pseudo-philosophical scribble …

a quasi-philosophical scribble …

whispers echo,
stumbling, crawling,

caught in sandstorms,

trudging across deserts,
strewn with famished hearts,

staying afloat,
somehow,
ceaselessly bashed by merciless tides,

gasping for breath,
deep in oceans of misplaced tears,

ever wary of tomorrow,
as another dawn nears,

carrying the scars,
scabs still unhealed,
raw,

souls battered,
sliced by the elements,

fate, destiny,

while,
free smiles are caged,
remaining shackled,

mangled,
through myriad threads,
hopelessly entangled,

here, now, today,

drowning out the whispers of hope,

love reigned in,
back to now,

away from placid streams,
far from sunsoaked dreams,

to awake back here,
without you by my side,

as years shamble on,
exhausting my weary eyes,

dripping blood,
shedding tears,

with nowhere,
nowhere at all,

left to hide.

dreamscapey skies

couldn’t we just escape,
for an hour or two,

lost in the depths,
of each others eyes,

free at last,

to touch peace,
serenity finally,

on the canvas,
of dreamscapey skies.

supermoon beams

struck by supermoon beams,
my nights devoid of lifes nectar, of hope, and of dreams,

are at once, suddenly, emblazoned, painted,

awash in the hues of your smile,

sketched, engraved,
carved in the rainbow shades of your thoughts,

your eyes, free,
unfettered, unshackled,
shedding the burdensome weight of lies,

knowing well how merciless,
fickle,
time flies.,

so allow me to drown,
in the ocean of your eyes,

we’ll fly together,
away from it all,
forever skipping monnbeams

all across,
your dreamy skies.

all that jazz

jingoism, fanaticism, empire, & jazz …

… ol’ Satchmo’s gravel-voice reverberates,

‘its a wonderful world’

brother Louis, its been a while since you sang your last song,

and now this world needs some jazz,

past all the cellophane glitz,

and the deadened razzmatazz,

yes we need to jazz it up a bit,

melding notes with voices,

piano keys with a sax,

or that lonesome trumpet,

mixed-up and cantankerous at times,

always alive,
slaves no longer singing the tunes of anachronistic rhymes,

so c’mon,
play the blues,

transcending borders,
smashing narrow jingoism,
shredding religious sermons to tatters,

cos’ when the bombs have fallen,
when countless more are killed,
maimed,

left orphaned,
homeless,

when tanks squash children,
and people are collateral,

when everything around us shatters,

don’t turn away,
never avert ones gaze,

for through the foggy bottomed haze …

all that jazz matters.

Artwork by Debra Hurd

http://www.dailypainters.com/paintings/203493/Abstract-Jazz-art-painting-music-by-Debra-Hurd/Debra-Hurd

monday scribble

trembling,
yearning,

hungering,
pining, aching,
simmering in the cauldron of raw desire,

scorched,
ablaze in your eyes,
singed by your souls fire,

lost in heartbeats,
of moments meandering,

dreams of you flutter,

into my days,
enveloping my nights,

caressing sublime seconds,

as the memory of your face,

beckons …

on nationalism

When it all comes to pass,

enmeshed,
hewn into the detritus of splintered glass,

sharpened shards cutting deep,
pilfering dreams from wakeful sleep,

looking around,

treading on hopes,
yanked to the barren ground,

smiles and laughter,
famished and broken,

suffocated by slithering words,

scampering away,

leaving limp tongues,
fluttering flags,
jingoistic pride,

ever on,

fostering noxious words,

hurled,
flung,

nonchalantly,
well-meaning,

pompously spoken.

yearnings …

the warmth of your breath,
scorches my skin,

scalding me,
tattooed,
alongside the walls of my rambling heart,

beneath the many hued veils,
embalming aches that jab,
prod,
incessantly assail,

yet still,

’tis you,

yet still,

’tis your being,

that,
always,

&

evermore,
shall prevail.

tripped

tripped,
brought to ones knees,

fleeing beds of nails,
shrapnel pockmarked dreams,

crossing deserted seas,
swallowed up,
regurgitated by merciless elements,

to be washed ashore,
dead,
cold,

broken,
lifeless,

on countless,
pristine tan-soaked beaches,

invisible,
unseen,
hidden in plain sight,

mute,
hushed,
silent,

as the soul of dumbed down,
traded,
inebriated humanity,

bellows,
howls,

and screeches.

