[17] Poems by Mats'eliso Makekema

About Me:


Mats'eliso Makekema (26). From Lesotho, a tiny speck landlocked inside South Africa. I graduated with a Secondary Diploma in Education, from Lesotho College of Education. I call myself "Great" because I evoked from great power; I am a multiple rape survivor. 


I write because the art of writing is therapeutic. The greatest tragedy of an abused mind is the death of silence. Years after being sexually harassed by married men, I still could not take any brave action of speaking up and I practically suffered depression, but still did not feel the need to unleash my shame. Throughout my quest of inner peace, writing helped me to heal and to realise my purpose in life. 

My role models are Iyanla Vanzant and Oprah Winfrey. To me these women are a thorough expound of what black magic is. 


To every young female writer:

The commencement of what is termed feminine is to bring forth the blossoms of beauty - write and help actualize another girl's purpose in life.





The storm in this upper faculty fatigued all the flowers.

Another decade of darkness has come.

Iron once lived beneath, but the forces of chemistry brought 

About oxygen and with it redness, then disintegration came along.

The remaining begrimed iron web left a skeleton of the flawless

Work of art that resided long before darkness.  


The middle faculty became a warehouse for the 

End products of flowers of affection. 

Now foule boggs remain the sign of a lived paradise. 

Perfect story books are squashed and burned on one end.

The fore white painted turned dark and remained an empty mansion. 

In it historic books of a thousand slanderous stories are kept for life. 




The fate of a woman

But in the end, I’ll preserve this

Manifestation documented for you.

It’s a written virtue - it does not perish,

Therefore, it will never be forgotten. 

If you at all do not accomplish this

Fundamental reality, 

I’ll pray tell you the fruition of resilience.  


When you at length get a heavy apprehend 

Of to what end 

The untouched that heals stays long after 

The outer being has been gnawed, you will be

Acquainted with the rationalization of 

Why flowers don’t spread their fragrance for themselves. 


The commencement of what is termed

Feminine is to incubate 

And to give life,

To mother the motherless 

And to nurture.

Feminine verily signifies the obscure healing of the world. 



Before I sing this last mournful voyage 

Play for me my devotional African horn

Play for me 

I want to sing a dirge.

But before I sing this last mournful voyage I’ll close

My eyes and lift my face up to the sky, 

For the essence of this tune taps the far end of my soul. 


Play for me my soulful African cello

Play for me

I want to reminisce these long in the tooth stories.

But before I sing this last mournful voyage I’ll pour  

My emotions out on this fat pillow.  

My emotions are heavy for they are allied to 

My story and my story is begrimed with sweet sad sorrow. 


Play for me my sad African rhythm 

Play for me

I want to reminisce the wisdom residing in these 

Shredded houses of love.

But before I sing this last mournful voyage I’ll place 

Down this ecclesiastical psyche and set out the 

Exposition of the profligate, for appreciating the nuances 

Of the experience of the overused is overly subtle. 


O’ play for me my sad lulled African flute 

Play for me

I want to reminisce the dominions of the spirit orientated. 

But before I sing this last mournful voyage I’ll prod

These long crafted scabs to elate the propenseness of

Solitude and I’ll call it peace. 





Pardon me I can’t be what you want

Pardon me I’m unable to be what you want. 

It’s sarcastic how love can be so egocentric that more often than never,

We fail to realise our contribution in so many attempted suicides.


Hear me out dear darling, 

I know you don’t understand the psychology behind my behaviour,

But I wish you could accept me for me 

And stop trying to actualize this me that exists only in your mind. 


Hear me out,

My mistakes are mine and not yours,

So you can never entirely understand what’s going on in my mind nor what 

I feel in my heart-I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just trying to let you know 

What propels my behaviour is what I feel inside. 


I bet you don’t even know I’ve tried a thousand times to live for you-

I faked it until I made it but guess what?

Sometimes I failed, I cried, I sighed and I trembled with fear ‘cause

I didn’t know what twisted words you were going to use on me this time around. 


At each occasion that I’m around you,

I know I can only be me to some extend- it’s no wonder I never open up 

To you about everything and anything else; 

I guess I respect you too much I just don’t know how to do it

But no it’s not respect…I’m scared of you. 


I’m pretty sure you’ll agree with me that I awe myself some grace 

For after ages trying to please you I have only become like a zombie 

Walking around with some ripped pieces of flesh sagging on my melted skin,

With my heart so heavy, everyday waking up to the pain at the back of my neck…

You’ll bear with me it was too much to take in. 


I stopped putting on my make-up and wearing heels

And I remember coming to your place looking like a hobo, 

You asked me what had happened to me. 


I ironically laughed although I felt the need to cry my pain out so hard 

But I guess I was just never ready to listen to the sound of my tears dripping 

All the reasons that I never gave much to myself. 

For some reason I looked up into the sky so I could hold them back.. 

You never noticed. 


That is the reason why you failed to realize I’d been dead…

This time if I do it will be for good.

So pardon please… I’m unable to be what you want. 

Unable to be what you want. 



He romanced me

My entire life I dreamed of finding me 

A place more void that I may enjoy pleasure of solitude.

I finally found it, yet I still yearned for the intimacy 

I thought was never meant for me. 

