Catch The Bug And Run Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

There is a creative bug
For this creative outbreak
Is on the last round. This bug
Will strike soon in this life at this
So called alter of existence.
It moves at the speed of light
It seeks our nationalities
And urges us to create, create
And create something that
Will bring us together as
The world splits us with these
Heroes of today who trumpet
Truths that trample on us
Making out of us tramps
On letters with no stamps
That are on a destination
That is not known. These
Envelopes red at the end of
The year, green and white
in this month are going out
In droves not knowing where
They will land and the year
Is coming like a train that
Is about to derail asking
Us to catch the bug of creativity
And steer home the lost spirit
Inside ourselves for we hold
The reigns if we have our words.

The creative bug had
Fingers green and supple
It touches the seed
And puts it in the earth
Voila! A sprouting idea
Invades your mind and
Walks you to the paint brush
And there you start making
News of yourself when you
Do not have your words in
The rhyming dictionary
That it gives you and says
Take the ideas to the end
For at the beginning
There is an angel at the
Gate that says you must
Not eat of the tree of
Wisdom for the end you
Are walking towards
Was created a long
Time ago and you
Can Only remember it if
You sit and scream
Out aloud and say you
Want to see back there
Where you were centuries
Before you were born.

Let us say you scream about
Just the year before you
Were born or the decade
When men flew to the moon
And touched the surface.
What were your little
Spiritual hands groping for
In the darkness called
Time, if you may care to
Know?

This question can only be
Answered by the you that
Was there and will be.
As for me, I see a world
Needing me and my words
An Africa going into
Independence wading in
Wearing gloves darkened
By colonialism and goggles
And blurred by apartheid
Full of the mud of ignorance
For my people were wading
Into westernization with a
Culture of taking and not sharing
Leaving behind our values
That would soon be lost at the
Alter of gathering with
The basket of education that
Was always leaking when the
Money to pay for it was not there
So I stand privileged my head
A basket that the florist put
In roses with thorns that I
Am forever picking and counting
Each pricking counted as a blessing
All the same for not being hurt
Would make me live the life of
A sheltered angel that does not
Think of any mischief for there
Are no words to make roses out of.

As I see this cloud cumulo
Nimbus laden with creativity that
Lets rain drops that fall on
The window of my brain I declare
To you all to look out the window
Of yours for out there are the
Drops we are to make new ideas
Out of and walk on our heads if
We have to for nothing normal
Makes the world normal when we
Take the creative animal
In us and make it yell out
To our world that we were
Never anybody's really but
Ours for we were born free
To die free even if people
May throw us into prisons
And capture us in droves
In police cars with metal nets
Like the pregnant girls at
My boarding school who sat
In the little truck their
Belongings in a trunk and
Suitcase going home never to
Return for they had to tell
The story of one impregnated
By flying insects that invaded
Their uterus and created in them
A newness that the world had to
Deal with later as it would be
The citizen of tomorrow.

These outbreaks of creativity
Are here and they tell us to go
To the place where we can receive
And not spit out the healing like
A baby swallowing medicine that is
Bitter for it has to be forced down
And spat out when some of it does
Go in no matter what for mother
Says so. We are not doctors of time
But in time we will be healers of
Minds when we put our heads together
And search deep down for an answer
To the crisis that invades the world
Where people die without knowing
That they will for there is turmoil
Invisible that seeks creativity
Invisible even to us but because
History predicted that we would
Be the solvers of problems
Let us usher in this outbreak
Of creativity the way the viruses
Invaded the world unannounced
And toyed with bodies of mothers
And heads of babies sucking
Brains. Our is a new creative bug
That mends the brain and makes
It work better, sift better
The ideas to use to motivate
The mind to create better and
Not kill but give life
For doing so is free in
Our world where we forever
Give to the world what was given toe
Us in a cloud laden with power
Strength, and victory that
Very few see, and yet are forced
To see when we have spoken
For our words come from a world
Where 'it is because I have said so'
Is a taboo. This dictatorship
That invades us is unspoken and
Has to be taken spear in hand
To the ones who lack ideas for
The killing was once an idea
And once forced into heads
At one point the way
You force money into a thief's
Hand in order to say that
Breaking into a bank is not an
Option for it is an unnecessary
Risk because money flows at the
Alter of abundance and only just
Has to be seen with the sun glasses
Of creativity.

The outbreak is on and we need to
Catch the bug and then throw the
Ball to the next person for it we
Do not it will burn our hands and
They will be charred and when people
Ask why the charred hands we will have
To tell a lie for they will not believe
We were once told a message we hid
We will be like false prophets who
Are sent to one place and go to
Another. Poets of the world
Listen to the sounds that will
Come in the laden cloud and make
Sure you decipher the message
With the right code for going
Wrong in putting down the truth
Will cost many their lives.

This responsibility rare is given
Only to a few who know and feel
They have heard the calling
Deep down in their hearts
Or else they would not risk
Being laughed at by the readers
Of the world who are always looking
For something to jeer at.