Enough.
she said that she had seen them all.
the promise-makers,
the vow and oath-takers,
the silken tongued smooth talkers,
the quiet intense brooders.
she asked me if I could love her.
truly love her.
I said that I would spend our lives trying.
‘it’s enough’, she said.
Searching.
Searching,
in the debris of the past,
scraps of casually discarded emotion.
Searching,
in hastily trashed yesterdays,
an inkling of moments flung away.
Searching,
in heaps of rubbished words,
that tiresome sigh of defeated thought.
Searching,
in the layers of moulted skin
the wilting self that once was true.
Searching,
in the reflections between the ripples,
for the whispered pangs of roaring desire.
Searching,
in the blank eyes streaming endlessly,
an echo of the faintest sigh of new life.
Searching.
A Tribute to Solomon Kalushi Mahlangu.
( Solomon Kalushi Mahlangu (10 July 1956 – 6 April 1979) was a South African operative of the African National Congress (ANC) military wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK). He was convicted of murder by the brutal Apartheid regime. He was executed by hanging in 1979 )
You were the tip of the spear, the pointed tip of Umkhonto-we-Sizwe,
“The Spear of the Nation”.
You held true to your principles,
your values in your struggle against Apartheid racial discrimination and savagery.
The state feared you, and so many like you.
They feared the blazing tip of the spear that would fracture their arrogant, hollow ideology.
You, Comrade Solomon Kalushi Mahlangu, were 23 years of age,
yet decades ahead, a beacon to the indomitable spirit of the revolutionary that you were.
The grotesque Apartheid regime executed you, at 23 years of age.
They could not silence your final 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”.
Your paid the ultimate price.
You made the ultimate sacrifice,
so that we who breathe the air of freedom may today and always salute you,
a true martyr to the cause of humanity and dignity and free from the shackles of racism and racial supremacy.
You were a beacon of resistance.
You remain a shining light that shall forever guide us even in the deepest night.
They executed you,
yet they could not,
they cannot,
they will never quell the fire of revolution.
The fire that you held in your heart,
the fire that shall always shine true.
Hamba Kahle*, Comrade!
Amandla! ngAwethu*
Matla ke a Rona!*
The Struggles Continues!
_________
* – “Hamba Kahle” is an isiZulu and isiXhosa saying that means “farewell”, and was rallying cry in the struggle against Apartheid, when it was put to song and sung at funerals of the martyrs who laid down their lives for the cause of freedom, justice, equality, democracy, and dignity for all.
* – “Amandla ngAwethu” means power to the people, and was also a rallying cry in the struggle against Apartheid.
* – “Matla ke a Rona” was a revolutionary slogan that means “Victory is Certain”
_________
Solomon Kalushi Mahlangu (10 July 1956 – 6 April 1979) was a South African operative of the African National Congress (ANC) military wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK). He was convicted of murder by the brutal Apartheid regime. He was executed by hanging in 1979
___________
http://www.sahistory.org.za/people/solomon-kalushi-mahlangu
_______
lost and found …
1.
i was lost,
scrambling for scraps of love, of life,
desolate, empty, my heart seemed destined to ceaseless strife,
lost in between murmured promises and yearning for free abandoned flight,
only to be cast aside in the deep dark of night.
2.
you found me,
strewn across festering boulevards,
you picked me up as i lay broken,
your love breathed life into my deadened soul,
after all the trite words were casually spoken,
your essence,
your being, lifted me,
my heart once more in free joyous flight,
you found me,
you saved me from myself,
you ushered in spring days,
after so many a corrosive night,
you found me …
the Rains over Jo’burg …
the African rain envelopes all,
shushing the noise and quelling the din,
scalding the skin,
raging inflamed and ablaze,
deep within …
… as fingertips scribble verses on a soft naked back,
as couplets are whispered in ears, stoking the fire,
flesh achingly sweltering, with untamed desire,
the dancing candlelight sweeping across a sensuous body,
the yearning wild, begging for a sweet sensual taste,
of lips to be sipped,
gently at first,
and only later with greedy haste,
as the rains caress Jo’burg with the sounds of an unending pitter-patter,
two bodies entwined, hungrily devouring each other,
while savouring the sensations that consumes them all,
in the twilight, amidst the rainbow,
as the soft sunlight takes leave,
and as another dusk over the blazing African skies,
begins to fall …
hope in dystopia …
fingers raw, bruised and sore,
masks stripped, truth tearing at the core,
feelings forgotten, discarded and rotten,
emptiness scratching at the bottom,
moments fungal, trapped in this desolate jungle,
scalding pride to ashes cold and humble,
dreams trashed, memories adrift, lashed,
wheels of lives callously slashed …
still, yet, always,
hope persists,
through life’s turns and twists,
hope never dies,
hope resists.
wanderlust dreams …
would you join me in the wanderlust of dreams?
where we can travel to serene meandering streams,
where in an instant we may voyage to destinations we crave to see,
for in the wanderlust of dreams,
we can be anywhere our desires wish us to be.
we may travel to mountains reaching for the sky,
threading our paths in between crevasses,
to snowy peaks beckoning us, inviting us to summits jagged and high.
