London Olympics 2012 Cultural Programme

South African artists are going to London to share their cultural experiences and showcase their skills, ranging from music to poetry to comedy.

Natalia Molebatsi is proud to represent South African poetry as part of the London Olympics cultural events programme, which includes exchanges through workshops and discussions with artists representing their respective countries. She is honoured to have the brilliant Mr Themba Mokoena accompany her — one of South Africa's finest guitarists who has played for the likes of Sibongile Khumalo, Hugh Masekela and Simphiwe Dana.

Other South African artists invited to perform at the opening and closing event ceremonies include Thandiswa Maswai and The Parlotones.

http://www.london2012.com/
http://www.thandiswa.com/ 
http://www.theparlotones.net/

Travelling to Freedom

Freedom is a land i want to travel to
feel its plains be me woman beast and child
selflessly sexual and political ...
travelling to freedom

whole and aware like the boy
who is born to be his mother's eyes
the woman's hand rests on his shoulder
at the traffic light, where he holds the world's lot
inside their coin tin
and on the left of his other side
he clenches his father's hand,
as they wait for the light to turn green
Traveling to freedom

Freedom means a meal and sometimes, hopefully rent
paid in full...

On Photographs

It is your picture
placed by magnet
on my fridge door
that pulls me to you
I have to believe now
That you are my ghost
Granny dearest

Speaking to me in other people's voices
But only the special ones
How can science ever prove our feelings?

I was talking on the phone with Ayeola, a special friend
mother and sister i just met through her politically incorrect
but amazing husband, writer Carlos Moore.

Moore is the writer of Fela: This bitch of a life, and we were fotunate
enough that he our paths crossed.
More so, his wife, Ayeola, who looks like my grandmother in her ealy days

There i was with Ayeola on the phone
and the picture on the fridge just magnetted my heart
so that while i was talking, i had to watch it, and give it a few kisses.

And there, on the other side of the phone, without knowing that i am
watching my grandmother's picture she starts to talk "You must know
That whereever i am, i am thinking about you, my family"
This is a woman i had met merely three days ago.

i believe these were my grandmother's words.
Deep.
Personal.
Eternal.
Love.

Philos means love

Philos means love
that philosophy of thando, lerato
liebe, luvhuno, 爱,
glarring out of songs
waiting a nod of meaning
what does it mean to meet
a mother with her daughter at the supermarket
picking groceries and dreams
happy summer child besides her mother's flare dress

She calls out, i turn, she speaks beauty
and that philosophy is growing in our eye balls
she loves my hair, i love hers, natural
"can i take a picture of your hair ?"
I have taken one already beautiful one with the open shutter of my heart
So rarely do we give our selves words we belong to, emotions
we deserve, here we are woman and your child whose name means love
sharing a philosophy we did'nt invent but are discovering now
forget the hurry and rush of washing powder and rice and home and dinner
now here is the time, "nice to meet you," likewise
love is born

This morning

This morning i put aside the frills of life
in search of light inside this bag of dreams
Beyond belief, it is me and all my mortal selves
Alone again though i have love growing around me like
flowers blossoming beyond the space the eye can travel
I am alone again though i still itch to see the world
and drink its teachings savour its ways and words
I am alone and naked inside left with pieces called facts
but standing at an unknown corner of the mystery called truth
It is only here, inside that the story can begin again
or end i am lost this morning
I have all the language to cipher my walkings
but my prayers can not reach meaning
How do i teach anyone how to handle me
when i do not hear the language of my house
how can i make a home anywhere when the home
of my veins and blood is strange to itself?
This morning i wait under the knowing gaze of nature
under street lamps for the coming of transcending light...