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Catalogues of Tales

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Another one down

ANOTHER ONE DOWN😞 News flash... Officer involved shooting... Suspected robber... Unarmed black… gunned down... Sighs… Tearful eyes. Hate… Cruel fate. Black kid strolling down the street, Unarmed to his feet; Shot dead like a dog, By the nation's watchdog. Begged for his life on his knees, Deaf ears to his pleas. The real robber ran behind, They see, yet they're blind. It's on the papers, it's on the news, And yet it's no news; They've got the guns, they've got the law, Backing up their flaw. Mother weeps, just lost her son; Bulllet from a gun. Father mourns, just lost his heir, To speak, none would dare. First they made us into slaves, Now they're digging our graves. Dead nephews, dead brothers, Little babies, no fathers. Black deaths in decimals, They treat us like animals; And when we succumb to our rage, They lock us up in a cage. Where's the love, where's the unity? It's all brutality. Where...

Ten lines ⚟ of lies

TEN LINES OF LIES The words in this poem are true, The world is better with you; I'm glad that we met, I have no regret. You meant a lot to me, With you I felt free; You never raised your voice, Nor failed to give me a choice. It's not my fault you had to die, I always loved your smile. © Princewill 👁️

💃A man worth knowing🤔🤔

💋Chapter Eight💋 ‘Shall we have coffee on the balcony?’ ‘That sounds nice.’ She tried to quell the nervous flutter in her stomach with a smile. ‘It’s more private and there’s a lot more sun.’ Mandi followed Nosiswe Dlane through the elegant Hyde Park apartment towards the French doors opening up to an enclosed balcony. She’d worn a smart pair of black fitted trousers and a crisp white blouse for the meeting. Nosiswe was far more relaxed in a pair of expensive blue jeans and a caramel- coloured turtleneck sweater. The clothes made her look younger. Mandi looked around the huge balcony. The creamy white of the wicker patio furniture was broken with bright multi-patterned cushions. It was an airy, inviting and casual sitting area. ‘Please take a seat. I’d forgotten how lovely the sunny late winter afternoons can be in Johannesburg,’ Nosiswe said, as a housekeeper in a starched duchess uniform poured coffee from a silver pot. Mandi had a slight trace of a hangover – all that alcohol a...

THE LOVE OF A MOTHER

The greatest and deadliest of all times A love so strong, would push you to sin You can't resist as long as it insists Could be pure and also dangerous Could be safe and also your darkness It consumes like fire For the love of a mother Is the most dangerous ever © Maracci

The manager

The Manager Every rising sun Meets me on the farm Not mine Nor my father's But someone else's Every setting sun Leaves me in a big compound Where I toil not my field Nor my parents But that which Is for a stranger Thou I'm a man of age I couldn't help but manage I couldn't man age Instead age man me Bossing me to obey it's command I am a famous man For poverty dwells with me Pain is my anchor And bitterness my best friend I am dressed in a robe of penury The crown of poverty adorns me On my hands are bangles of hopelessness Complimenting my beautiful outfit of doom I have no one to look up to But the supreme up above No where to turn to Even a house, I didn't own I eat the delicacies of sorrow Drank the wine of anguish, In a mansion of wretchedness I am king I manage all I have I mean all of nothing I am a manager Who manage his life, A stupendous manger ® Sam Petros