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tiny splashes

toes teasing toes,

as the rain lashes,


dancing under moonbeams,

hazy lazy clouds dripping nectar,


cheek to dripping cheek,

your hands in mine,

your eyes sparkling with a fire divine,


dancing barefoot in the rain,


with you, my whole, my own, my life,


dancing with you,

barefoot in the rain,


toes tickle toes,

far from this life’s pain,

away from the strife,


with you, within you,

I have found renewed life … … …

the swaying of the grass

the swaying of the grass … … …

 

1.

 

a path leads,


to where wild grasses grow,


sashaying in the summer breeze.

 

2.

 

along the path,


lightness settles within,


feeling the grass,


swooning,


tickling ankles,


swaying to lilting bird-song,


a dance of intimate abandon,


brushing remnants of pain away.

 

3.

 

melodies float across fields of green,


delicately caressing my heart,


teasing emptiness to flee,


comforting the mind,


to silently be.

 

4.

 

walking on,


savouring the peace,


a momentary respite,


casting off burdens of the now,


all is quiet,


a stillness cradling fractured emotions,


the grass in the fields sway,


dusk descends,


shadows lengthen,

nudging dimming light to take leave of the day … … …




time

erodes


loves lives hearts

souls spirits selves …





time

mends


wounds

souls


a salve

a balm


knowing

in the end


there is always


only


stillness

silence


peace

calm

and when all lies are spewed,
intricate threads promised,
eternal jazz and all that,
only to be summarily screwed,
by words of fluffy dreamscapes,
by incantations of endless service,
by mouthed lies,
time after time,

even as time flies,
the only constant – lies.

Valentines Day Redux … … …

ah!

that time of year once more,

the expectations to do this, buy that,

begin to tickle and murmuringly gnaw.

should there be roses, and if so could they all be red,

or fragrant petals strewn all across the bed,

with some catnip on the side, pretty please and with sugar,
and dollops of whipped cream,

for that,
I do know,

would be my old cat’s Valentines Day dream … … …



( for Scully 1999 – 2016 )




clutching, grasping,

holding onto,


gulping down, hungrily,

each breath, every breath,


fearing the onset of the years,

the splinters of time 


embedding, 

piercing,


this moment, the very now,


numbed by repetition,

embalmed by trepidation,


of tomorrows yet to dawn,


suspiciously sifting through the strands of greying hair,


seeking clues,

the because to the whys,


the slow mornings,

restless nights,


jabbing reminders,

as years, decades,


scurry, scamper,

flee,

feeling it all slipping away,


standing, immobile,

stilled by the implacable sentinels at the doorstep,


these immovable sentries,

concealing the door,


that leads to today





desire

​desire.



the furnace rages, beneath a simmering need, senses aflame, fanning a wanton greed.


aching passion in the cauldron of desire, famished yearning stoked by an overwhelming fire.


the distance between us reduced to a bead of dripping sweat, lost in an embrace, lips inches apart, beholding your face.


the hunger aches, surfing undulating crests and troughs, the impatience grows, sweltering in the spaces where desire flows.


fingertips tracing words of an unfinished rhyme, patiently now, since we bask in knowing we have all the time … … …

​alone in this teeming city, surrounded by souls gone cold, we weathered the storms that lashed, we absorbed the barbed words that slashed, harsh times when dinner plates were empty, huddling close, feeling as desolate as the solitary rose, still we made it through, we held on to each other, knowing our love was true, we found work and we slogged till dawn, our only wish was for a kinder fate to be born, we have waited a while for those dreams to come to pass, shredding our hopes like shards of glass, was this the hope that drove us here, to share this single room, in a city of ugly gaudy tinsel meant to smother the gloom, this was not our dream, not mine nor yours, when we embarked on our seemingly never ending course, to build a life hewn from the promise of a better tomorrow, well we have waited through morrow after morrow, we are waiting still, for the fates to be kinder, to keep away the frigid winter chill …

​the comedy of mid-life surprises … … …




we have been around a while, we have had our share of tears, and of many a smile,


life has often been kind, though at times it felt like all joy, all peace, was left far, far behind,


now our hair greys and thins, and we have chronic medication in more than a few tins,


we may have seen and heard it all before, yet, and still there is a wish felt deep within our hearts core,


perhaps not of rose-tinted love, or falling stars streaking across the skies above,


perhaps just a need to feel human again,


for the sun must shine after a shower of rain,


so why don’t we give it a shot, for who knows, things may get a bit steamy, if not desirably hot … … …


history shall look back upon us, and a light shall be shed, upon this time when the few were fattened and sumptuously fed, while the many were wrung till the last drop they bled, to the hypocritical wars that for resources were fought, and the complicit silence of the power-brokers was bought, where children went hungry and were pummelled by shrapnelled lead, when obscene chariots roamed the streets and not a word was said, about the inhumanity of this technologically advanced human race, propped up and gaudy as it showed its skewered face, allowing the few to pillage and plunder, as the hopes and dreams of the many were torn asunder.


