Archive for January 19, 2013

Escape, flee, run and hide,
shed all of your identity,
especially on the inside,

sleep less, eat just a little,
cast away all your desire,
in a heart torn and brittle,

work hard, keep your head low,
dismiss the dreams of yesterday,
drag on a cigarette, deep and slow,

save your coins, darn your socks,
forget all about her, how she smiled,
wash the ache away neat, not on the rocks,

catch a chill, fall sick, writhe and twist around,
give up, comatose in a nameless room, eye open,
waiting for release, in a hole in the cold ground

devouring hours,
days, years,

into corners,

Time scurries,

as it winds down,
oblivious to purpose,


us mortals of flesh,
and of bone,

to shed,
not having enough,


quietly seize,

some more time

Hope ambles on,
shuffling between the folds of passing time,

hope reaches in,
blanketing all fleeting moments,

defying the day’s sorrows,
dispelling yesteryear’s pain,

hope persists,
hope blooms,

for if it was hope you chose,
hope will envelope you,

like the delicate petals,
of the scarlet rose

The embers turn cold,
destined for eternity,
as quaint anecdotes forever retold,

splintered lives,
fractured memories,

needling pain,
worn-down by time,

stranded on the shores,
exposed to the chiselling rain,


out of the ashes,
new moments are spun,

fragrant buds of blossoming life,
enraptured by promises,
of years yet to come,


step out of the cold, wet rain,
into a harmonious symmetry,
bathed in radiant rays,
of the molten sun,

out of the ashes,
are born,
new melodies,


a new song,
yet to be sung

May your smile never fade,
may you always be as you are now,

warm and kind,

true and filled with the generosity of spirit that defines you,

may your dreams soar into the boundless open skies,

and may the benevolent fingertips of time and of fate,

brush away any tears that should fall from your gentlest eyes.

May you forever stand tall,
may your head always be held high,

with quiet stoic dignity.

May your past experiences be the stepping-stones that mark your path ahead,

may your heart be your guide,

your blazing beacon of wildly enthusiastic hope,

may your wishes be simple,
and may they come to be,

filling your life and your moments,

with joyous bliss,

where you truly feel free.

Free of the weight of yesterday,
free of gnawing doubt,

and may your being be infused,
with the softest serendipity,

so that you may spread your arms,

and to the heavens shout,

I am free,

I am me,

at long last,
I am standing tall,
never again to bow,
or to fall on bended knee.

This is a wish both simple yet elusive,

a wish that only you can make true,

by simply being,

the kind,
gentle person,
that is you

clawing at my face,
slipping beneath the facade,

tugging, tearing, flailing,

stripping off the veneer,
exposing the fragmented decay,
under this mask I wear today.

groping for another layer,
embroidered on my thin skin,

peeling, rotting, searing,

shaving away the truths,
entwined in a jagged kiss,
the vacuum of an emotional abyss.

from myself yet again,
bound for nothingness,

desolate, cold, empty,

lost on barren pathways,
bruising my heart as I tread,
at the horrors that lie ahead

only that which is priceless,

not the riches of the world,
to hold and to covet,

not bubble-wrapped joys,
nor dead designer toys,

I seek,
only that which is priceless,

no gourmet lunches,
nor sterilised thrills,

no robes of fine silk,
they only give me the chills.

I seek,
only that which is priceless,

a moment away,
from the greed of the day,

some time off,
from hollow laughter,

far away from this glittering mall,

it doesn’t interest me,
if its not for all.

I seek,
only that which is priceless,

a cup of tea,
and a few mango slices

A freshly, scented breeze,
soaked in warm sunlight,
the mystery of a smile,
a faint echo of laughter,

stirs the heart.

Shades of black and white,
turning into a canvas,
of succulent violets, sumptuous reds,
the colours of promise,

stirs the soul.

Insipid days,
infused with a palette of flavours,
a tangy embrace, some cinnamon caresses,


the faintest hint,

of something new

Sitting together,
smiling benignly,

sipping coffee,
flaked with 24-carat gold-leaf shavings,

their empty souls,
always on the prowl,

to sate,
the latest cravings.

“sell all your jewellery, and give to the poor”,
revolutionary words, uttered by His son,
Jesus of Nazareth.

Well, we all know what became of him,
when we see God’s Sacrificial Lamb,
stuck up on cross to bleed out and to die.

And today, two-thousand years on,
we are drenched in the rivers,
of the crocodile tears,
that His people on Cable-TV do cry.

It reeks of ostentation,
and of smug conceit,

for their hollow piety stinks,
as they suckle on,

and bite down hard,
on capitalism and greed’s raw teat.

“pay your workers before the sweat on their brow dries”,
so said the Prophet of Islam,
Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him) in Arabia,
more than fouteen-hundred years ago,

and while they will slaughter me in an instant,
if I were to curse his name aloud,

they dishonour him,
each and every day,

as they sip,
on their designer coffee,
flaked with 24-carat gold-leafed shavings,

masking their crassness,
by screeching their prayers,
five times a day,
and ever so loud.

They stink of money,
and their odour reeks,

wafting across all lands,
lingering on for weeks.

Now some will say,
that I envy them,
and thus I am sore,

but honestly now,
let’s ask a question,

was this what God the Merciful had in mind,

when He sent His Son,
and all His Prophets,

down upon this earth for?

The pendulum swings,
while the mania in my head,
strips me bare and yanks me,
into the cauldron of love.

Once again,
never divining the tea leaves,
knowing, always knowing,
the gnawing knots of unease,
that curl into a fist.

My isolation is a shield,
a suit of armour,
tightly clad around my self,
once worn,
then discarded,
taking its place,
on my barren shelf.