we may also hear the call from the jungles, the rainforests lush and green,
our brows dripping with sweat in dense foliage and flora never before seen.
the turquoise oceans as well, call us to reach,
many a lost shipwreck on many a pristine beach,
to swim with the dolphins, in the embracing silence of the deep sea,
feeling our souls mingling with nature, alive and free.
monuments built in times long past, whisper to us to heed their call,
to breathe in the cultures long lost to us all,
awestruck by their exquisite buildings, majestic and tall,
as our quest continues, to the secret places beneath us through which we trawl,
in opulent caves where we painstakingly crawl,
the deserts,
the plains,
the steppes,
the rivers flowing through,
invite us generously,
to taste,
to absorb,
to marvel,
to be humble,
by the soaking rains and the rolling thunder that shall always rumble.
so may we always wander, through this earth we call our home,
may we always climb,
may we always trek,
and may we always through this earth,
joyfully and freely roam …
distant shores …
when you strolled into my life, ’twas beset with emptiness, restlessness, strife,
when you ambled into my world, ’twas but a maelstrom which bubbled and swirled,
when your hand took mine in yours, we shared the peacefulness of distant shores,
distant shores where troubles were washed away by the sea, where two souls merged, I into thee,
distant shores upon whose beaches we walked alone, leaving behind a world hardened as stone,
distant shores of love, joy, and of peace, where time itself felt it would cease,
ah! those distant shores of my silly dreams, crushed and broken by waking,
only to be ripped apart at the seams …
our shared shore …
1.
awaiting the coming in of the tide,
scurrying into the empty shells in which we hide,
safe for now from the flood that spews coarse lies,
sharing our breaths as the waves ebb and rise.
2.
ah! but to know the intricate bond that seals us from what may be in store,
to be free to cast off the many masks we wore,
free at long last,
free to grasp the peace and love of our shared shore …
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”
diwali*-drenched dreamy scribbles …
remember,
those deepavali nights,
our fingers, tongues,
senses …
flickering amongst the diyas,
of those infinite delhi diwali lights,
our bodies ablaze,
scorching,
infused with longing,
belonging,
one to another,
eachother,
the uniting of souls,
beneath the canopy of enveloping sky,
souls inflamed,
smouldering in the furnace of dreamy diwali nights,
your breath like tangerine,
your lips – quivering,
unleashing abandon,
caressing, exploring,
murmured kisses precisely random,
tempting you, me,
both, together,
a union of dreams unfettered,
setting desires free,
long lost in the mists of passing time,
yet still raging,
burning up,
within you, within me.
_____________________
* – Diwali or Deepavalli is an ancient festival commemorating the victory of the forces of good over evil. It is celebrated by lighting earthen lamps called ‘diyas’ and the exchanging of sweetmeats and of fireworks that emblazon the skies.
the palette of colours …
earthy dust awash with rustic tinged passion,
vibrant hues of emotions sketched,
aflame with jasmine scented swirls,
each dawn breathing life,
as sublime flowers their petals unfurl.
our lips, tracing feelings
deeply etched,
coursing through autumn browns,
winter charcoals,
infusing each breath with smiles that banish doleful frowns.
teasing out love from nature’s palette of colours divine,
entwined by a bond felt deep, in your soul and mine.
a riotous desire imbibed not by neatly manicured gardens of blazing reds,
but far, far away from human eyes,
in places untamed,
in the forests of wild, pristine, untouched flower beds,
soothing the mind,
yawning across crystal streams,
in colours of exultant life,
painted in the palette of dreams …
the shackles of time …
i wish we could wish away these years,
my aching for you, consigned to an ocean of tears,
the thoughts of you, swirling in a cauldron, the heat my very soul sears.
my mind awash with what-could-have-beens,
if only time had been kinder, a decade here, a decade there,
seems so easy to write, but strangles my being with a noose bound tight.
time, they say, the great leveller of all,
embossed on its canvas the fate of so many,
whom destiny chose to rise, and those it deemed to fall.
my fate and yours seem like parallel lines, for though i feel you, close and dear,
we shall not meet, or so i fear,
for though i have swooned at the glimpse of your smile,
time’s sense of humour, thrashes this heart that beats for you, against the cliffs, drowning in a sea of blue.
i often ask, why this torturous game of chance, why this savage lonesome dance,
why these fleeting moments, why is time so arbitrarily unkind,
when there is a palpable meeting, of heart, of soul, of body of mind.
i yearn for your touch, i burn relentlessly, for a touch of our lips,
to feel your sweet breath, to savour our phantom kiss, a dreamy luxury i have been condemned to forever miss.
time, that ever present deceiver, flung me to cross your path, where a smouldering fire was set ablaze, within me,
doomed to never fall into each other’s arms, merely acknowledging the impossible, while scattering the ground around you with enticing charms.
this ache, this ceaseless pounding of my senses, at times a silly charade does seem,
for there are many temptations on my side of the stream,
yet this feeling will not relent, it shall not dim,
dancing to the tune of time’s inescapable whim.
