hashtagliveza

[hashtagliveza]

Upon every 15th where yearly ash is rested upon where still dew once defiantly stood, is a flickering shutter of aura of what was and yet still is.

An infectiously transient thought, neither bound nor seemingly noted, though its depth something; to have been spoken. Between likeness forged, from those that hail from the flight towards that hallowed summit.

Along that all too familar unsaddled path, towards the berth in both one and numbered places. The basis of claims of clans and creeds, suns and the fruits of each harvest's seed.

Woven intricately around the stars though still inevitably within reach. Is a song; that flows like freshly freed reins eager to be felt, by the gaze of those utterly swept.

Do you dare remain while your spirit yearns that gift, of flight amongst the clouds with your feet still firm upon rocks that tower over the endless rippling hills cast Ablue.

From distant shores, to rising altitudes let this still ring true... Let that spirit move you

[hashtagliveza]

She rises from the East

Her eyes alone could fill his wells, for you see her crown were her pearls not your gold, ore nor zinc.

Her modest smile banishes the teal beneath her heels to reveal the ring around her eye.

The softest veil to subvert his persistent gaze.

The fruit unfallen, hers is an unspoken hope, her mind an unbroken garden from where only unwicked souls grow.

A place for the finest crafter and teacher a place nearer than home.

Where the faces of what was thought to be lost

Arch out as far as our "i" may roam.

Towards all that we've long known. The cross between the master and novice, one's epic voyage and shalom.

[hashtagliveza]

A curious trait amongst the sons and heir.

A bold venture upon the creek, within the bowels of her peak to seek one's feet to the dance of advancement and retreat.

Upon the feat of the descending morning star.

Towards the 8th degree upon the cusp from where her firm reign begins.

(image courtesy of Semonkong Lodge)

The mount recedes, encroaching towards the rapid currents known to bleed.

Through Slavic means these are the bearers of light forged from these heights on nights that mimic the endless flight, her suns sight.

His share remains that which lies beneath her coveted cup. The guiding wind along the staff that guards the flock upon a canvas vastly present in the past and stock.

[hashtagliveza]

His legacy persists, the rising beacon of the east, palpable even through the darkest mist.

Imagery courtesy of Getty images

Imagery courtesy of unknown google publisher

He resides within the hearts of all Artisans each woven into a vision, a history distinguished by character & gift.

Imagery courtesy of @crossmakere

Trail brazers infatuated with her long winding paths and breath taking cliffs.

Imagery courtesy of @phil_vigilante_productions

Her distant chant and harmonies echo still for those who wander across these midsts.

Imagery courtesy of @africapoloopen

The forebearing murmurs of resilience a coded language of sorts transcribed from character & speech.

Imagery courtesy of @hashtagliveza

Accentuating the features of an ingrained dynasty.

Imagery courtesy of @material_dondada

A living gallery of and for those who boldly carry the mark of his Majesty.

Imagery courtesy of @imamakhobalo

An abode no sweeter than the place northern Royals know as home.

Imagery courtesy of @onto_monyama

The lands from where our hat starkly resembles our homes of old.

Imagery courtesy of @Katiso_Underscore

Much as the eyes of the young & bold. A Legacy lived though not as often told.

A sacred place the Great Moshoeshoe proudly knew as home.

[hashtagliveza]

The fast approaching Winter calls for bespoke coats & fire for the reoccurring drip.

Picture yourself in these and many more trendy customizable sips while the Mountain Spring is still here among us.

Dlala Trend & MSU Clout customs cover all such seasons, Sefikeng retains the key. Visual narratives to spark fire to soles, acquire the quote...

Available upon request.

Trap lord model bookings to be made separately.

[hashtagliveza]

The hut remains the House & Crown

The armor from Spear & Lead

The rivers guide from where famines tread familiarly bronzed faces of that sky.

The mounted stride of clans unfixated by time or restless tides upon the rise.

In tune with such news, the winds of change were but a case of deja vu for the nation coined the few.

Deemed abstruse for a strangely forged path ensued ensured those who followed bemoaned of a clan perpetually before the queue.

For her might was not without the contentious view.

She remains the constellation discernible beyond the glare of day and the bloom of blue. The roots and shore, the chalice and that which must surely flow.

The guardian of that which resides within, the sparse and dense; the endless Palace and the sands within every man's given stance.