In this place, the exposition of my innocent contorted soul

Resided until he romanced me. 


I found my soul in this place howling 

Twenty four seven, searching for the little pieces of me,

Failing to rendition peace to my purity.

Echoing voices since then rhythmically chanted;

“Help me….please…help me.”


Until then, all these prevailing chants have been

Engulfed in mythical giant bodies of the mountain kingdom. 

I found myself having no option but to join the programmed 

Generation of these contorted souls.

Wisdom corroded, disintegration prevailed…

Then God’s finest art became a den for demons. 


I couldn’t remember when or how the intimacy between 

Spirit and I loosened up, but somehow the back friend

Intruded and before I knew it he had already dived deep 

Into my heart’s soul

I swear if I knew how, I’d have struck the iron before it cooled…

But see the problem is I had already become one with babe, love and honey

And plus more spirits they’d married themselves to. 


It’s funny how I thought it was a game;

We enjoying life, right it’s the way it’s fashioned; 

Made for us to enjoy…for us…to enjoy. 

But through enjoying this counterfeit of life, I missed 

One rope, 

The first fundamental notion of the life of christianism.


Did you not know child, the laws of nature?

Like poles attract…

Spirit attracts spirit.

No no no you are wrong , let me break it down for you;

The theoretical abracadabra of the kingdom of darkness

Operates in deceit. 


You have now given birth to legion, 

The little biggest enemy of your father.

Did you not know you played the finest sensationalized tunes

To his ears and he danced whilst he enjoyed catching a sight of 

Your spirit choke to death without you realizing?


I clucked around with my half dead spirit, trying to heed the 

Little voice that kept on nagging me, “wake up”.

But I failed to array my conscious from the numbness of 

Being gnawed by legion and trying to squeeze water out of a rock

Only to bruise and bleed. 


Thought I was dreaming that I heard a voice affirm 

I’d have to toil and moil all my days with no little peace,

Just waiting to get old and ugly and sour.  


But see, oracularity of deity evoked. 

He remade my heart anvil to sorrow.

He made me whole and we fell in love yet again.

He romanced me…he danced with me.

He did again…and again…and again.  

He romanced me…he romanced me. 





Write a comment

Comments: 13
  • #1

    Rendani (Friday, 06 September 2019 22:54)

    Wow some of these are very mind provoking hey.

  • #2

    Estelle (Saturday, 07 September 2019 06:13)

    I agree with Rendani. These poems really touch me!

  • #3

    Mpiti (Saturday, 07 September 2019 06:48)

    Why am I not surprised that you finally came up with amazing stuff like this... You really touched my heart Ts'eli.. Big ups��

  • #4

    Bennet (Saturday, 07 September 2019 08:33)

    You are one strong woman , I am very happy that you where able to overcome all that has happened. You mind is very powerful and special , keep using it and know that I am proud of you

  • #5

    KHALI . P . P (Saturday, 07 September 2019 18:43)

    You've got an incredible potential. And I'll recommend that...

    You allow yourself to sink deeper into your heart of hearts and ponder more on the vertical aspect of the Agape and let your spirit sing to YHWH , to you, and to the audience of your choice.

  • #6

    Mokete (Monday, 09 September 2019 08:13)

    You are one of the strongest women i have known. how i wish all the victims were as hopeful as you are.

  • #7

    Mapana (Monday, 09 September 2019 13:54)

    Well done Tshedi, I'm proud of you..... Bug ups!!!

  • #8

    N Lebotsa (Wednesday, 11 September 2019 17:16)

    I am out of words but you really touched my heart Overcomer��....so so proud of you courageous woman.

    Indeed you are one of the strongest women I have known.
    Keep on been unshakable and unstoppable.

  • #9

    Géraldine (Friday, 20 September 2019 16:23)

    If something as noble and delicate as your poetry could come to life after your ordeal, you have proved more than enough that beauty can surge out of the nastiest, meanest, most stupid and cruel moments of a woman's life. Fie to those who thought they could break your spirit as they tried to break your body ! May your talent still grow and flourish, to heal, to wonder, to shake and to please.

  • #10

    Simone (Saturday, 21 September 2019 21:53)

    Strong and fragile at the same time.

  • #11

    Elena Mora (Monday, 23 September 2019 20:27)

    Thanks for your words. Your inspiring story can be felt through them. I really enjoyed reading your poetry, Ts'eli ❤️

  • #12

    Mats'eliso (Tuesday, 24 September 2019 16:53)

    Thank you so very much guys. I sincerely appreciate your support and I promise that I will continue to serve the purpose I was brought forth for.
    To all male people who stand against women abuse...I appreciate you guys...the world needs many like you.

  • #13

    Phila (Wednesday, 22 April 2020 01:04)

    Not all Heroes wear capes, not all Queen's wear golden crowns. These masterpieces are heartfelt, you poured your soul out in poetry and gave life to words. You are inspirational.

    Thank you for sharing ❤️ Ts'eli.

Estelle Hughes, l'auteure de ce blog est née au Cameroun, a grandi au Congo, étudié en France et travaillé en Inde, en Hollande, au Kenya, a Malte, en Espagne, en France et en Suisse.