Blessing - the creative

Dear man of influence: It's time to unbotton the shirt of haughty feel, And vacate the office of me, myself and l rule, Consider the frayed jackets of our grey haired, Their eyes sing of lost victory tales, Their squashed dream turned into a grave of nightmare, All because you have glimmered your pocket, And rejected theirs. Lo, man of influence, arise above your dark roots, Those which have made you a slave of gold, Yet you are the owner of the mine. Nullify the gates of selfish materialism, Divorce your spouse of demonic agendas, Who has cursed our children with saliva of lack. Yet we are the bosses of this palace. Why oh man of influence, why? Have you allowed the snake of shame, To return to our nation's yard with toxic waters, Which have made our homes deserts? Consider oh man of influence, You may be the key to our promise land! By Blessing Mhlanga. 28/ 02 / 2019.

Shalom! So allegedly, Pastor Lukau raised a man from the dead. Really? I have no answer. See, l'm not concerned about the miracle but about the source of the miracle - if l can know the source then l would pass judgement and be at peace. Why do l seek to know the source? Because anyone can perform a miracle but using which power? Remember, in the spiritual realm, it's not only Holy spirit, there are also foreign powers, familiar spirits, occultic rulers and gods. If we can seek God's opinion for this matter, then this gossip trend won't be there. So l cannot judge unless l have received revelation from above in this matter. I choose to be silent!

                                          perhaps mankind is an enemy to his own growth.

                                          s omewhere beyond our darkened souls, lies a fresh gleam of green that we ought to mine.

I am on the rise I was a broken bone, starved of zeal, Rejected by the odds, waiting for my slow death, Seconds away from hell, l was bound to grave But clearly, l have restored my wings of shine, I am ready to breathe fresh gold to my land, And paint a new story, a story of my rise, My rise from the ashes of bondage, My rise from the dust of slavery, Here l am: facing my glory, l can't wait to taste it, Here l stand renewed, l am climbing and rising, Dare to stop me - my wrath is now sharper, I'm not compromising my moment! Watch this space - l am on the rise! By blessing Mhlanga. 24 Feb 2019.

The tree of curse. The leaves do not lie about their bruised skins, If they did, their branches would find pleasure in their rise, We can't ignore the light of their roots, Or avoid their clarity of wither lest the fruit become a victim of rot, The once a gentleman tree can turn into a mother of curse. It's this scar of ignorance that has planted this seed, A seed too toxic to generate babies of greatness, Or invite mercy to fall on our isolated leaves. By blessing Mhlanga. 24/ Feb 2019

The struggle against the shadows It's a struggle l always wish was a dream, One that l don't desire to escape either, In a blink of a lazy eye, waters taste bitter, With its source  hiding in the unknown universe, Lonely hills and virgin skies, who can contest? Beneath his waving beard, Lies a tale, one that his blood is willing to conceal, Fleshy thighs, dreamy eyes, it's a time ticking bomb, A thin skin tempts the divine to fall, But still upholds the toxic falls of our foes. Wake up from the deadly sigh, Perhaps you might stand the test of slumber, One that recruit the haughty to rule, One that condemns the innocent visage of us, And feed our lambs withered leaves of the fallen. Perhaps the drivers of our promise have been caged, Chained or brutalized by the modern appalls, If so, woes shall overflow in our children's basket, And Rob them of their wings to cruise above the sky, It's a mountain that we have discounted to level. By Blessin

THE 14 TH INNERCITY DRAMA FESTIVAL GIVES LEARNERS A SPOTLIGHT TO EXPRESS AFRICAN FUTURES By Blessing Mhlanga Somewhere in Hillbrow, in the heart of Johannesburg exists a theatre for an art-passionate youth, where an annual high school drama festival lands on its stage to offer itself as an artistic god, to inspire, challenge and entertain the audience through the power of dramatic plays. With a record breaking number of 42 schools taking part in this year’s festival at Hillbrow Theatre, under a provocative theme called ‘AFRICAN FUTURES’; this is a unique platform that engages the learners, facilitators and directors to produce effective stories that will positively transform the society. Established in 2005 by a group of six facilitators with only six schools, the Innercity high school drama festival has seen remarkable growth both in number of schools and the quality of performances; however the journey thus far has not been a heaven of bliss. In the early 2000

Good day, below is my poem. Be inspired! MY JOURNEY BEYOND NATURE To the hills I pitch my tent, hoping to embrace the unknown of my bones. Oh! what a sweet flower of mother nature, that irons the prudence of my dream, but before the rise, I taste the fall. The fall of the fallen, continuously aligns itself with fame of my gnashing teeth, till I bleed the language of the dead and still stand against my eye’s fortune. Who can tell me this tale except I, who resides in the embrace of the foreign mountains, that breathe a call of whisper towards the known fame. What song will I send for the birds to nourish my feet, till I rise to the bed of roses, that only heaven can impart? Who said its too late to lick the leaves of my wish? Only this can alter the altered tale of the blues, yet remain natural. If only I could sweep away the lame waters, before the lectures of religion, then it would be insane to awaken the breath of lifeless rivers, that lie along the marrow