Archive for September, 2016

a love so true 

​neither wealth nor title, she shunned the two,

“I am whole, because you touch my soul when I am with you”,

and that was when we knew, this journey of ours, this love was true

what reaches, the inner reaches,

of a heart that reaches too far


​words echoing down empty halls, dripping bloodied emotions off barren walls, where yesterday left with callous haste, and tomorrow shudders to reveal its face:

scarred, mangled, shredded by the rat race, a void, the vacuum, where empathy slithers away without a trace … … …

​embossed against the walls of my thudding heart:

may our journey be shared, together,

never apart … … …

alone, I rest

​Alone, I rest.

In solitude, I breathe.

Alone at rest.

At last


​”smile”, she said with a wink.
I smiled.
I still am.

​I am the heartbeat of Africa. The blood flowing through her veins, and I have seen much. I have witnessed the the pummelling of peoples under the jackboot of colonialism, the plunder of wealth, stripping bare the very veins I flow through. I have urged the collective to stand tall, amidst the horrors of history. It has not been easy, the tyranny of centuries has left scars, raw scabby festering sores, my thumping scarlet oozing out of myriad pores, rendering the great continent pained, hollow … but still, and yet, I course inside millions of souls, refusing to capitulate, thick with hopes for the day and the days after the day. I have placated the wounded, the multitudes forgotten, the bodies seeking respite from the loss, the anger, the deprivation of spirits undimmed by the splintered darkness of racial prejudice. I have seen so much, children torn from loving embraces, mothers holding on, as the world turns its face away, conveniently absolving itself of its crimes. I have felt the hardening of arteries, the will to fight on, despite the overwhelming odds.

yes, I am the blood of Africa. 

and I shall continue to flow, coaxing my people to rise again, to summon up the valiant spirits of the ancestors, to stand and to fight against the insidious doublespeak of tongues, silken tongues peddling instruments of death, shunning the divides that separate one from another, to rise and greet the fresh blazing African sun, each day, every day, until that day when the daily battles cease, when the battles are done. 

yes, I am the blood of Africa, and I shall flow ever on, sowing hope where desolation stalks the evenings, I am hope for tomorrows dawn, for despite and inspite of it all, the new day of peace, of renewed hope, must be, must be born.

​on the passing of the years …

age creeps up on one, and with the lightness of a dandelion seed, it floats seductively before our eyes, and then flutters away. 

the falls and the follies of youth seem bygones away, mere filaments of strings of memories encapsulated in the recesses of the mind. 

the passing of the years is often linked to the attaining of ‘wisdom’, and though I certainly am not wise, but these ensuing years have I hope, at the very least, imbibed in me a little sense of understanding. 

and sometimes I think that may just be enough. 

there is far too much pain and sorrow and war and deprivation in this mad crazy world, and as the years pile on it is my hope, no my fervent wish, to understand more. 

and by understanding a little more, I hope to be more human, less plastic, more caring, less callous. 

it is not an easy path to tread, but thanks to the love of all those close to me, both past and present, I have embarked upon the journey.

there are many steps yet to be tread, one hopes. 

may they be walked with a sense of humanity. 

that much is enough. 

Today we celebrate our shared heritage, 

through smiles and tears, the ache of the past and the hopes of today and tomorrows yet unborn. 

Today we share our Africanness, our blood enmeshed within each other – bright red thumping through countless veins, reminding us of the spirit of uBuntu – I am because we are,

we are because of each other, fellow travellers through the travails of life, seeking not riches nor title, seeking the bright sunshine of peace banishing the darkness of strife. 

We are one people, myriad hues of the rainbow enveloping us all, 

lending a hand to each other, 

every time we stumble, each time we fall.

I am hope

I am the hope that soars, high above our shared African lands – a hope that skips over rainbows, the hope that trudges over the horrors of yesterday.
I am hope, smiling through tears that stain the soil, the hope that echoes across the valleys and plains, I am the hope of days to come.
I am hope, thud-thudding in countless hearts, lost at times amidst the detritus of history. 
I am hope.
embrace me, do not turn me away, hug me as I yearn to hug you. cherish me as I do you.
I am hope. I will prevail.

Viva Victor Jara 

Hasta la Victoria Siempre!

