Archive for April 29, 2016


refugee

stifled by the throng,

fleeing strangled yesterdays,
human being weaving,
simply searching,

to belong.

they do not see me at all,

as I walk through these desecrated avenues,

of soul-deadening frenzy,

I see them all rushing past me,

and no matter how hard I try to holler and to call,

they do not see me at all.

it seems at times, that invisible am I,

for when I reach out, and shriek out, and when on my knees I crawl,

they rush past me,

for they do not see me at all.

I have tried to raise their ire, I have taunted and goaded them, till exhausted and fatigued, to the cold damp ground I fall,

still they rush past me,

for they do not see me at all.

I stand mutely then and wave my hands all around while scribbling verses in my unintelligible scrawl,

and yet they rush past me,

for they do not see me at all.

they rush past me, knocking me over without ever looking back,

and then trampling over my fallen form, they look past my limp crumpled shadow, as they whine on in their monotonous drawl,

for they do not see me at all.

and when at last I see them look my way, and as a flicker of recognition crosses their faces,

I wish to crawl back into my nothingness,

where they cannot see me at all … … …

A 10-Minute Scribble of Hope

the morning dew glistens on feathered petals
alive with promise

the moments past, having past, are soaked up by
the streaming rays of sunshine

the wounds of yesteryear are soothed and wrapped
in fresh layers of quiet peace

all my aching yesterdays are quietly consigned
to the deep recesses of memory

haunting me no longer and tormenting me no more
as I shed the weight of the cross I so reluctantly bore

for tomorrow is alive with new hope

of gentle laughter
with quietly sipped joy
of sweet memories yet to be woven
and whispered songs yet to be sung inside
of scribbled poems yet to penned
and joyous tears yet to be cried

for tomorrow is alive with new hope

of sweetly scented roses blooming all around
and murmurs of delight in moments yet to be realised
of warmth and depth and freedom from pain
and of lost touches of myself once again sought after and found

for tomorrow is alive with new hope

of a new beginning devoid of the guilt of past decay
and of freshness in the very essence of this new day

with lilting melodies floating on the silken breeze
while banishing all pain and setting the mind at ease

for tomorrow is alive with new hope
and this very hope is what keeps the gloomy nights afar
for the emptiness is lit up with the shimmering of a solitary star
and it’s this very hope that I hold onto with my dear life
never to give in again to bleak thoughts of mental strife

and so hope it is, and hope it must always be
that keeps the sanity within and sets my soul free

A wish to you as you retire from this day
as fickle sleep quickly hops and slips away

may slumber embrace you and comfort you, my friends
for she eludes me and I know not how to make amends

and may the dreams you dream
be scented sweet as over you the sheets are drawn
and may your night be peaceful
and may you awaken to a promising new fresh dawn

Alone with only the
lonesome notes of a faintly soft tune
Once known and now a mere murmur
Carried by that veiled gracious breeze

Alone with only the
Doleful sighs of the turtledoves
As they console the weary mates
Nesting in the solitary willow trees

Alone with only the
Dirge soaring up and beyond the walls
Creeping through the ivy covered steps
Of that barricaded fortress of the heart

Alone with only the
Mournful whispers echoing along the halls
Of the crumbling mansion of memories as
The moments prepare to once more depart

Alone with only the
Promise of a new dawn that may be awaiting
the shattered soul of a battered frame of being
as it clambers up the slippery slopes of eager hope

alone with only the
abiding memories of that long lost truth that was
soaked in each pore and was imbibed greedily so
as it unfastened the dangling spectre of that rope

alone with only the
memories of then and the memories of now
swarming through a mind numbed with pain

alone with only the
thoughts of all that has passed and all the travails one has yet to face
while the heart is fortified still and resolute to go on against the grain

       

She,
remains just out of focus,
an elusive portrait,

etched in the corner of the mind’s eye.

she,
sometimes strays into view,
a blurred mirage,
of burnished words cast in indelible dye.

she,
steals fragments of each day,
a welcome thief,
of emotions left in some dusty space.

