginal mouth

it made her to bleed profusely like a fountain of fresh water

there was no land, water, ice nor cosmic sphere

where her blood did not reach, drip and stain

she used no words and exuded no elements

she took the second book

clenched it with her pure white teeth

and bruised bleeding lips

 . . . and i heard a clanging cymbal

a gigantic bell ringing tearing my eardrums

as the chain dragged her away

into the undefined black destiny known only to her

and her evil alien reptilian ancient masters

at dawn . . .

a little black girl from the promised future appeared

she was the face of the unseen and unknown posterity

the distant solar generation yet unborn

she was the great celestial promise in flesh

blessed with all golden gifts of unadulterated beauty

butterflies created a flying floral turban-crown on her brow

her whole signature tune was reminiscent of sounds

and sights, ancestral flora and fauna of namaqualand . . .

to her presence peacocks surrendered their feathers

to the beaming realm of her mystic essence

as every bird alive sang her esoteric virile visions

and pulsating prophesies of psalms

her astral glowing aura full pregnant with serenity

her shadow was embodied with silhouettes of

all what divine total truth is

in her eyes there was peace in a perfect virgin state

her skin was the evergreen lawn of the olive great ancient four rivers of garden of eden—the eco-city of ancestral love

i yearned that she tell me of things in the coming ages

that nobody knew

i hungered for the forthcoming dawn of divine totality

from her mouth

to hear and learn of beings that were foretold even by myself

for i knew the past

I was one with the present

but the future has always been secretive in personality

words escaped my tongue as with conscious black slaves

in bestial white bondage

curiosity flooded my eyes

like the days of the drunkard prophet noah’s

ascension and transcendence by water

as she opened her warm arms

and her glittering pure hands

she who wore all precious gem stones and royal gowns

that both heaven and earth could give

my last book flew to her palms

it was humming an enigmatic illustrious eulogy for her

angels of all orders in chariots of fire led her way

singing heavenly operas, paeans and poetic melodies

i saw them all they who were once sent to earth

by our Mother She Ancient of Days

-the ebony black messiahs

all the black prophets and prophetesses

who wrote the ancient book of prophets

they who were the first to engrave in tetraglyphs, petroglyphs and hieroglyphs the name of Ancient of Days

their celestial and creative offering now modified of its genuine fire and salt and called the holy bible

the primal members of the meleke-siteke priesthood order founded in land of ur /uto-pia/ ethiopia here in aferika

the ancient center of mystical learning

the land of the Goddess’s holy people

these were children of the Most High Goddess who accompanied her

 . . . the daughter of sacred unleavened dreams

the last born who must be clothed

with all brotherly love heaven and earth was composed of

she reverted to the divine destiny and ubiquitous infinite fate

a state yet to come that you and me can only dream of

at the break of the new day . . .

i woke up as a dead unread unknown youth poet

in the kgosi galeshewe vast landscape and district

and ancestral floral land of the nama people of my country

me whose echoes of voice and footprints of existence

faded traceless like the sand dunes of my birthland

with the congenial mystic events of that last day

and its unpredictable dawn

i died famously like a pauper

as all dissident creative beings of my day and age

in the land of plenty; of mandela, mbeki, motlanthe and zuma

without a thing branded to my name

 . . . at my disgraced pauper funeral

apart from the living

there were unseen ancestors,

masked angels,

known slaves

and esoteric faces of generations yet unborn

all singing a threnody with an elegy

as they all engraved my epitaph

with sagely liquid fire sanctified tetraglyphs, petroglyphs and hieroglyphs saying,

‘he died not a praise poet

but a true poet of the Goddess as his sesotho name guides

he was poet of all generations,

the dead, the living and ones yet unborn’

 . . . all my earthly thirst was quenched

all my hunger abated

quests fulfilled as i was welcomed in the sphere

of the youth who age not

in a stream of dreams of beauty

that knows no sickness nor death

tears of joy and fulfillment was mine to cry

after a season of hunger, thirst, lovelessness

and total rejection by those i have lived for and love deeply

 . . . the Goddess’s holy chosen nation

the perpetually oppressed black people

 . . . and i saw the Mother of all our Mothers

who was also Thou /Tsau Goab! the Father of all our fathers

in Her nameless and shapeless celestial Self

the Neb Tem who is the very definition of all things

known and unknown

‘my son’

She called upon me to sit on Her right hand

on the flooded florescent throne of pure love

the throne was a pure work of limitless creative poetry

eternal music was the language

in the order of immortality

9/10/08

i was there

and i so wish you were with me

i was there . . .

when the violent thundering oceans created earth

from above and beneath

earth and all her immeasurable beauty

when hungry giant shapeless brimstones of fire

inspired our spirits to flames of life

these undefined beings me and you have become

when the mystic ageless music composed

the very core of our souls

the ageless cherubims and seraphims we are

when our flesh, blood, genes and shadows

were sculpted to withstand the moods of seasons

when these meteoric seasons come and go by

we were made to triumph over unkind epochs

as they are timed and ushered by destiny and fate

when the Goddess-child in each and everyone of us

was earthed with the lotus flower power

with its countless yellow petals of authentic strength

so as to carry the brutish crude burden of creation

in all its manifestations

the ever bloodied ankh of procreation

—the essential union of wombman and man

with all gene mutations, deformities and lacerations

of ancient celestial creativity

with wounds that refuse day and night

to be scars in sacred sexual organs

to walk the virgin erected thorny needle pathways

always barefooted

right

into

the

inevitable celestial ring of infinity

 . . . you were there

and i so wish i was with you

you were there

in your heart, mind and spirit

you so wish we were all there with you

but because you were there

we were there in you

you gifted seer and seeress

who is both wombman and man in all manifestations

you who captured in diorite and basalt engravings

the very first times

which our foremothers called zep tepi

only to be revealed in our times as

mystic meshkerem age of the pitch black sage

when i was a child i was hit by a butterfly

i chased it from my childhood, youth-hood and adulthood

and i captured it at the threshold and gates of my elder-hood

on my palms it shape-shifted to a fully circled rainbow

the most beautiful thing alive

it was every quest i ever had

every yearning

every longing

every aspiration

every dream

every vision

like zephaniah paneah the ancient kemetic black sage

aesop he joseph of old

who was a dreamer and became a dream-interpreter

a dream-interpreter who was sold by his jealous brothers

to be a royal slave

a royal slave who became a servant

a servant who became a master-servant

a master-servant who became a prisoner

for shunning and disdaining the clitoris rupturing lust

of his master’s nymphomaniac wife

the prisoner who became the psychologist, sage

and spiritual anchor of his fellow prisoners

the prisoner who became a royal phenomenon

decipherer and decoder of esoteric hieroglyphs

the prisoner who in the minute of the same hour became

chief advisor to the pharaoh-ruler of the whole world

the chief advisor

who became the actual ruler of ancient kemet/Egypt

when the pharaoh gave him his vibrating mosupatsela ring

when he wore the sebilo coal as make-up to see

the entire limitless celestial world in its virgin state

on his brow there was the pharaoh’s hairlocked crown

pulled from his head for the young ruler joseph was

and a nemes

a golden sechem in his hand

and with the regal ring on his vein finger

from the black king of the world

he was the sacred sage in a primal black age

for he foresaw his destiny and fate

and no obstacle could bar his road to such greatness

he too chased the butterfly of his childhood

only to wear the technicolor coat of a mystic rainbow

i also wore a coat of the mystic rainbow colors

from the efforts of chasing the butterfly

so

let us all chase the butterflies that chose us

when we were children

so that i