vagabond verse …

vagabond verse.

running against slippery winds,

fragments of past lives,
tugging at the heels,

shedding tired breaths,
moulting yesterdays skin,

inflamed by passions,
raging,
swirling,

deep within,

gathering the shards,
cobwebbed,
mangled,

inside,
tattered embers simmering dim,

heartstrings plucked,
a-jingle & a-jangled,

while,
your presence sparks the tinder,

setting every fibre afire,

aching,
hungering,

yearning with silent desire,

for the ache felt,
when dreaming of your exquisite kiss,

is,

an ache akin to a state of bliss,

an ache enveloping mind,
body,
soul,

an aching hope,
infusing my being entire,

complete,

whole.

The Immigrants Void – Sculpture by Bruno Catalano

http://brunocatalano.com/sculpture-bronze2/sculpture-en-bronze-bruno-catalano.php?galerie=1

the masquerade

the masquerade.

waltzing,
arms interlocked,

palpably frigid,
eyes opaque,

unseeing,
willfully oblivious,

tucked away,
from the reverberations of sin,

lost in the glossy haze,
adrift,
afloat,

on winged dreams of tin,

sold,
bartered,

for a glimpse,
of the promise,

of better days,

leaving behind this sorry charade,

giggles galore,
as the booze flows,

drowning the dead,
unravelling the uncouth,

lying just beneath the veneer,

of this numb masquerade.

seeing you …

seeing you,
a sliver of a glimpse,

wrapping my day in marshmallow warmth.

seeing you,

reignited desire buried deep.

cocooned in my dreams
so close, yet so far,

perennially waking,
to feel
scorched by a blazing furnace,

inflamed by,
your ravenous fire …

monsoons

before the deluge,

greying clouds congregate,

rumble,

&

roll,

casual,
merciless,
oblivious,

self assuredly sure,

sprinkling hope,

willing,

&

able,

to endure,

though besieged by the torrents of fate,

assaulted as time idly shambles past,

skewering the memories,

once betrayed,
destined eternally to last,

while drowning,
sinking,

going under,
diving deep beneath,

the tides of mishmashed grumbles,

lost in a numbed haze,
of unfinished mumbles,

all promising cascades,

of,
dazzling hues,

amidst strawberry shades,

while wills crumble,

&

resolve fades.

scarlet skies

murmur whisper in my dreams enraptured floating high into the saffron horizons caressing raspberry clouds wrapped within velveteen shrouds sipping intoxicating nectar from famished lips while the battles rage and liquidred drips leeching life from inured consciences neatly prettily handsomely wrapped in cellophane lies promising fleeting highs teasing each sinew deep in the marrow down to the bone rolling and rambling the vagabond seeking release liberation from earthly confines to soar unfettered melting fused melded hewn engraved into scarlet skies

do you dream of me …

do you dream of me
as i do of you

on sunkissed sands
under skies of free blue

where pain is forever banished
lost inside a seashell

and tomorrow no longer
threatens the fires of hell

do you dream of me
as i do of you

where this daily charade
means something

less showy

and

more true

The Immigrants Void – Sculpture by Bruno Catalano

The Immigrants Void – Sculpture by Bruno Catalano

http://brunocatalano.com/sculpture-bronze2/sculpture-en-bronze-bruno-catalano.php?galerie=1

tempus fugit …

tempus fugit …

walk with me
along free boulevards of spring flowers

walk with me
through green fields sketched ablaze with summer showers

walk with me
through alleyways strewn with thorns that sting

walk with me
upon the oceans of tears that tomorrow may bring

walk with me
and
i will walk with you

among petals dripping with dawn dew

we may not have much
but what we have is true

walk with me
before this night falls

walk with me
leaving behind sterile plastic caged walls

walk with me
away from the shrieks and howls of fate

walk with me
before its far far too late

walk with me
under our shared blanket of vagabond skies

walk with me
before oblivious time flies …

incoherent (like life)