​      missing

      the taste





scribbling odes 





on bare skin:

my muse




my muse:






        the fabric

       of my soul





the light of hope … … …

​though pummelled by cantankerous day,

embracing encroaching night,

the desolation lifts,

glimpsing a shimmer in the tunnel,

of hope’s eternal light … … …

walking together … … …

​though today we tread on broken glass,

our time shall come to pass,

when we may walk  past the travails we seem to amass, 

and beyond the splinters of all that is crass … … …

waiting for you

​waiting for you, with quickening pulse,

desirous, anticipating the brush of your lips against mine,
kiss me deeply, I shall do the same,
today, and in our tomorrows yet to be teased out of time … … 

​what is this yearning,

this furnace, this cauldron,
this raging, fiery burning,
this need,

this ache,
these forms, entwined,

between clandestine half-nods,

momentary glances,

all those forgotten miles,

yet, still …


wanting, knowing,
the unsaid,

rendered unsayable,
by norms, forms,

blushes avoided,
rituals sanctified,

morals beatified,
while emptiness roams the heart,

as it feels itself,


ripped, torn apart,

yet, still …
inflamed by raw,

wild, ravenous desire,
hunger, famished souls,

seeking release,
from this deep freeze,

this styrofoam, inured,

buy-this not that-ness,
these shackles, obliviously embraced,

yawning phoney smiles,
in this world, these walls,

this society, these halls,
this whole racket,
looking back, bamboozled,
as to how one slipped so easily into,
this disturbingly comfortable straightjacket.

sapphire sky 

in the distance

flickering softly
warm hope

bathing this

soft morning

whispering tales of journeys done
beneath the canopy

of our shared 
sapphire sky


​and though the day be harsh, the night cold,
there is warmth, with your hand to hold

​heaving phantom weight, traversing life’s paths hardly ever narrow or straight, we scrape and bend stretching our resolve, searching evermore,  scanning the horizon for our souls to absolve …


​lilting, songs rise, from the ashes of torn dreams,
scattered on the waters, of this lifes  streams … … …

​in the belly of xenophobia.

when you see them,

passing by your pretty green avenues,

grab your garden rake,

stone the encroaching horde,

they take our jobs,

they marry our women,

put them all

to the sword,

“bloody foreigners”



leeching off our taxes,

stinking up the neighborhood,

send them all home,

or better still,

build walls,

seal the borders,

and don’t allow “them” into our fair country,

seek them out in every street,

in every bar

and finish them off

one by one

finish and klaar,

and rest assured,

if not that,

then atleast fuhrer trump and all his cash,

will find you as many  scapegoats you wish to gleefully bash

slipping through sieves,

time leaves,
scurrying off, slinking away,

so let me hold you close, tight,

as dreams crash, plummeting,

spiralling gradually, slowly, agonisingly,

into freefall flight,
blinded by knowing whats right,

holding you close, , 
holding you tight …

and when all lies are spewed,
intricate threads promised,
eternal jazz and all that,
only to be summarily screwed,
by words of fluffy dreamscapes,
by incantations of endless service,
by mouthed lies,
time after time,

even as time flies,
the only constant – lies.

​the glitterati feast,

dismembered spirits,
salving consciences,

bidding to 

purchase redemption,
for continuing crimes,

that don’t make the headlines,
business as usual,
the glitterati,

lost in a fine-wine haze,
sparkling carats dazzling,
leaving the dregs behind,
as the 

blindness slowly slithers,

sinking talons,

gnawing at the bone,
while the sweaty, bloody,

the pained,


the far, far too many
batter and shatter,

hacking away,
deep beneath our gleaming golden Johannesburg city
for pieces of glittering stone

​channeling rustin cohle …

yeah so okay it’s all just horseshit this damn grinder of souls enmeshed in sordid dreams of twisted consciences lost along the highway of shovelled lies spawned by the inebriated copulation of the gelatinous whole this whole hysterical theatre of bits and bites of neurons sparking all just electricity just plain damn old electricity seeding grief sorrow pain loss ache death life hiroshima where the living envied the dead yes that place this place still this place that exists as large as castles in our collective so called human minds collectively speaking of course but also force-fed the illusion of individual choice … 

​empire …

crackling embers of empire,
spew noxious toxicity,

weatherbeaten faces,


crunching marrow,
burrowing deep,


wearing down,

chilling the furnace of principle,
doused by carbonated fizz,
rendering consciences inured,
consciousness cremated,
ash rising,

amidst hazy,


just out-of-focus,
silhouettes of humanness,


spat out,

cast aside,
stripped off the moulting skin of greed,
left out to bleed,
as vultures skulk,

and currencies’ sulk,
– markets open,
– the horde pounces,

remnants of dignity,
as sweat pours off backs,

and as innocence roasts in shacks,
as the cacophony grows ever more shrill,
checking-in all humanity,