[hashtagliveza]

The eyes behind the lens

A symmetry between the distinct and visual precinct beyond the conventional focus.

The embolding crease held upon boulders fashioned from wise shoulders of the older.

Towers draped in the escape of stoic stanzas in conflict with premeditated moments of poems and visual odes sheared from the hide of a life long thought to be left behind.

An Existence before and beyond the wire.

The path beholden to the faithful rider. The strange transit between the past and the reminiscentedly imminent.

Portraits of the suspended, the reoccurring remnants, a likeness recalled and restored.

The scenic scent of nostalgia paired with the indisputable hint of hope, the unconstrained wild air of past heirs.

This is but one view of such a crown.

[hashtagliveza]

Will they ever remember such a time when more than the actual tower stood still.

When the swell and draw of the rivers mimicked the act of song, so much like a mother's heir neglected with but for her willful wind to till.

The trade among neighbors and strangers stood before an imminent last will.

The flickering light of a life line receding, the cold chill of indifference was to become the norm, the universally accepted mark of the grim.

Ancient acts of righteous rebellion brought to their knees to conform.

The cold that calmed the People's storm.

[hashtagliveza]

The wrath of Sechaba's hidden seeds

The allure of off color magenta chucks on a stalwarts heels remains reminiscent of the struggles yet still to come.

The pupils of the forgotten tasked upon the righteous fight soured by the lore of false glory and ill gotten gain.

The Game was never beholden to names of those coyingly distant to the repurposed vein. The Stream from which the masses pleaded for a space but in vain.

Theirs a story only applicable to the condition of the native remade a beast of burden, the contemporary reserve of unwanted labor, only written upon ancient scripture as the innately depraved.

The wild unearthed guests upon treasures only the west were fit to consume. Or so the only permitted odes of old go of those who's place they assumed.

Buried beneath the toil and tombs of false idols the promise of each generation is but a stuttered bloom. From where the blind led the walking toward the precipice of damnation and doom.

The cost of civilization remains the stolen artefacts they furnished upon mother and fore fathers land to make room for their zoo and occupied coup to loot so as to commence offerings to strange stowaway roots. Reinforced with burning metal fire and stomping boots. The last rites were the natives rights.

Rest in flight. The plight continues through you and the pebbles of tablets spilled and languages diluted slightly.

[hashtagliveza]

Immerse yourself in only the roots you wish to see grow.

The grace in silver grey remains the expectant promise of an experienced glow.

Imagery courtesy of @devneon

Reflection is more a river than mirror, the slightest ripple distorting even the most undeniably known.

The most gentle breeze reigns over the seemingly still waters. The trappings of fallen branches in all that was never spoken of.

The lies in the eyes of every strained smile.

The inheritentance of the forgotten, the spoils begotten of those present though now past.

Reflection remains the truest fast, the layers of prayer from where the waters shall flow from that sunken place, once bare towards the north.

[hashtagliveza]

The Frenzy ™

Take your page to the stage with Refiloe Fifi Molibeli Woods.

The key to unlock that hello & wow in the next wardrobe on show

Imagery courtesy of @Sello_Majara (IG-OG) visit the Major Studios site below for more.

The Frenzy presents a safe haven for the artistically inclined eager to manifest the threaded sketchs trapped within the Palace of the mind, a vocational crash course fitting for closeted fingers and the divine eye.

A vibrant studio from where one's talents can organically grow.

The stage that presides the runaway, the steps taken to unveil the glow from where the chatter of endless flashing shutters roam.

The purest home of an artist on the go.

The Textile Kingdom remains the perfect place for such dreams to be so.

Contact Ms Woods for more and let us know.

https://kingdominmyview.wordpress.com/

[hashtagliveza]

Stunna ke Ntoa ¦ the official Aranda Fashionista returns 🇱🇸🎙️🔥

Imagery courtesy of @NtateStunna (t)

The new year could not be complete without the foreword of the KTA Stunna turned international traveler.

Motsamai ua ba Ha Moshoeshoe returns with the melodic style of this generation.

For no Pioneer remains mum to the strife and widespread fear of the mother & sister.

Ntoa! the struggle persists...

Stream that fire Stunna season is before us.

https://audiomack.com/penya-play/song/ntoa-ha-e-loana-1

[hashtagliveza]

The end of days have long come before and will not long from now come yet again.

The wise father counselled the sons. Foretelling of rein not confined to the fire of the sun.