incoherent (like life) …

slipping through empty breaths sliding down on bent knees scraping raw flesh against cold skin hollow kisses falling to the desolate floor swept up discarded trashed recycled churned out strewn littered alongside barricaded hearts yearning to feel again to touch to taste to ache to be human once more to know to believe that one can feel that one can hear and see and dig beneath the veneer of sophisticated tinny smiles flinging around casually barbed words meant to jab gnawing at the core of all that makes us human the sting of tears the taste of salt the dripping red bleeding off roses in quaint gardens pruned to perfection yet dead inside numbed into comfortable complacency as the world turns threatening the linearity of time that prays for returns while this heart this soul this being within the cauldron of palpable loss simply burns

talkin’ scribbles …

life meanders twisting tributaries carving faultlines through life as we scrape and scrounge seeking serene lagoons idyllic backwaters where the weight of all that we shoulder may be laid to rest alongside yesteryears sorrow breathing again rejuvenated imbibing the nectar of simple joys the free air of promise and of hope – always of hope –
for a better tomorrow

rise …

overcast skies …

when days seem bleak
our shared sky
overcast

may you be wrapped in warmth
enveloped in tender colours

for however dark the nights
the days may seem

there is always hope
beyond the pain
the sorrow
the lies

there is always hope

there is always tomorrow

a fresh dawn
a new sun

must

like us

rise …

sliver of hope …

sliver of hope …

echoes of you
resonate

floating on dreamy mahogany clouds

nurturing
the promise of fresh tomorrows

treading
on lifes jagged edged slope

holding on

to

slivers of hope …

would you ?

walk with me
through serene fields of green

beneath the canopy of unseen night

where yearning aches

in the shimmer
of moonlight.

would you …

take my hand
so we may disappear

finding each other
in pastel shades

far far away from the here …

would you …

lay your heart

to rest
beside mine

          sharing

smiles

         tears

                  reflections

         fears

                  aches

           joys

                  sorrows

together
cocooned
rested

in landscapes

etched
&
sketched

embossed
absorbed

into

a cardamom mosaic
of shared tomorrows.

would you …

wander these clouds of dreams

bathed in rain-drenched kisses

soaring across the seas

             dancing
hopping

              afloat
together

in cinnamon waters

sharing this lifes myriad streams.

would you

?

imagine …

imagine …

a beach of solace

the lapping waves
tickling our bare toes

softly powdered sand caressing our feet

a carpet of palms
waltzing in the breeze

imagine …

you
i

setting sail on distant seas

far
far
away

bidding adieu to the emptiness of yesterday

sharing each other
knowing that your
smile

stays with me
within me

through
tomorrows’ we have still to see

sharing
our slice of peace

through
laughter
tears

through
joy
fears

to
bloom in earthy hues

when thunderstorms pass

blossoming into fiery scarlet

kneading away
our hollow suburban blues …

for ’tis in your smile
that my mirth resides

imagine …

your head on my shoulder

ready to face all
oncoming tides

imagine …

hewn into stone …

strange
the ways of fate
the machinations of destiny

&

stranger still
the paths
of life

skipping
leaping

beating
like hearts
thud-thudding

dormant
unstirred

as time
murmurs past

solitary
alone

some times

brimming
with
fragile joy

some times

rendered
numb

some times
hewn

into
cold
stone

the wanderers smile …

sidestepping shrapnelled
shards of jagged life

cauterising
wounds
deeply veiled
fleeing from salivating strife

sewing a tattered soul
        fragmented
        mishmashed
       
        into
        a
        rainbow
        mosaic
            
        haphazard
            
a patchwork of forgotten lies spoken

a wellspring of
dreams broken

flung to the winds
cast away

the wanderer …

committing the crime

around
every bend

attemped rhyme
to inure time

mile
upon endless
mile

prepped
to bury pain

on cue
to mask loss

anaesthetised
sterilised

prepped
on cue

mile
after
mile

to paint on
the wanderers smile …

synapses …

why …

wondering why
synapses fire

even though

spirits
bodies
minds
tire

still synapses fire
wondering why

i miss you
your presence
your being entire

even though
life drags us
through its quagmire

of that
all of this

still synapses fire
still wondering why

it is you
whom i miss …

young refugee

an immigrants lament …

gazing at the sky
i often wonder why,

birds soaring,
high in the open sky,

are free to fly ?