left to suffocate,
in a cashiers till,
as we writhe,

savaged and ravaged,
by the diktat of Profit,
innocence starves,


flung into the cesspool of want,
trampled upon,

barbecued on Capitals spit,
while hollowed souls,

wracked by inert life,
seek respite,

from want,
from ceaselesss,

merciless strife

​the perennial exile … … …

fitting in,

acceptable, hushed,
the alienation photoshopped, airbrushed,
will i ever feel at home,

the mossy rolling stone,
enveloped by walls,

as evening falls,
awake to another desolate dawn,
painting on a smile,

though my soul yawns,
remaining evermore,

the perennial exile … … …

​yesteryear … … …

memory slips,



                 through the blurred veil of time,

        sifting through memories,
of you,

            your loveliness ablaze,
sweeping across meadows,

                  my stranded heart still in flames,

                 the furnace burning bright,

                          raging in the darkness of this night,

                  coaxing nostalgic yearning,
over years left behind,

             between thoughts of kisses entwined,


                 and still,

                 and yet,
this heart may never forget,

           the caress of your voice,
breezing between today,

           last week,
all the drifting yesteryears,

                     lost in your deepest eyes,
even as days turn to night,
even as time continually flies,
scattering pieces of my soul,

              hither and thither,

             knowing it may never be, again,


           ah! but the memories persist,

as summer begins to wither,

            you are all i remember you to be,
between the wild rose,

        amidst the thorns,
bathed in dawn’s dew,
I live,

        I breathe,

                        I savour,
the sweetest thoughts,
of you, only you … … … 


​twisting minefields, tearing neurons, imploding with ferocious intent,
my mind falters, stagnant in puddles of the now,
idle, inured, content

​missing you …

in times, lonely, alone,

in moments of raucous cacophony,
during radiant sunshine,

in the depths of coldness all around,
thoughts of you,

memories of you, abide,
cleansing my soul, my heart, my being entire,
scorched by a yearning, an ache of desire,
washing across me,

engulfed by the incoming tide,
yet the furnace rages,

fuelled by the warmth of your overwhelming fire 

​nostalgia tugs

whisking the mind away



custard-apple evenings

monsoon drenched rain
whistling between trees of rhyme
peacock feathers

lying listless

beaten as these lines
and still beyond it all

past rainbows fractured
the sun still shines
mending soggy feathers

always alone

on cardamom clouds
leading me here
to now.

this moment


vacuum sealed




incense-smoked paths

ever on


dreams strewn asunder
as heartless time

tireless time
rages on
shedding fatigued smiles
over the countless



​what is home to the vagabond soul,





plodding along

                 paths of

              broken glass,




             my tattered soul:

these desolate moments





                  pass … … …

for victor jara … … …

​for Victor Jara …

his song rose,

above the stadium of death,
his voice rose,

with each tortured breath,
they broke his hands, you see,

the fascists,
tearing his guitar apart,

this man who sang of love,

and of solidarity,

and of peace,
they broke his hands into pieces,
to still the raging strumming,

the strumming that is heard today,
and will be heard tomorrow,
they broke his hands, you see,

pinochet and his thugs,


his song still rose,

high above the shanties,
across the plains,

infused in the soil of Chile,
his song rose,

his song rises still,
his song always will …

​’tis been an eternity,

since i met you,
your eyes,

                 into whose deep


                 cascading within,
                 i would gladly

plummeting into,

all of you,
within you,

your thoughts,
your dreams,



oh i would indeed,

if these were not mere scribbles,

                 empty, hollow,
bereft of hope,

entombed in sorrow … … …

​free as the wind …

your strength, your resolve,

your resilience, your warmth,

real, tangible, fiery,

sparks afloat in the wind,

unshackled, free,

to soar the boundless skies,

and i,

i am fortunate,

to have shared a moment or two,

and i am lost, blinded,

if it weren’t for you,

a gentleness sublime,


in stolen moments,


my unseeing gaze meets your deep, inviting eyes …

​something …

in my life, I’ve trudged down cobblestone pathways,

walked on broken glass,
shed tears, had my  share of dreams broken,

have had my quota of fears,
now the years have slipped away,

and a decade ago seems like yesterday,
but the moment I saw you,
something, something,

made me pause,
it was you. it is you,

and maybe, it will always be,
only you ….

​our fingers,


walking away,
from the din of the day,

embracing the solitude of night,
with you in my arms,

dreams ablaze,

soaring into effervescent flight,
touching you, feeling you,

tasting you, consumed,

raging desire,
thrashed against the cliffs,

of pitiless fate,
in-between the engulfing waves,

gulping for a breathful of you,
all of you,

irresistibly true … …


splintered wings,

kicking dust,

seeking release,
bound, humans,

bereft of feeling,
caged souls,

bereft of hope,
wills strangled,

spirits mangled,

away …
… all for a few laughs,

a couple of giggles,
some people amused,
this interest,

but for the caged ones,

whose open skies lie broken, tattered,
caged souls,


now brittle,
having felt the stab,
of dreams dashed,

hopes shattered.