yes, for these are the days when noxious ostentation does rule, caring little that its modus operandi is so patently cruel, as long as the diamonds are adorned and the gold is worn, it matters not the billions of families’ that are torn, torn apart so the machinery of greed flourished, while the child remained forgotten, mattering not that billions of souls were left malnourished.


yes, history shall look back and judge us with withering hindsight, when we perfected avarice, fine tuning it as best as we could, while ignoring our fellow beings as though they were hewn from wood, and history shall not be wrong to judge us in a horrified light, for even as we read these words, the many lie huddled under bridges, on yet another bitterly cold night. 

a lovey-dovey scribble 

​I want to walk with you, freely on this earth, soaking in the scent of the soil, our calloused hands testimony to the sweat and the toil,


I want to share with you my deepest hopes, my desperate fears, I want us to share, the joy and the tears,


we shall share a life together, not without sorrows, neither of hardships free, but you shall always be you, as I shall always remain me,


so take my hand in yours, my friend, we have much to traverse, with many a shoe yet to mend …


​we shall walk hand in hand, vowing to take a stand,


never to be one with the soulless  parade, not to be fooled by the ostentatious charade,


we shall carve our own road ahead, together, always together, walking our paths yet to be tread …

kleptocratic ungovernance 


the 1%.



snouts deep,


all conscience excised,


seeking more,

always seeking more.



the 99%.



shrivelled shadows,

huddled under underpasses,


seeking enough,

always seeking just enough.

The veins of Africa 


interwoven veins, crisscross this land, this continent, connecting the north to the south, the east to the west, veins infusing life, binding peoples, wrapped in the canopies of the forest, buzzing in the cacophony of the cities, silent in the arid deserts, meandering between the mangroves, flowing gracefully into the oceans, knitting us together, despite the slashing of these veins, the plunder of these lands, the desecration of the peace of the ancestors, tearing these veins open, pilfering the continent’s innards, gold and silver and copper and platinum and diamonds and so much more, so much more painful in the millions of souls herded as cattle, packed onto the slave ships, doomed to live and die in shackled misery, oh yes, these veins have felt it all, these veins that continually, silently, peacefully, benevolently, spread the precious gift of life across these lands, this continent – Africa.


Soaking,

the rains settle,
meandering over jagged faultlines of our memory.

Drenching,

the rains settle,
streaming through veins,

the thud-thudding of the heartbeat of Africa.

Absorbing,

the rains that settle,
within each of us,

herald rebirth.

And,
if you listen,

if you strain to hear,

while shedding the raucous noise of your inner turmoil.

If you listen,

the whispers of the ancestors,

speak to us all,
lending us warmth,
urging us to stand,

even though we may
stumble,

even though we may fall.







uBuntu is an isiXhosa/isiZulu concept that espouses the “belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity”

double-helixed uBuntu  

these interwoven veins


dna

double-helixed


microscopically

binding


me

you


us

all


through

this common

shared

truth:


‘I am because you are’*


all of us

together

as one


me

you …


… uBuntu*

  
* – uBuntu is an isiXhosa/isiZulu concept that espouses the “belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity”

​weighed down, bound by the travails of this life,

at times desolate,

at times with seemingly no respite.


the sunken talons of the drudgery of the days, clawing deeply, shackle each breath taken, wresting joy away.


the fierce mauling of time, swatting dreams once dreamed, left to fester in the chords of the unfinished song.


still we trudge, still we stand upright, still we scribble odes for tomorrow, still we somehow cope, still we carry our drained bodies, still we persist, still we somehow hope

idealistic dreams

​when joy flaps its wings, soaring into boundless skies, all despair recedes, dusted off as hope freely flies, high to that exalted place, where smiles are worn on every face, where mirth bursts open all closed gates, showering all in its midst with kinder fates, where the world is no longer a slave to war, and peace reigns forever more.


an idealistic hope, though this may be, will we ever know if we do not try and see, to build a better, kinder, gentler world for all, where pained tears no longer into dust do fall …



withered feelings, like frozen tears, litter the dusty floor, splintered shards of vows, once meant never to be broken, lie callously shattered, strewn across the carpet of dreams, torn and mercilessly tattered.


why does love die, with hearts tearing each other apart, while desire dimly begins to fade, retreating to a far off place, in the bleakness of the shade.


we were once loved, exalted to the crests of joy, but now we sit in the corner, not unlike an old forgotten, used toy.

a parched heart

​soft rain settles, infusing the parched soil, rejuvenating life.



what of the parched heart, waiting to be quenched, after a lifetime of drought.

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