is it that they have wings,
for i too have wings, friend,

so,
i often wonder why,
huddled against desolate sleet,

and,
i often wonder why,
buried under flimsy newspapersheet,

that i too have wings, friend,

i too have wings!

it is just that
my little wings,

are my tired
little feet …

        _____________

(photograph of a Danish border guard playing with a Syrian girl)

letting go …

letting go …

scratching
at wounds

picking
scabs

unleashing pain

twisting knives
turning effortlessly

amid the cacophonous romp
of highfives …

letting go
of
scraped souls

eroded
by
dishevelled dignity

stung
wrung
strung

and
hung

to dispel quaint smiles

perfected over a million wounded miles

shattering consciensces
along the way

blinding
blinkering
rose-tinted phantasy
day to grotesque day

clogging vision
hazing eyes

tugging
pulling
tearing
down
curtains

leaving eyes
blinded
blinkered

unseeing
unfeeling …

while broken stems
mend gently

elsewhere

plucked
along strings

strings
strung
and
strummed

igniting
numbed senses

sublime flavours
on clouds of
touch
taste

melding
fusing

myriad dreams
into
dreadlocked hopes

entwined
intertwined

knowing the paths ahead
to be
far from kind

still
setting forth

yet
moving

ever moving
forward onward

hearts ablaze
hopeful

letting go
of it all

leaving it all
far far behind …

wishes …

            wishes …

may soft petals caress your being

may gentle shoulders share your burdens

may warm sunshine reach the innermost recesses of your thud-thudding heart

may these words
offer

solace
comfort

when hope
seems vacant

an empty space
hollow

cold
yet safe

in moments like those
is when

i
hope
you

know

there’s always the promise of a less harsh tomorrow …

phantom desire

phantom desire …

passionate
fiery

consuming all
each pore
every last fibre

corrosive
eating into
hearts souls lives

lethal
brutal
oblivious

one
kiss of desire

scorches lips

eternally
burnished
inked
embossed

moth drawn inexorably
to the warmth of the flames’ fire

knowing
embracing

incineration

inflamed inflames
scalding senses

in the cauldron of yesteryears

phantom desire …

Homo-Naledi at The Cradle of humankind*

Homo-Naledi at The Cradle of humankind*

shared hopes
on
bloodied earth
of
common dreams

winding along myriad streams
whose
source is here
beneath our multi-hued feet

flowing
into a shared humanity
this shawl that should encompass us all
by
binding us together
a species with blood that is red
always red

for
we are all

the children of Africa

branched off
spread wide

but
of this soil
and
of this earth

foreign to none
hewn as one

         _______

*

Maropeng is a Setswana word meaning ‘returning to the place of our origins’

http://www.timeslive.co.za/scitech/2015/09/10/Homo-naledi-a-new-species-of-human-relative-from-the-Cradle-of-Humankind

https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=http://www.maropeng.co.za/mobile&ved=0CIIBEBYwE2oVChMImK2lnrTtxwIVA7IUCh0YaAJr&usg=AFQjCNHlzmroYaE8YJITfwla6qByM9RC-Q

double-helixed uBuntu

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”

seeds

seeds …

swept up
by the dust

scattered remnants
of lives once whole

now
buried
interred

in cold dead dry ground.

seeds
swept up
by the dust

seeking a glimmer

of hope
of the promise

of
a better tomorrow.

seeds
swept up
by the dust

sinking roots
hoping to belong

somewhere
anywhere

fatigued
spent

waiting
hoping

for days
moments
tomorrows

a
time
&
a
place

where one
need not

be
ever smiling

and to be
always strong

“am i buggin’ ya, don’t mean to bug ya” * – a scribble

“am i buggin’ ya, don’t mean to bug ya” *

isn’t it tiresome
exhausting

to keep on
keepin’ on
hearing
seeing

bad news

all day
all night

must become irksome
to say the least …

(pure horror) not another mass ISIS execution

(pity) not another image of death on a beach

(apartheitude) not another african-american killed by the police

(pure unadulterated pity/well-meaning) not another endangered animal killed by trophy hunters in the savannah …

ad nauseum
ad infinitum

( clicks ‘like’👍 on a friend’s post

a cutesie pic of a couple walking on a beautiful beach, on a perfect summer day

somewhere in the mediterranean )