​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 … … …

​woven webs … …

time to leave the obfuscation,


time to shed the detritus of who we once were,

why we once never could be,
strewn amidst the thorns,

jabbing through the turbulent sea,
each wave,

threaded strings,

foamy universes within foam,
dashing the jagged cliffs,



arrogance of invincibility,
the choice of loss,
tracer bullets pockmarking the diseased sky,
splintering egos,

crushing ideals,

held aloft sacrosanct,

wringing ideology,

mere attempts,

feeble at least,
the grandiose fiction of an all en-compassing “explanation of it all”
the unscaleable wall,
where dreams collide,

headlong into concrete apartheid,




honesty, love,
lie fractured,

scattered bones strewn here,

and some places foreboding yet alive,

in between,
the transparency of justice,

the prism of competing beliefs,
which leaves this soul, cut,
ripped apart,


at the seams,
having set sail on the river of hopes,
having soared the blue expanse,

in free flight,
a torch, always,
always, burning, shining bright,
a beacon in the desolate night,
aloft at last,
winged chariots of unfinished dreams … …

this migrant skin … … …

​this migrant skin.

tin-cans, discarded cartons,

garbage bins,
littered with fragmented shards of myself,
shed, left behind,

amidst by-lanes,
pieces of who i was,

slivers of me,
ever trying to belong,

to be,
so we moult,

social chameleons,
slimy, deceitful,

charming, soulless,
casual, empty emotions,

flung aside here,
bits of that life,

of this,
leaving laughter, pouring tears, down drains hugging boulevards,
strewn with crushed petals.

this migrant skin,

this malleable face,
numberless incomprehensible masks staring back,
a mishmash mosaic,
shadows of yesteryears faces,

worn and torn,
ever straining to flee,
the restlessness growing,

teetering on tightrope,
as year turns to close,

I’ll see if I can find me.

( inspired  by Erich Fried’s “In Hiding” )


bathed in spicy-cinnamon springs,

flying on cotton-candyfloss wings,
kissing darkest-chocolate lips lush,

all else we gleefully airbrush,
yet we feel not a thing,
dare i say it,

and still,

are we not beings,

of flesh and of bone,
or have we mechanised this too,

merchandising, through and true,
cold, deadened,

numbed & dumbed,
akin to a lump of jagged stone.

​dreams fade




pale fogginess.

years recycle years

grinding down

shellshocked lives



fodder for the beast.

but not hope


hope persists






hope twists knives






the very ache


assures me





​wordlessness …

shards of everyday life

slice through





battering the ramparts

chiselling away



shaving off pieces

bit by bit

tearing muscle

frying synapses

charring hope


only the 

inevitability of endlessness

the tide of desolation

washing in

soaking dreams in diesel

fueling storms that rage within


inside yourself

where there is only you

where all the pain

all the loss



​that gentler way …

sometimes in dreams

this world feels a much gentler place

where hunger stalks nights and days no more

where we share this earths gifts

more equally

less greedually

a gentler place

where we’ve bade farewell to war …

sometimes in dreams

i taste the hope

of a gentler world

where songs of joy may be heard each day

a gentler world

where we all

all of us


as one




strive to find

that gentler way …

( inspired by Pete Seeger’s “Last Night I had the Strangest Dream” )

​deciphering silence …

you and i

shielded by silence

barred from ourselves

insured against feelings

exiled hearts

building ramparts

a berlin wall

that may fall

so my friend

lay your head

upon my chest

and let my fingers

run through your hair

lulling you gently

to rest

life is far too short anyway

to squander even a day

so rest

my friend


and lay your head

upon my chest

circles, minus edges, unabrasive, free flowing, unhindered, no points of departure, none of the grime of memory,

circles, effortless, untainted by breath, rolling across the spaces between us …

what are you hoping to find?

​leaving the din of this city far behind,

away from the strangling grind,
she asked me “what are you hoping to find?”,
“you, if you don’t mind”

​”i have lost my way”, i said,
she smiled, taking my hand,
“i am still searching”,
“i have found you”, said i,
“and i, you”, she breathed … … …

the caress of hair

whispered dreamily
swirling symmetry

between hungering mouths
lips tongues

basking in this moment

holding onto each kiss
for dreams cease

only to be left

in the willowy haze of diluted time
leaving the detritus:

merely wasted time 
behind …

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