Men erected walls, mothers and sisters stood upon places where the aforementioned would fall.

Yet as the skies darkened, those times were no match for time herself, or so those bound to that secular faith felt.

The scientist then and now rose anew no longer condemned to that burning fume. No faith but of those we know to be unbiasedly true.

The struggle remains in coups to be fought, for who?

A strange sequence of thought. A game of no deacon nor house, or cross bequeathed a piece confined to the light of day.

No different to the coined and her impending cross. The hour towards a seasonal feverish rush, borne from groomed yet untamed hunger.

They remain lost yet not gone, not under. For the fall is not without smog the way fire is not without air.

From there the heir will rise from the ash to lead us back from there, away from perpetual dispair.

Heed the call and follow the sacred path where only the voice within shall steer; the heart filled yet soul still bare.

Will you follow that strangely familiar voice there?

[hashtagliveza]

🅰️🇱🇸 the melodic sounds of Summer Live from Lesotho

Mosoenko o thato ¦ yeah we do too much 🎙️🔥

Imagery courtesy of @Don_Zbiano (IG-OG)

The rise of Don Zbiano is reminiscent of a long overlooked golden era among the descendants of Kings.

The crossroads between Aranda and Chuck Taylors, the iconic Golf 1 and the proficiency of the horseman with the affinity for the track from their tyres still do sing.

Monna ua Mosotho and the art of raps stretch as far back to the founder and further.

The coded odes of experiences canvassing the length and breadth of distant lands from the standing of a seasoned voyager.

The links below lead to the HD clips shot and directed by the House of Brutal Saint 🎥🔥

🎥 BRUTAL SAINT ¦ @BRUTALSAINT_CREATIVE (IG)

👨🏾‍🎨 @_brutalsaint (IG)

YouTube

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=N-FYq-O7gno&feature=youtu.be

[hashtagliveza]

May the Gods continue to bless these hands

A progressive Black Female farmer empowering men & women in her community through innovatively sustainable farming techniques. Feeding the nation through greens.

Imagery courtesy of Marigold Farms, Johannesburg South Africa.

There remains a garden no more wholesome than her renowned greens. A legacy too stark to be a dream.

A place after the maker's own heart, not too far from the ravine. Where prayer is sought in soil and grown from faithful toil.

This remains the work of a Queen.

Restoring life to what was bare, her basket overflows and garners persistent stares. For theirs is a hope from hunger and dispair. Patrons of truth their glow emits the most unmistakable glare.

The tree from which the forsaken voyage in desperate reach, of the ear of those who ploughed and remain eager to teach.

A vision too blight to conform to niche. Swelling words carry the praise of seasonal birds among those from whom their path lies the pews of what they preach.

A house of no bell, the parishioners and their neck all of one speed. All destined to lead.

[hashtagliveza]

CITY KINGZ™ ¦ LIVE FROM MSU ONLY NOW WE GLOBAL 🇱🇸 🌍

Imagery courtesy of @unklekrack (IG-OG)

The comets remain in flight even in the mist of mass tradegy and strife.

Follow the potently pensive scripture of our favoured father's brother upon the mic.

The future still brighter than unearthed diamonds within the night.

Playlist that Unkle Krack and everything guaranteed to be alright.

For the moment this is just life. 13 more days till we back to our scheduled flight.

[hashtagliveza]

The outcome of the amended State of Emergency 🇱🇸⛔

The story of a wandering fellow amidst the smog of exhausts and clouded features 🚶🏾💇🏾‍♂️💇🏾‍♀️

Imagery courtesy of @thereporterls & @manongPinki (Twitter)

No denying the dying, grey beardedly creased children upon life support, shifting sands the grand plans give way to panic and the reach of the iron hand.

Haunting threats weaving through science and the piance of a gambit on the other side of that dogged tie.

A Roman's policy, ladder up toward the crown. The birds breathe freely still though their famine now relatable, plantations and fields reimagined a cubicle.

The swelling urgency in grounded shoulders remains essential. The infamous White collar scheme, devoutly independent daily toils partitioned and mortalized by the seam.

As the smoggy clouds of festive funfare cleared, back to the lines toward salvation purchased in debt handed out for limbs and soil or so it seems.

The voices of the trenches not unseen.

Arbitrary crosses allotted. An ancient ode of the unguarded yet hallowed, the truest understanding of the greatest test.

Or so that bidding hymn sings