     _______

* from ‘silver and gold’ off u2 album ‘rattle & hum’

A Karelian and a South African Refugee (1990)

A Finnish Karelian and a South African Refugee (1990)

this is not a scribble.

this is living memory.

in 1990, we were in exile in Finland, where my father represented the African National Congress (ANC) at the World Peace Council (WPC) in Helsinki.

it was a tumultuous time.

the Wall had come down.

Nelson Mandela was a free man and arrangements were being made for us, along with so many political exiles, to return to South Africa.

it was around that time that we were invited to a Finnish comrades home for a meal.

during the course of the evening I saw my mother hugging an elderly lady, who appeared to be sobbing, on my mom’s shoulder.

it was on the metro ride back to our apartment on an island just east of Helsinki that mom told us the following:

that old lady was a Karelian Finn, who after the 1940 Winter War (Talvisota in Finnish) found herself among so many who had to flee Karelia and became refugees in their own country.

the old lady broke down and recalled her days as a refugee in the merciless Finnish winter of 1940.

you see, my mom and that old lady who’s name i dont even know shared a bond that transcended race colour religion political social and ideological boundaries.

my mom and the fellow refugee shared a human connection of shared pain, displacement, and loss and hurt.

long may the humanity of ordinary people live on, often the poorest and most deprived and ostracised and banished who constantly cling onto the threads and fragile strands that make us human.

they remind us
they shame us

they jab us to open our eyes
they prod us to do more

and they tell us
what we know
but what we often forget …

that we, the people, shall always, always be many many more

____________

with many thanks to the Kallio family of Helsinki, Finland.

for Anja, Jussi, Antti, Matti, Miikko & Liisa Kallio

thank you for your warmth and generosity of spirit and for your friendship

____________

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evacuation_of_Finnish_Karelia

‘art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable” – Cesar A. Cruz

‘art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable” – Cesar A. Cruz

the crime of forgetting

the crime of forgetting …

the image of
a little boy washed ashore

is what it takes
to prick our consciences?

the image of
a little boy washed ashore

compels us to finally see

but never to acknowledge

the collective crimes
committed in our name

war
invasion
state-sponsored terrorism

ah but its much easier

to curse the migrant

fleeing the bombs your tax dollars

build
buy
manufacture
drop

while we pontificate
huff
&
puff

and
while we continue to shop

for the charade

the theatre of shallow veneer

must never stop …

the immigrant at home …

the immigrant at home

fatigued
pained

cast adrift
shunned aside

living
existing
on
islands of despair

deprivation
death

human beings
you and i

who just yesterday
or perhaps many lives ago

were
hounded
persecuted
jailed

cursed
spat on

rendered
alien at home

and
then

lost at sea

mere cattle
to be hauled

onto desolate cages

mere cargo
in the
economics of flesh

and
who
now

are
everywhere

cursed
spat on

and
told

to go home

complicity

silence swells
drowning out the ceaseless chitter-chatter of days

innumerable
lost somewhere along these pathways

and having walked upon a few

and
crawled many more

i too
feel

that feeling

of feeling
bereft of hope

ah but

sprinkle some dreams coated with lies

glazed over
empty hollowed eyes

avert your sight
when they
stare at you

all cold
and
washed-up
and
dead

their
cold gaze

questioning
perhaps?

… questioning
us who feign death

on many a similar sun-drenched beach

while still squeezing in

4 hours a week
of community outreach?

