Archive for August, 2013


The Deadened

The deadened scurry,
perpetually in a hurry,

here and there,
and everywhere,

eyes glazed,
guillotined consciences,

strut around unfazed,

while the shopping spree,

intoxicates,

cajoles,

convinces the deadened,

that we are all free…

‘I’m lost’, said I,

traversing oceans of bitter tears,

seeking shallow waters,

pleading for temporary respite,

from barbed words,

naked helplessness,

stripped bare,

with only this skin,

moulting,

the skin of shame,

with none but myself,

to blame….

masks are worn,
shielding my many faces,

my grief seeks refuge behind the masks,

my splintered heart covets anonymity,

my descent into the madness of reality takes cover,

far away, insulated against the twisting knife of many a long-lost lover,

I stand hidden, in plain sight,

numbed by the ongoing charade,

so,

I smile,

I laugh,

I wave,

while,

staring at the unending passing parade,

Fragmented Shades

A few scribbles of mine…

To the Nameless Soldier

My poem ‘To the Nameless Soldier’ appears here

The Blue Hour Anthology Vol. 1

My poem ‘The African Rains” has been included in this anthology of poetry …

The Chords of Dissonance

Tempestuous waves lash the weather-beaten shores of my being,

smashing the cliffs of my futile defences.

I feel the erosion,

within,

gentle, gradual, incessant,

donning my armour,

shielding me,

from the cold, wet waters of fate,

until now.

My armour is pock-marked,

battle-fatigue claws at my throat,

what once was an orchestral crescendo of promise,

now simply aimless jangling chords of dissonance,

beating deep inside my heart,

yet, yet,

I stem the cacophonous onslaught,

surrendering to the inevitability of change,

knowing, knowing,

that from the jagged rocks of memories,

from the frigid waters of destiny,

from the dissonance of infinite chords,

there always is,

as there always shall be,

the promise of a new symphony…

Untitled.

1.

Hidden beneath the undergrowth,

a flower blooms,

beyond jagged thorns,

a whiff of beauty wafts over the desolate spaces,

deep in the thicket of my heart,

where wounds are raw,

and the world is merely a blur of worn-down faces.

2.

The solitary flower strains towards the light,

in the dim bleakness of unnamed woes,

it’s fragrance simple,

natural,
healing,

renewing,

reaching between the open wounds,

of this splintered heart,

caressing my soul,

with a faint murmur of promise,

offering redemption,

to be,
once more,

whole.

3.

Hidden beneath the undergrowth,

life stirs,

whistling melodies,

enveloping my shattered heart,

offering comfort,
solace,

peace,

a fragile peace,
while gathering the pieces,

an elusive,
wily peace,

yet tangible,

breathing!

Breathing life back,

as the pain recedes,

and the numbness ceases…

The Mirage of Material Gratification…

Anaesthetised souls,

willfully sterile minds,

prance around,
searching,
on the prowl,

reaching for,

the mirage of material gratification.

[ Vultures hover above the carcass,

circling,
swooping,

picking at the rotting flesh,

sating a primal hunger,
a need,

the course of nature,

genetically wired to feed ]

Anaesthetised souls,

willfully sterile consciences,

consume,
devour,

wants replacing needs,

a greed that has to feed,

oblivious,

in inebriated consumer-fueled waves,

filling the coffers of capital,

a consensual,
Imperceptible metamorphosis,

from a collective conscience,

into a horde of slaves.

Ludwig & Vincent…

‘what inspired you to write your 9th?’, Vincent asks Ludwig.

‘madness, dear Vincent. Distilled, concentrated madness’.

‘wasn’t it madness that drove you to sketch starry nights above a sea of Irises?’, Ludwig asks Vincent.

‘madness it was, Ludwig. A madness of the soul. Restless, frantic, maddening madness’, whispers Vincent.

‘what does that make us, my dear Vincent?’, Ludwig murmurs, leaning close to Vincent.

‘sane’, says Vincent.

‘yes, Vincent. Sane’, responds Ludwig.

Vincent reaches up and feels around for his phantom ear,

Ludwig smiles, touching his ear that once could hear…

Free & Equal…

(standing up against homophobia)

Love is love,

that’s the line we’ve all been sold,

yet when I love him,

I’m just a lousy fag,
a fairy,

a fucking homo,

or,

at least that’s what I get told.

Love is love,

it triumphs over barriers,
of religion,
caste,

and race,

yet when she loves her lover,

she gets battered,
raped,
killed,
mutilated,

she gets told that she’s a goddamn lesbian,

who needs to be taught her place.

Love is love?


( fight the scourge of homophobia )

invisible…

walking with the happy crowd,

in the midst of the throng,

I speak words no one hears,

as I trudge along,

unseen,

for,

invisible am I,

because,

I do not belong.

searching for a friendly face,

in the bowels of this never-ending celebration,

I scream my loudest shriek, piercing and long,

still I remain unheard,

for,

invisible am I,

because,

I do not belong.

resisting the urge to flee,

knowing there is no escape,

I pick up my pen and scribble,

as I make my way along,

glad that,

invisible am I,

because,

I do not want to belong…

The Coup that cannot be called a Coup, in the Shadow of the Pyramids…

The army rolls out,
battle-ready,
good to go,

a democratically elected President is deposed,

his whereabouts still unknown,

as the army seizes control,

in the land of the Sphinx.

Over 120 people have killed overnight,

on this July the 27th,

still, still,

the Coup that cannot be mentioned receives mere token scolding,

from the capitals of those who proudly proclaim the values of:

Freedom
Justice
Democracy
Rule of Law

Etc etc etc.

This display of unsurprising hypocrisy,

by the powers-that-be,

lifts the veil of double-standards,

that we’ve come to accept as normal.

Meanwhile,

on the streets of Cairo,
of Alexandria,

the cities, villages, towns,

up and down the Nile,

have stirred once again,

to wrest back the fragile threads of freedom,

of democracy,
of the rule of law,
of justice,

of a government by the people,
of the people,
for the people,

so that democracy in Egypt may not perish from this earth*.

“Democracy is far too important to let the masses decide” – anonymous

* – taken from ‘The Gettysburg Address’ by President Abraham Lincoln.

A Rain soaked Heart…

dark clouds gather,
ripening as they cascade across our African skies,

pregnant with promise,
thunder bellowing it’s intentions,

stripping my soul bare,

an empty urn,

thirsting for
respite from the dry blandness of everyday,

knowing that the tide must eventually turn,

to quell this fire that continues to burn,

wild, primal, unvarnished,

my heart awaits it’s fate,
drowning within,

knowing that this time,

this time,

it might already be far, far too late…

Destiny, Fate, and Time…

…embroidered on my tapestry,

a delicate weave,

knitted onto my bleeding sleeve,

seeks peace, solitude,

searching for a momentary reprieve,

yet, yet,

the fires rage,
the sea skewers the sky,

and my fatigued heart,

knows,

the moment has arrived,

for me,

to
leave…

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