I was stolen 

I was stolen

Cat-called and followed.

I was insulted and he knew 

Just the right words to break me.

My tomorrow too uncertain to 

Consider, I was stolen. 
The reality of my surrounding 

Is dark pain, I’m in a boot 

And the car is strolling through 

Neighbourhood after neighbourhood 

And no one notices my abductors

As anything but a few guys

Going on their way…
I was stolen 

Beneath the street light 

And passersby looked away,

Trying to protect themselves they

Let them take me like fresh meat

For a slaughterhouse. 
These butchers dare said it 

Was “just business. ”

If I had just not been “this hot.”

I was stolen 

And all he could say

Was “be quiet, or die”
Daphney Em Monaco

17/05/2017 11:39

South Africa is on fire and the flames seem most interested in the women and children.  GOD HELP US.

– image from google

Predator’s prey Child 

Woman have you forgotten, 

The plausible innocence 

In a young cub?

Have you lost your mind

Teaching your child the victim

Stance while you fought 

Through their enemies? 

You’ve taught your child

To run to you and hide

And watch while you take

On the dragons for them?

Your protection has made you

Their God, imagine the betrayal 

Of your death as it eventually  occurs.

You’ve turned your child to prey

To be fed on by monsters in

Their closeted mindset

Because you became fully

Invested in providing them reasons

To remain innocent enough 

To innovatively never live.

That way they never hurt right?

What is with you woman?

Turning your little wolf 

Into a hunter’s best catch – scared. 
Daphney Em Molapo

06/05/2017   

10:06

Love Google images,  they inspire.

Beyond the writer’s desk

Beyond the writer’s desk

Are linen sheets that go

Unused; they war with words lest

The words think themselves

Worthy adversaries to sleep.


Beyond the writer’s desk

Are mindblowing conversations

Associated with the pesky

Details of each word choice

In literary combinations. 


Beyond his desk

Is a life blurred by the pen,

Ink is brighter than usual 

At this point, so he keeps writing. 

Alliterating concepts like

No paint brush might colour. 


It is all in no faith,

But perceived knowledge

That is purged perfectly

Profound at the Crown of his

Mind – a mind no doubt

Rehearsing the stage form of

Writ proof.

His influence of the masses

Is never what it seems

Beyond the writer’s desk.

Daphney Em Molapo

05/05/2017 23:14

Pic from Google, while I love you!

In love 

Ever been in love with love? The concept is overwhelming if not blinding. It’s the reason I prefer to be in love with you,
The reason only you will do
And mostly the reason
Many times you are here
In my mind filling up
the loops of grey with red.

It’s a valentine spectacular
In my lungs. And if I was
To forget, the need to breathe
Would remind me.
I miss us so much
I’m a charge away from
Straight up combustion.
So I ask 1 last time:
Have you ever been in love
with love? Would you prefer to be in love with me?

Daphney Em 

02/05/2017

08:19

Please read mine

 

It’s a story by a ghost

Named silver. Not for her eyes

But for her shine – reflective in a way.

She’d happily shed a smile

For the sake of barrier breaking;

She’d consequently drive

A melody through your heart –

It’s connected to the rest of you –

And would move you no problem.
It’s a story by a boy named courage;

He’d known early scars

But loved like he could never

Be hurt again. Like a man

Encased in amour for war’s sake.

He is ready to hit the ground

And chase darkness out through

Love’s valour.

 

So please read me.

The story of a blind man

Who wrote memoirs in speech

And cast blessings between the

Lines like authority was his.

His name always a day close

To being mentioned

And endurance the only reason

You learn from him.

His patience is in his voice

When you jot it down.
Daphney Em Molapo

29/04/2017

23:36

Poem

The simplest poem I’ve ever written was “I love you !” It consisted of 3 words you could never mistake for complexity’s sake. 

I wrote it in honour of my heart and mind’s agreement to protect you against all even as my version of protection is prayer.
I stand at the entrance of your heart, my soul reflected in my brown eyes, longing tingling my fingers and my toes curled in an effort to restrain my heart from leaping at yours.
I dressed in white because the moon already has the perfect reflector of light so I thought I’d just let it all in.
The easiest poem I’ve ever written consisted of you and me.

 
Daphney Em 

Flowery Rose

My beautiful wall flower…

I wonder how many people
Have admired your beautiful face.
I ponder the novelty of their
Ignorance of your intelligence,
Do they know you could
Obliterate their leader to dust
With a smile?
Have they bothered to consider
the young prince whose heart
You stole with graceful elegance?
He’s dreamt futures with you
That would humble the magician.
 
My beautiful wall flower…
I marvel your crown,
It glistens in the sun
And the land you’ve walked
Knows to curtsey with taste.
I will buckle the child to your
Feet,  maroon a soldier to your
Heart and print your strength
For presidents to learn.
The minister forgot to administer
Your daily dose of prayer,
It’s reflected in your eyes.

My beautiful wall flower,
Has the sun’s kisses made
For better days?
Has the rain’s melody made
Easy the day’s sorrow to surface?
You forget to smile at times,
I hope you find the answer
To the thoughts without voices.
They can be a pond of Pandora
Even in the night’s accommodation
Of the stars alight…

My beautiful wall flower,
You’ve done me too much
Justice to hurt you.
So I refuse pluck your winds
Out of your passions,
I refuse to see you as stagnant,
And will keep standing guard of
Your heart lest it drifts
To another.
For my love is selfish,
Even when I bow at your greatness.

Daphney Em

I Live

I live
10 000 miles from the headstone written in sand by hands painted red. This is no cave, it’s no history marking, it is just me 100 000 miles from the past.
I live
1 000 000 miles from the target strip of land stripped off its heritage. This is no desert, it is no mountain,  it is just me 1 mile from the river of drinks.
I live
10 streets from the 1 000th block on the town. This not development, it is not reform,  it is overpopulation like a hero’s city that they just so happen to think saved them.
I live
As me!
I live
1 000 000 000 000 miles from trinity, peace floated for lack of anchor. This is not a garden, it is not a reservoir, it is just me 1 000 000 000 times tripping over the cords of my mind’s links…
I live
As me!

#DaphneyEm