lost in the ocean …

lost in this ocean
of complicit howls

wails
hollow words
crocodile tears

it has no meaning
this life

these breaths we consume

nothingness
it is

just
half-muttered realpolitik …

one dead kid on a beach

… so that’s what it takes

more effigies
paraded on 24/7 TV

go look up the word ‘blowback’

and perhaps

unlike aylan
who was fed to the sea

you atleast

may
finally be
able to see

what really is
and not simply what you want it to be …

paltry scribbles

when tides of innocence wash up

dead
cold

empty on terra firma

why don’t i shudder
why don’t i care

‘cept for churning out some paltry scribbles

as the charade continues

as the world

salivates
& dribbles …

Maropeng & The Cradle of Humankind*

maropeng & the cradle of humankind* …

shared hopes
on
bloodied earth
of
common dreams

winding along myriad streams
whose
source is here
beneath our multi-hued feet

flowing
into a shared humanity
this shawl that should encompass us all
by
binding us together
a species with blood that is red
always red

for
we are all

the children of Africa

branched off
spread wide

but
of this soil
and
of this earth

foreign to none
hewn as one

so tell me again
what was it that
you were saying about “the bloody foreigners”

        ___________

*

Maropeng is a Setswana word meaning ‘returning to the place of our origins’

https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=http://www.southafrica.net/articles/entry/article-the-cradle-of-humankind-gauteng1&ved=0CLMBEBYwH2oVChMI9rmAuazexwIVR4kaCh2uWQuy&usg=AFQjCNHs2O4mPw5TG94YGxFA4EBjPJlnPA

bloody foreigners …

bloody foreigners …

these bloody foreigners

zimbabweans
somalis
angolans mozambicans syrians
pakistanis
turks
congolese
rwandans
indians

etc etc etc et al.

these bloody foreigners
flooding our clean streets

taking jobs away
from me and from you

ps: aylan kurdi was a bloody foreigner too

the migrant

the migrant …

i couldn’t bid my beloved farewell

i didn’t hug my mother

i had argued with my father that morning

then

i left
fled
crouched
starved

and
died

in a lorry in austria

a boat off the coast of libya

washed ashore
cold and dead

i am that migrant

an immigrants lament …

an immigrants lament …

gazing at the sky
i often wonder why,

birds soaring,
high in the open sky,

are free to fly?

is it that they have wings,

for i too have wings, friend,

so,
i often wonder why,

huddled against desolate sleet,

and,
i often wonder why,

buried under flimsy newspapersheet,

that i too have wings, friend,

i too have wings!

and my wings,

are my feet …

the immigrant …

The Immigrant …

Seeking solace.
Seeking a home.

The immigrant finds,

rotten prejudice.
Fungal anger.

The immigrant,

alone, hoping for,

A solitary chance.

To belong.

The immigrant,
alone, always,

an outside entity.
Eternal outcast.

A viral threat.
A reeking odour.

The immigrant,

ever alone,
and alone knowing,
that no place exists,
but that lost home.

immigrant song

immigrant song

are we broken by spoken barbs spewing out of sewers cloaked beneath acceptable garbs while the blades of splintered humanity are sharpened into lethal shards of ‘my country right or wrong’ under the comfortable charade of clinging onto feigned piety dragged along weaving new lies obfuscating what’s right and what’s wrong waving flags like swords wielding swords to behead and to subjugate the many who’ve forever been on the wrong side of the gate shut out of the dream pummelled by untruths of working hard and doing more and shutting up because we need the money the greenback the notes the coins the oil the designer innerwear that barely shrouds the stench of putrid opulence of festering greed of capital and influence and power ripping out each seed by the by wishing a better life for all a hasty goodbye because when love and life and hopes and dreams and aspirations and desires and aches and yearning for something better just a bit better not much not much at all except for some grain for the famished and respite for the numberless banished cast away into the currents of the seas swept along islands of stillness breaking ashore with the waves of happenstance.

so yes
yes

“that’s how i got to be here”, the immigrant says …

confessions …

confession: a scribble.

i know its crazy,
probably nuts too,

juggling emotions,
freshly raging …

ah,
but what do i do,

when the floodgates miraculously open,

unleashing desire,
igniting flames,

once thought forever doused,

and
now crackling,

like primal fire.

the palette of dreams …

the palette of dreams …

straining to hear
the thud-thudding of your heart

amidst this cacophonous crowd

i close my eyes

i see you
floating on clouds

unfettered
free
to be

your wings unclipped

skipping
hopping
across sunbeams

sketching your open sky

bathed in
colours vivid
alive

fiery
earthy
warm
fierce
gentle

each
brush stroke

infused with hues

from
the palette of your dreams …