Archive for April, 2013


Wrestling Verses

Wrestling Verses

Spilling ink onto paper,
reading tea-leaves,

fragments of mirth,
shards of anguish,

remain,
trapped in rolled-up sleeves.

Turning up my collar,
as blue as these days that slip by,

scattered verses plunge into,
the fathoms of unknown waters.

My ink runs, slips, treading lightly,
penning odes to love on bare skin,

your skin,
your bare back my canvas,

my fingers tracing, caressing, scribbling,
homages to our laughter, our tears.

Wrestling verses,

lie spent, exhausted,
famished and parched from saying too much,

still,

my fingers tickle your soft skin,

my ink would run dry,

were it not for your gentle touch

Walking with Hope

I walk with hope,
at long last, I walk with promise,

I no longer crawl,
scurrying between wounded moments,

I stand tall again,
at long last, I sing a peaceful refrain,

sheltered by your love,
I take solace from life’s bitter rain,

comforted by your warmth,
I soar free, high above the empty plain.

I walk with hope,
at long last, I walk with promise,

I stand upright,
feeling the radiance of your gentle light,

and I thank you for taking me in,
I am yours, and your breath spreads life,

deep in my heart, my soul, my mind,
you are the love that I have searched so long to find…

South Africa: Freedom Day April 27 2013

1.

On the 27th day of April in Nineteen Ninety-Four,

Freedom was won, at long last.

The battles were many, the foe brutal,

Apartheid tore our southern tip of the continent of Africa apart,

it’s notions of racial-superiority,

its religious fundamentalism,

its fascist tendencies,

its beastly nature,

ripped the flesh off the skin of our collective selves,

but resistance to tyranny has always been a basic human aspiration,

and so resistance flourished.

2.

Ordinary folk,

school-teachers and machinists,

nurses and poets,

labourers and engineers,

lawyers and students,

resisted!

We remember you today,

as a copper African sun shines bright this Saturday morning in April of Two-Thousand and Thirteen,

we honour you, who fought,

Comrades all –

Walter Sisulu,

Nelson Mandela,

Joe Slovo,

Ahmed Kathrada,

Bram Fischer,

Steve Biko,

Solomon Mahlangu,

Vuyisile Mini,

Denis Goldberg,

and many many more,

those we know and love,

and those whose bones have now settled in our rich African soil,

those who died,

those who were executed,

those who were shot,

those who were tortured,

those who were killed,

and the countless who are still tortured today by the swords of memory,

the emotional and psychological torture,

that still rains down on the valiant ones and their families.

Families!

Families fractured, broken and scattered throughout the world,

fragments of a sister’s laugh, a daughter’s smile,
bite as harshly into the soul as did Apartheid’s cruel lashes of violence.

So many died, too many died,

and I remember them,

Dulcie September – Assassinated in Paris

Steve Biko – Tortured and Murdered in South Africa

Solomon Mahlangu – Hanged by the Apartheid State

Ahmed Timol – Tortured and Murdered

Bram Fischer – Died in Prison

Hector Petersen – Shot in Soweto ’76

David Webster – Killed

and many many more,

their blood flowing into the soil of our ancestors,

our country, our South Africa,

for all South Africans,

Black and white and brown and all the shades of humanity’s mosaic.

3.

Now we reflect,

now we must dissect,

the fruits of freedom,

thus far,
much has been achieved,

yet,

the struggles continue,

for employment,

health-care for all,

shelter and housing for all,

and my compatriots have earned it,

they have stewed in the mines,

deep beneath the soil,

for shiny metals and glittering glass.

The revolution is a work-in-progress,

true liberation shall be economic liberation,

where each and every South African,

can walk the land of our ancestors,

truly free.

We SHALL overcome!

Amandla!

Mayibuye-i-Afrika!

The Struggles Continue, Comrades…

I’ve Scribbled This Song For You…

I’m wasting my days,
my empty nights too,

I should have held on,
but I simply lost you,

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there’s a million miles,

yes, I should have kept,
you close to my skin,

soaking your warmth,
but you were laughing,

at my foolish grin…

now I’m all broken,
and torn apart,

but what the hell,
I was always late,
for the tolling of the bell,

and now…

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there’s a million miles,

so kiss me now like you once did,
I’m tired of being so carefully hid,

la laa laa la laa laa laa…

(repeat to fade)

The Oblivious Sea

Loneliness slithers by,
its icy feel brushing past,
coiling itself around my being.

In the depths of solitude,
alone, torn apart by circumstance,

battered to a pulp by fate’s hushed trials,

my desolation is complete,

the final notes of mirth,
now scurry off into this hollow city’s street.

I try to scream,
cocooned in my shell,

none can hear my plea,

its plaintive call,

settling beneath the murky waters,

of the oblivious sea…


I don’t know why,
but you have endured,

in the recesses of my memory,

filling in the crevasses of all these passing years,

cementing my will,

forging my spirit out of the cauldron of molten loss,

I do not know why,

but it always keeps coming back,

to you…

work in progress. like life

She winked, and smiling with her eyes,
kissed my parched lips,

I could not return her kiss,

and though the years have spun their cobwebs,

fashioning vacuums out of forgotten dreams,

It is that kiss that I most miss.