Love, mania and verse,
coalesce, beseeching me,
with timeous forewarning,
not to tread into the quicksand,
that slippery bog of promise.

in times past,
in moments present,
tis’ that very promise,
that I cling to.

At times I lose,
myself in the crowd,
rebelling in the solitude found there,

at times I claw,
my way back to the now,
aching for the pain that stings,

the buried voice that sings,
dirges to forgotten emotions,

scribbled verse that flings,
the toys out of my cot,

while I wait,
for the mania to stop,

always knowing,
that it shall be,

merely a matter of time,
before the other shoe,
must, as always, 

As dew on morning leaves,
quietly disappears,

as mist from deep valleys,
crawls away into open space,

every hearbeat of mine,
that once felt so true,

is lost on the edge of an ocean of blue.

Lost in a heartbeat,
the softest emotions,
the gentlest love,
the sense of contentment,
the touch of peace,

Lost in a heartbeat,
all that was precious,
all that I failed to hide.

Lost in a heartbeat,
the sweltering furnace of love,
leaving me cold, empty,
and desolate inside

A tapestry finely woven,
from heart-strings plucked,
and soft words spoken.

Drenched in a torrential monsoon,
of emotions deftly spun,
intangible, fleeting,

slicing through stormy clouds,
for a place of warmth,
bathed by the shimmering sun.

Embroidered filaments of delicate lace,
envelope the quiet corners of a weathered heart,

cradling the memories,
of bygone moons,
bidding a hushed adieu,

as love silently retreats,
preparing to finally depart.

The mirage of blossoming love,
hovers achingly near,

and though only an illusion,

it lives, it breathes,

as impermanent as dawn’s drops of dew,

and still,

as real as the tears,

that have been shed for you

A new study reveals,
that over half of the world’s food production,
goes to the garbage heap.

And this,
in a world,
where one billion souls,
go hungry,
each night,
to sleep.

That’s about two billion tonnes,
of food a year,
that gets thrown away.

Two billion tonnes.

What is there left,
to say?

Ancient wounds,
still bleed,

though seasons creep quietly down,

the alleyways,
of the heart,

lost in the hint of a smile,

masking even,
the most tired frown.

Hope and comfort,
cling on, persistent,

offering solace,
to fractured souls,

the fragments strewn,
recklessly hither and thither,

though even beauty,
like the delicate petals,
of a solitary flower,

must wilt,
and eventually wither.

Ancient wounds,
may heal,

if only,
we stand and clasp,

on to hope and comfort,
lying within our grasp,

and for wounded hearts,
to heal,

we shall rise,

to face the onslaught,
of the tempests that blow,

enduring them,
with courage,

and never,
never to resign,

and never,
never to kneel

Blanketed by charcoal clouds,
this evening brings respite,

banishing the heat,

with the promise of fresh rains,

offering consolation,
to the weary,

by soothing,
this day’s strains,

and shedding,
the weight,
of all that is dreary

Stripped of identity,
slaving on a pittance,
sliced of human dignity.


just jargon,
flung around,
with surgical callousness.

cost-benefit analyses,

metastatise the worker,
a man, a woman, a child,
into fodder,
a number,
reduced to complex variables,

factored into,
the relentless pursuit,
of dead profit.

The noose tightens,
strangling a man, a woman, a child,
all disposable cogs,
in the machinery of greed,

death comes slowly,
laboriously agonising,
asphyxiating a man, a woman, a child,


at the altar of Capital.


our very own,
mothers, brothers,
sisters, fathers,
lovers, husbands,
wives, friends,

lost to the insatiable machine,
numbed by exhaustion,
wracked by routine,

mere variables,
lost in the hieroglyphics,
of percentages, derivatives, futures,


Awaken from your slumber,
all you who sleep on silken sheets,

awaken from your slumber,
you who profit from the misery of the many,

the faceless ones who are so many in number,
all who get trampled on your glittering streets.

Awaken from your slumber,
all you who covet silver and gold,

awaken from your slumber,
you whose cigar is worth more than my monthly wages,

my wages that hardly add up to a triple-digit number,
stoking the hunger in my belly into a fire that rages.

Awaken from your slumber,
as you prop up your beautiful children in designer brands,

awaken from your slumber,
while you sip your champagne in fine cut glass,

I tire of your ostentation as I drink my tepid coffee in a chipped tumbler,
while I’m reminded by the t.v. that I am lacking class.

Awaken from your slumber,
you who have taken and continue to take,

awaken from your slumber,
because I have nothing more to give,

you have pillaged my dreams and strewn them all asunder,
and I who have existed for so long also want to live.

Awaken from your slumber,
every single one of you,

awaken from your slumber,
for my rightful share I now demand,

you may shoot me down, but we are many, many more in number,

so awaken from your slumber!
wake up!

And always,
always never fail to remember,

that you may shoot me down, 

we are many, many more in number.

Awaken from your Slumber!

Rootless, cast adrift,
on waters cold and vast,

anchor and mooring,
shattered as the broken mast.
Leaning port-side,
searching for that safe haven’s call,

caught in the typhoon,
thrashed by the waves that rise and fall.

the sting of salty tears,
drowning in phantom fears.

surrendering to the elements and however they decide,

watching all truth into the dark depths subside

I simmer in the cauldron,
strangled by smiles,
choked by laughs,
shattered by thoughts,
shredded into more than a few halves.

Impotently groping,
clutching for crutches,
in day and barren night,
smothered by the whispers,
that into the dark beyond,
take flight.

I relent,
giving way to the bleakness,
embracing it as it slithers through my soul,
welcoming the darkness,
wishing it would envelope me whole

nothing reaches,
the inner reaches,
of a heart,
that reaches too far

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