A poem he wrote while serving his sentence for homosexuality. The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde : The Poetry Foundation

The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde : The Poetry Foundation

I would regard any Anna Nalick (a word genius by me) song timeless. She just has her unique unmatched way of bringing out the raw poetry in a song. A song is said to be a poem with a melody, a rhyme but song production has this altered on countless songs. Let this particular tune and a personal favorite of mine take your heart through a rollercouster ride of emotions.P.S The live version makes you feel like you're actually at a poetry session. Just Breathe - Anna Nalick [Lyrics]

This is miss Lelethu PoeticSoul Mahambehlala a Port Elizabeth born poetess whose poetry I was introduced to by the Lentswe- Stimulationg the nation Project on SABC 2 in the early 2000's. From the first poem I heard of her's with a final line that said, "Woman, what will it take to keep you down?" she became some kind of inspiration. Enjoy PoeticSoul-Poetry(she came to me in my sleep)

They died with their eyes open: An ode to the class of '76.°°°

They died with their eyes open, dry, wide, 
  with a fog of an absent life, forgotten.

Man whose shadows perished with their souls but whose purpose kept their eyes lit, 
 burning beautifully inside the depths of forever. 
Tracks of their last tears led to were their cries buried, silenced in infinity. 

The terror that dried over their faces of ends so adrupt; 
 a cancellation of dreams, tomorrows, promises and conversations screaming to be spoken, lived.
Of songs longing to be sung and dances begging to be portrayed with these laid limbs.

They died with their eyes open to keep their vision alive. 
They found us in our slumber and owned our dreams.
With our own eyes shut we saw THEIR dreams, heard their riots and felt their rage. 
Echoes of a thumping revolution haunting the grounds they marched.

Their bodies lay dry and deserted, visions of daisies once blooming with youth now fallen and over. They died with their eyes open watching over our future and delivering it safely in our stride.

Look them in their eyes with a promise as appreciation and give them a serene rest. Salute!

(Your Name Here, honey)

I wrote a poem titled with your name because,

for God knows how long I have found myself sitting

just a few rows behind you in lecture halls admiring the curling of your left ear,

you would turn around and wink whenever the "coast was clear".

I kept every one of our conversations alive by blowing them

from ashes to small flames at the vulnerability of my memory

and even though you would be paying me complements about a new clean shave

it still felt like love in casual clothing.

That was almost winter and mid-autumn ago but

you still insist that I don’t tell my friends about us because you’re “not ready.”

I still had to lie to them and say I’d tried this new deodorant

because I had my favourite shirt stained in your cologne(d) sweat. 

No one knows I know that you leave me text messages

that are accompanied by a number of blowing-kiss-emoticons and a heart beat.

No one else knows that you like to cuddle with your arm around my neck and

no one else knows I know that you speak about cartoon characters in your sleep because

it would be such a shame for anyone to know that you happen to text me messages

the same as those you send to your girlfriend,

and I lick them up because the vanilla ice cream melting between

every word is far too irresistible in my dry summers day life.

You would rather have me as a romantic secret than play

with my fingers before your friends like you do in front of my two teddy bears.

As much as my heart is stringed to some portion of yours you still find no

guilt in wearing me out when we are alone and aimlessly tossing me next to the

washing basket like a pair of old jeans that had strangely gotten themselves dirty when someone else is around.

God knows you want to put your head on my lap and have me caress your skin until you start snoring.

You want to stay up all night with me and have mine as your second or last goodnight of your evening

depending on whether your girl went to bed earlier because of an early class the next day.

You want to listen to my lame jokes and laugh, though for a few seconds your eyes would squint

like a child’s and the next day you’d pay me no attention at all.

Now as much as my presence might have made your closet the place to be

I need the memory of my lover without being haunted by any sense of guilt or a weaved head and boobs,

allow me to parade these streets with your invisible tag hanging from my chest and a smile.

I need my memory free of the doubts you think you have about us but with the times you’d kiss me

all the way to the back of my neck, behind my consciousness because you had to run (she'd called and asked to see you).

Do not make me feel contrasted with a female for I lack whatever that’s keeping her a vivid memory in your mind.

I love you so much it’s dug holes in my pockets but I would rather

love you from the back of the class or whenever I hear your laugh between your friend’s.

Now with this poem I refuse to be your help in your sexual endeavours any longer.

Regards, Your bearded and beautiful secret.