MIND IT, SELF-TALK IS MEANT FOR "PRIVATE" CONVERSATION

(Mined from the deep well of the thoughts of a Son of Ovandu)                                                        
The purpose of self-talk is to allow us to say all the beautiful and nasty things in private (to ourselves) or in the presence of no one. This should allow us to sieve through our thoughts so that what gets out as spoken and unspoken messages (words and actions) are consciously what we wish to convey (hopefuly, positive uplifting and building staff).

Unfortunately, if  we have not trained ourselves to listen to ourselves, we speak what we were suppose to say to ourselves to others. In the process, we hurt others and ourselves! Be conscious of your thoughts.

Once the word is said, it will never be taken back, even if "it is taken back".
The tongue can heal or kill. Mind it.   Consciousness can be reached though effort.

Africa is Who We Are

Africa is who we are
not what we have become
The enemy is capitalism but not your African brother and sister.

You torch your brother for the sweat of his brow?
You hate your brother because he is from another "country"?
Who made the borders?
Who made you hate your brother?
Who made you

Zenophobia or Afrophobia?
The melt of our fibre as humanity?
Where is our humanity Africa?

Poisoned Sweetness

Games we play
Coded messages
Rapped in coats of sweetness
Tasting poisoned sweetness     
Designed to deceive and conceive and conceal

From the meetings of foolishness
Held in the hallways of our minds
Planning evil acts rejected by our God 

Our spirit filled with the filth rejectedby our ancestors
Minds mining evil ore
Never to be refined by the holiest of holy
Held high only in anticipation of calamity apon one's brother
Never apon themselves.....

The Rapist Husband

I feel like a rapist
I am a rapist
Sex has become mundane
Where you lay down like a ball
Or like a dead horse
Where I have to do "my thing" and get done with fast

I  feel like I am doing it for "me"
I feel like it is not for "us"
I feel like a rapist

Get back my woman
I do not want a dead horse
There is no emotion attached
Where is me in you?
Where is our spark?
Where is our fire?
I know.

House of Prison

I came to a house of prison        
Worshipers with their souls surrendered
Spirits allowed to accept salvation only in anticipation
Committed hands to clapping
Lips to song
Feets thundering the ground in worship

Who taught you to hate your God?
Who sold you a packaged foreign god?
Who diluted your worship?

In revolt I, do not clap
In revolt I, do not sing
In revolt I, reject a packaged god.

Each day is a day of torment to my soul
I reject the packaged god

Selling hope or selling solutions?
Take me to Okaoko
Maybe I will find our humanity in our worship.