she,
scatters my poems in the breeze,
an invited spell,
that vanishes into the wind without a trace.

she,
renders me mute and so often blind,
the wild dreamer,
a seeder of impossible thoughts in the mind.

she,
brings the elements of nature to me,
a gentle healer,
she unfolds my thoughts setting them free.

she,
comes and goes as she chooses,
an untamed spirit,
soothing the very place that she bruises.

she,
rouses me in nights of empty slumber,
a murmured breath,
brushing my cheeks with kisses too many to number.

she,
remains to me the enigmatic one,
a burning riddle,
yet she stays with me as each torturous day is done.

she,
my heart knows not why she stays,
my consistent constant,
filling up my nights and consoling my days.

she,
deserves so much more from fate,
the truest soul,
she loves too much and knows not how to hate.

she,
arrives again tonight as I lie awake,
a thoughtful shield,
my coat of armour in a world far too fake.

she,
stays with me and within me stays still,
the true one,
and to dwell deep in my soul is where she always will.

she,
from whose cup I have so greedily drank,
a giver of life,
I have not the words with which to her wholly thank.

she,
knows how desolate a world this can be,
my sustainer of hope,
and of life and of breath is what she will always be … … …

Bereft of hope

stripped-off pieces
of memories
fall silently
to the barren floor.

bereft of hope
beaten and battered
slithering to
the emptiness below.

bereft of hope
clinging
clawing
grasping
clutching

onto a sliver
of a whisper
of a promise
on the wind.

bereft of hope
that sliver
of a whisper
of a promise
on the wind

may just
be
hope itself

Tattered scrolls lie lifeless,
beneath a wreath of memories.

Torn fragments of spirits departed,
litter the moments in between.

Fractured hopes,
crushed desires,

swatted away like annoying murmurs.
They return to whisper,
an endearing lie.

That buds of passion,
bloom,
to forever die … … …

You had a dream
of pastures of peace
where children of all hues mingled like rainbows

they silenced you, but your voice
resounds now in those pastures
not yet of peace

and your dream is still a dream
the dream you dreamt while others slept

you said that you’d been to the mountain-top
and they silenced your voice just then
before your eyes saw that promised land
of pastures of peace where children of all hues mingle like rainbows

now your vision is glimpsed in some pastures
not yet of peace
and yes, they silenced your voice
but your spirit their bullets could never tear apart
your spirit, like your dream
is mingled with the wind in all those pastures
not yet of peace
and until we give life to your dream
those pasture of peace
where children of all hues mingle like rainbows
shall remain simply your dream
so as we remember you today
and pledge that those pastures of peace
are nourished first in each of us
for only then will your dream will take root
and blossom into our shared dream
and the view from the mountain-top,
radiant and bright and full of hope shall seem

where children of all hues mingle like rainbows

Your orders may come now…

…or at 19h45 this evening.

‘Shoot to kill’
‘Engage the enemy’
‘Hold the line’
‘Break up the gathering’

‘Ready, aim, fire’

but you have felt too

the stab of hunger
the bite of thirst
the bayonet of loss
the wound of despair

but you have seen too

the pain in a mother’s eyes
the grief in a father’s face
the incomprehension in a child’s down-cast look

‘Ready, aim, fire’

but you, the nameless soldier have heard

the cries of the grieving family
the wailing of the widowed wife
the quiet agonizing sound of the child’s weeping

‘Ready, aim, fire’

your orders may come now
or at 23h30 tonight
or tomorrow
or the day after that
or next week or month or year

but you have seen and felt and heard too

the agony of a peoples’ simple desire
the hurt of a nation long bludgeoned
the wounds of your stolen generation

so when that order comes

now

or at 03h30 tomorrow morning
‘Ready, aim, fire’

let your humanity muzzle your rifle
let your conscience dismiss the order
let your better side come to the fore

and let your very own people, your mother and your father, your sister and your brother, your son and your daughter, your friend and your lover
let them live
let them be
let your rifle fall to the soil of your beloved motherland

o’ nameless soldier.

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