Tonight, I lie awake,
lathered in layered memories,

of love lost, and of love gained,

of open skies,
and of rains crashing through my weak rhymes,

that have strained,
across the vast emptiness,

seeking absolution,
for my emotional crimes…

(This Scribble is a Work in Progress. Just Like Life)

Talkin’ Corneal-Transplantation Gratitude

Whispering voices beseech me,

through failing eyes unable to see,

riding the clouds floating on a dream,

my vision swept away in a frigid stream,

I clambered and clawed my way between the moss,

listening to sickly sweet platitudes of flimsy candy-floss,

and now I stand up again, I rise,

thanks to your selfless gift of your very own eyes,

owing a debt to a life that has passed away,

bequeathing unto me hopes of seeing this new day,

an unknown donor lives on, within my very eyes,

and I am eternally thankful, as each night and day flies,

to you whom I shall never know, my anonymous giver of sight,

my gratitude is endless, as I wish you peace, on your final flight.

(to the unknown donors of the Corneas that I have so fortunately received)

In Plain English


In Plain English

Waking up, outside,

far from comforting warmth,

seeking a home,
stripped bare,

your identity trailing far behind,

hoping, clinging, clutching,

at strands of withered life,

searching, forever on the trail,

of a peace so elusive to find

Outside the Mosaic


Blinking,
out of focus,
beyond the frame,

hidden very well,
pointing, clicking, snapping,

silhouettes, visions of illusory promise,

squinting,
straining to see,
the slice of reality,

left outside the mosaic

The Path to the Road

The Path to the Road …

… I have walked, barefoot,
the gravel splintering my soul,

I have crawled, naked,
the thorns piercing my heart,

I have fallen, broken,
the rain slicing my mind,

I have stood, bearing,
the weight on my twisting back,

I have reached,

finally,

the path I must travel,

to reach the road that shall lead me to you …

The Nearest Exit

The Exit …

… discarding memories,
suffocating in nostalgia’s throttling grip,

I flee, moment by moment,
away from the now,

seeking, yearning,

chasing phantom clouds of promise,

coveting shrouded whispers of hope,

seducing empty vessels of belonging,

I flee, moment by moment,
away from the now,

seeking, yearning,

lost, alone, torn,

slowly crawling to the nearest exit

The Slothful Musings of an Indicted Leech …

… I suck. Simply put, I suck.

Attaching my slimy being,

surreptitiously clingy,
nauseatingly smooth,
ingratiatingly insidious,

onto warm sources of sustenance.

I suck, I leech, I drain,

the elements of good-nature,

turning smiles into profitable ventures,

sucking, leeching, draining,

the beings I encounter,

suctioned cups of guilt,
of predatory precision,
surgical frigidness,
clinical intent,

sucking, leeching, draining,

till fattened,

bulging with burgeoning gains,

flush with siphoned-off goodwill,

bloated by hubris,

slipping away,

slithering into my den,

creeping on borrowed legs,

seeing with donated eyes,

cloaked in spurious fabric,

I leech, I suck.

Self-pity my only refrain,

flushing what is left of a soul,

down,

into the welcoming drain.

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:

Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.

He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.

After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.

In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.

Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.

He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.

Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.

On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.

Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.

His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.

In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.

On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:

‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’

Mahlangu died for a cause!

Salute!

The Struggle Continues…

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)

South Africa salutes Dr. Martin Luther King Jr!

They gunned you down,
on this April day,
all those years ago,

yet you live, you breathe!

They gunned you down,
just as they did Chris Hani and M.K. Gandhi,

and they failed, as they always will,

for they can never kill,

your dream, your ideals.

Your dream, your ideals,

live, and breathe,

still!

ctrl. alt. del.

Ctrl. Alt. Del.

Catatonic, I lie,
my emotions frozen,

specks of dust swept beyond the trails,

of nameless pathways that could not be chosen.

Numbed, I stand,
all feeling shattered,

like dandelion seeds adrift in the wind,

shuffling between fragile clouds,

pieces of my being appear carelessly scattered.

Yearning, I wait,
for a new day to dawn,

hustling through crooked bends,

scampering from regret to regret,

frantically stitching together a fabric,

of a life worn down and painlessly torn

Falling,
beyond the precipice,
into this gaping chasm.

Numbness ensues,

whirling emptiness,

swirling around and around,

in the recesses of my mind,

as it plummets,

in silent freefall.

My choices are stark,

hit rock bottom,
eyes open,

splitting into fragments,

left strewn across the canvas of loss.

Or,

shutting my eyes,

descending into oblivion,

exhaling as the valley of sorrow reaches up,

claiming me as its own.

But,

I choose to glide,

floating on thermals of hope,

settling deep in the bowels,

of this desolate grave,

to begin anew,

free from the fiction of truth,

to live, to love, once more,

no longer an accomplice,

and never again, a slave.