Read, Write Dreams Into Life

‘In a world that forever stares one down to the point of inferiority, it is imperative that one soak in the light from fires lit by dreams in the eyes of children. ‘


It has been ten years since the pen first enchanted me; seven years since the stage first felt the weight of my frail body. Alas the writing will be available in a book for anyone to purchase. The book is called ‘Read, Write Dreams Into Life’ and will be available for R140. Ten percent of book sales will go into buying Afrikan literature, history, spirituality books for my starving township library in Tumahole. The book will be available from 06 August 2011. For more information please join the facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Rantoloko-The-Truth-Molokoane/204023842972219

If seeing is believing then this I offer thee.





Read, write dreams into life and love her...

Arty Spirits on Liquid Stages

The many ways of bringing the writing to life...







Then one finds their own view of the world and suddenly the questions grow. And creation whispers from all that is..




First one has to accept their insanity. The insanity to dream that Afrika will one day break free from the deadly grip of a reality created by those who profit from our poverty, political corruption, lack of infrastructure, aids, lack of strong leadership, and the unending battle with identity. I have accepted my insanity, and I have dreamed of a better day when Afrika will stand on its ancient feet and dance itself back to health. Together we can create.



To those who have been insane enough to follow my writing, I am humbled. Know that this is just the beginning. Read, Write Dreams Into Life And Love her...
For updates on my book developments and performances please like the page 'Introducing The Truth' on Facebook.

I have chained fear and decided to walk out of our stationery relationship anchored in the middle of an immense sea of doubts. For many non-cherished moons has the mirror like surface of this sea plagued my eyes with grotesque scenes of my peril, while the winds of logic held me back from abandoning ship as they screamed their favourite song; the song that deafens the ears from hearing the enchanting whispers of dreams.

There are days were I have watched the township streets dance until clouds of dust gathered to blind dreamy eyes. Eyes with still wet paintings of dreams and when the eyes would cry the dreams would be washed off. All that would be seen would be the roads built to possess us township residents. Roads decorated with glimmering limits and street signs that glow in the dark so that they are always seen. Street names like ‘child grants association rewards for teen pregnancy here’; ‘open bar traded for dreams’. And at each corner there are temples where the incessant chant ‘nothing good can ever come out of the township’ floats all around seducing the educated to sing along as they flee to ‘greener pastures’, too scared to taint their white papers with the dust of township streets.

I have taken the plunge, all I know is if I drown so be it. Truth is whether writer, politician, engineer, teacher, lawyer, painter, journalist, doctor, cleaner, manager, etc. we hold the keys to changing the reality that confronts us. With imagination, just as cities and affluent places were created we can create a better life in townships and in Afrika.

I invite you to the feast of those who hear whispers of dreams. Go to facebook and like the page ‘Introducing The Truth(Rantoloko Molokoane)’. There you will find information about my first book offering that is to be published either in July or August. The book will be a collection of poems and prose work. Ten percent of book sales will be used to buy African Literature books for my starving township library. You will also find information regarding the performance poetry tour that I am planning.

Together we can create…

Son of forgotten Gods

Life through the eyes of a South African writer: Life through the eyes of a South African writer: A...

Life through the eyes of a South African writer: Life through the eyes of a South African writer: A...: "Life through the eyes of a South African writer: Africa, the burial ground of creativity: 'Guarded by thin concrete walls deemed brave enoug..."

Life through the eyes of a South African writer: Africa, the burial ground of creativity

Life through the eyes of a South African writer: Africa, the burial ground of creativity: "Guarded by thin concrete walls deemed brave enough to stand images catapulted by strong flexible Afrikan tongues into empty child-like space..."

Africa, the burial ground of creativity

Guarded by thin concrete walls deemed brave enough to stand images catapulted by strong flexible Afrikan tongues into empty child-like spaces that played willing canvasses for the wandering minds, I sat.  Mind wandering through unnamed forests of memories where proud trees held blazing images, embodying colourful acrobatic emotions, as their fruits.  Guarded from growling Jozi streets angered by the weighty bodies propelled by ambitions of find pots of gold at the end of fading rainbows painted by aged brushes now retired to enjoy the comforts of the paradise island of nostalgia.

 

Nostrils charmed by the dancing air draped in aromas of lively coffee beans dancing to the eternal mantra hummed by the air-conditioner in attempts to rid the air of bad energies and moans of shoes tormented by memories of heavy rains now reduced to mere myths by the smoldering heat, I sat among the audience; the audience with ears standing upright and open like waking flowers ready to receive rays of life from the loving heart of the golden Afrikan Sun.   Their minds ready to tour dreams of those with spirits endowed with jewels from the treasure chest of dreams dreamt by a resting Afrika awaiting imagination to rouse it back to wakefulness.

 

The first stood; a songstress with locks like scrolls carrying the ancient writings of the sun; with eyes hiding behind heavy looking spectacles.  The guitar shyly trembled as she caressed its strings and notes of appreciation strolled out of its hollow, circular mouth; enchanting melodies leapt out of her and our enthralled spirits listened.  All else faded and only her music came to life, bearing echoes of the music that cushions Afrika’s unending dreams.

 

In that trance state thought well taught in Africa’s inherited babbles recorded by sanity asked: ‘But where does she fit in Africa’s music industry?’

 

Only after the marching stars had appeared and disappeared twice upon the naked canvass of the sky did the spirit answer, as if emerging from a deep meditation where Es’kia Mphahlele’s spirit teaches:

 

‘Africa is a burial ground for creativity, only Afrika dreams magical spaces ample enough to exhibit the works from sons and daughters of forgotten gods. Many know Africa, yet many have yet to meet Afrika.’

 

Son of forgotten gods!