Stars

I stumbled home, exhausted from the very long night of a series of performances. In my mind, the poets’ presentations were still playing in my mind, so vividly as though the walls of my skull housed a cinema. As I walked home, swallowed up in the pitch darkness of the night, I kept smiling now and then, remembering the poets and their words. What a variety of talent, I marvelled to myself. I’ve never been that excited and contented after a poetry show. Or any other show. Suddenly my heavy foot kicked a rock and I nearly crashed to the ground. My hands grabbed the guitar on my back; protecting it from possible damage should I hit the dust. When it comes to my guitar, I’d rather lose my teeth. Luckily, I maintained balance. I felt tired. So I squatted on the very rock that tripped me, just to catch a breath. Chilly air prickled my skin. My eyes glanced at the sky and I couldn’t believe what I saw. A cluster of stars blinked at me. They were spread along the entire black sky, like a dome of diamonds. It was a breathtaking sight. I nestled the guitar on my lap and started plucking the strings. Stars began to dance. When I recited a poem, they stood still and listened. Stars are amazing.  Then they clapped and cheered. Gosh, I want to go to the stars...

Does The Moon Really Have Eyes?

...A knock on the door woke him up. The first drops of the rain were already hitting the ground. He felt them pelting on the grass thatch and he looked up at the roof. A couple of drops hit the floor besides the bed. He pulled a bucket and put it on the spot. The knock banged on the door again. Could it be the police?  Maybe they had decided to bring his equipment and he could start painting again. He walked to the door and opened it. Shock creased his face in panic. He looked at her with disbelief. The girl in his painting stood there in the intensifying rain, getting soaked.  
            ‘Hi,’ she smiled. Kagiso noticed for the first time how beautiful she was. She had come for her painting and he felt his heart beating faster. He did not know what to say. Inviting her into his hut was the last thing he wanted to do. Nonetheless, he did it. 
            ‘Please come in,’ he said, realising that she was getting wet. He stepped aside and she walked into the room. The bucket in the centre of the room gurgled as the stream of water splashed in. He motioned for her to sit on the bed. The only seat available was a short, wooden stool. He cradled on it.
            ‘I… I’m sorry to pop in unexpected. I came to the market yesterday but you were nowhere to be seen. I looked around to no avail but I wanted the painting. Today I asked everyone at the market if they knew where the painter stays. Someone directed me. I’m sorry to intrude,’ she said.
            There was a prolonged pause. Water streamed into the bucket – a sonorous chorus that made him grit his teeth. Refilwe’s eyes were fixed to the floor. She avoided looking around in fear of making him uncomfortable. Kagiso’s adobe residence was a complete opposite of hers...

This is an extract from my award winning story, The Moon has Eyes. The book The Moon Has Eyes and Other Stories will be available for sale at the Maun International Poetry Festival 2012 on Saturday 26^th May for only BWP88.85. ($12.00). If you can’t make it to the festival for your copy, send your orders to seganabeng@yahoo.com with the subject line; the moon has eyes order. or contact me at +267 73597356 

More Love

Last night I was very dried up when I got home, thirsty and hungry for her. I hauled her up and threw her over my shoulders, strapping her around my body. She shuddered in astonishment, surprised and shocked by this sudden and unexpected bolt of action. Her legs dangled in air and she whimpered a small cry. She opened her mouth to protest but I blocked it with a kiss. I touched her smooth, velvety body – running my fingers along the contours of her skin. Her body was a trifle cold. I’m not surprised. Winter has just crept in. Again, I’ve been away for long. Who else can keep her warm? I plugged her to a power outlet. She loves power, that’s my girl. She began vibrating, sending tingles of excitement through my body. I hugged her even closer.  Her weight on my hands lightened as she embraced me. My fingers, throbbing with delight, began to caress her neck, hitting all the notes, scales and chords. “Pump up the volume,” she whispered into my ear. The power amplifier screamed in my little room, filling it with pleasant sound. I love her, my guitar. I know I’ll never be a Bon Jovi. But with her, this sweet guitar of mine, I walk on clouds of ecstasy. 

Festival Promotes Published Batswana Writers

Ours is not only a festival that promotes spoken word poetry and storytelling alone. Maun International Poetry Festival 2012 also aims at encouraging and promoting Batswana writers, both established and upcoming. We are for all literary arts, written and spoken. In an endeavour to uplift our own writers, there will be eight titles from Batswana writers on sale during the festival in May 26^th, Maun Lodge, Maun, Botswana. Courtesy of Pentagon Publishers, Poetavango will be selling the following books at our long awaited festival. If you ever thought Botswana doesn’t have writers, think again.  

1.      The Moon has Eyes and Other Stories by Legodile Seganabeng and other writers

2.      Travelling to the Sun: The Diary of Ruth by Tshetsana Senau

3.      Curse of a Dream by Phidson Mojoreki

4.      Born With a Husband by Khonani Ontebetse

5.      The Solar Heater and Other Stories by Lauri Kubuitsile and other writers

6.      Which Doctor and Other Stories by Bontekanye Botumile and other writers

7.      Putting On Faces and Other Stories by Gothataone Moeng and other writers

8.      Words on the Ways of the World by Goodwill Tlokwe

Think about it. Isn’t it worth it? To have a Motswana writer in your collection of books? We think it is! Again, lets promote the culture of reading and cast away the cliché that Batswana don’t read.  

Oh My, Podium and Microphone, Again!

I’ll be there! At the international poetry festival on May 26^th in Maun Lodge. I’m overwhelmed by excitement. I feel like jumping like a delighted child, animated by the mere thought of performance. I want to dance on my ceiling, dancing to the drumbeats pumping within my ribcage. This heart is playing me a rhythm I never heard before.  Even after all these years gracing stages, the mere thought of a podium and microphone still sends vibrations of exhilaration through my nervous system. Last night I dreamt myself already there, prancing on stage, my bare feet squeaking under my light weight. Lights were deemed, glowing hesitantly and I could vaguely see those thousand faces seated quietly, waiting in great anticipation. I tapped the microphone, once, twice...and on the third time, a drum beat started. Words tumbled off my mouth, spewed into the microphone and spilled through speakers, ‘the axe chop came without any warning whatsoever...’