if only for a while, were it possible to breach this maelstrom of time and of fate, if only i could step across the impassable threshold that keeps us apart,
a lifetime i could live in those moments few and true, to taste your mouth as i have so often dreamt, to have your hair fall over my face as i imbibe the smell of all of you.
these are cobbled words, scribbled here and there, certainly not a poem for which anyone should care,
yet these emotions are real, this yearning ache, this all-consuming desire for what-could-have-been,
torches my being entire, stranded on my island, neither here not there,
but what of these permutations does time even care,
and all i am able to do, is to lay out my heart for you, still hoping against hope that some time we may be able to share,
all the while embracing these dreamscapey emotions,
that are ever so rare …
when will i see your smile,
near me,
feeling your warm breath against mine,
when will i feel your touch,
beside me,
peppering your kisses with saffron whispers,
when will i hear you,
your lips against mine,
cajoling me, again,
to wait,
just
a little
longer,
while i whisper back,
knowing the hunger,
to remain stronger,
painting on the smile,
of the mirthful dream-monger,
while keeping at bay,
the raging cauldron
ablaze,
within my being entire,
sizzling, scorching me to the marrow,
the unsaid charade,
theatre for the conscience,
played out, and in,
just beneath the veneer,
of dreams,
of you,
cascading through,
seducing the fabric of our shared time,
so clear,
crytallised, pristine,
delicate,
yet, yet,
steely,
and
sheer …
lost and found … …
1.
i was lost,
scrambling for scraps of love, of life,
desolate, empty, my heart seemed destined to ceaseless strife,
lost in between murmured promises and yearning for gay abandoned flight,
cast aside in the deep dark of night.
2.
you found me strewn across festering boulevards, you picked me up as i lay broken,
your love breathed life into my deadened soul, after all the trite words were casually spoken,
your essence, your being, lifted me, my heart once more in free joyous flight,
you found me, you saved me from myself, you ushered in spring days, after so many a corrosive night,
you found me … …
choosing to love another, regardless of gender or colour,
a revolutionary act in a time of hate.
choosing to love another, beyond gender or creed,
reveals humanity’s true face,
beyond gender, religion, or race.
circles …
circles, minus edges, unabrasive, free flowing,
unhindered, no points of departure, nor arrival,
none of the grime of memory.
circles, effortless, untainted by breaths,
rolling across the spaces that shall always be between us …
for women everywhere …
they said she was opinionated.
they castigated her for not following the norm.
they dismissed her for being “loud-mouthed”.
they spoke disparagingly of her for flouting cultural, religious, sectarian narrow-minded claptrap.
they damned her for unclipping her wings, as she soared free into the open skies.
she is you.
and may you always be you …
in love with hope …
she comes to me,
offering solace, gentle words whispered in my ear,
she placates me,
her words a tender caress, dispelling fear,
she seduces me, as sure as she breathes fire into my soul,
she teases me, offering glimpses of the promise of being whole,
she heals me, when i’m down, battered blue black,
she picks me up, shuffling my self as bones achingly crack.
in love with her, i know now, without her, i would not cope,
in love with her, i know now, she is abiding hope,
hope lives,
hope breathes,
always …
for Ché
(14 June 1928 – 9 October 1967)
The Wind Carries His Name.
They shot him down,
to silence a man of flesh and bone.
Even as the bullets tore through him,
the wind carried his name.
Far across the weary fields,
high above the stubborn peaks,
over the blood soaked streams,
the wind carried his name.
They shot him down,
to silence a man of flesh and bone.
Yet the wind carries his name,
to you and to me,
to them and to us.
They shot him down,
but his name resounds,
as it floats on the breeze.
They still try to shoot him down
to silence us all,
to stifle an ideal.
But the wind cannot be stilled,
and the wind carries his name.
Ché
(50th Anniversary of the assassination of Ché)
_________
my Chè tattoo – right arm
if i could …
if i could sip the nectar of your honey-soaked lips, etching poems on your burnished skin with my fingertips,
if i could embrace you, enveloping your body whole, whispering odes to love mined deep from my famished soul,
if i could share this desolate life turned true by your side, no longer fleeing, nor searching for places to hide,
if i could, if i only could.
i would …
freeversing the blues …
tears trickle down far too many a cheek,
while bigotry and hate like raw sewage reek,
down these cellophane faces in plastic towns,
while hope in the well of misery drowns.
the fractured spirits never seem to mend,
even when swallowing the latest trend,
gagging at the emptiness of last week’s buys,
desperately polishing facades while the barren heart cries.
we crawl as we trawl the roads for joy,
spitting yesterdays away like some overused toy,
fleeting moments never savoured whatever the ploy,
we become the enemies we seek to destroy.
why do we slam the doors shut on faces hungry and needy,
don’t we already have it all for us to be so callously greedy,
while we suck the blood and drink the tears of the ones we chase away,
condemning them to ghettoes in which they absolutely must stay.
when will we excise the demons on which apathy feeds,
will we ever kill off sweatshops serving our wants and not our needs,
will we ever stop putting guns in children’s hands,
will we perpetuate the lie of where the tomahawk missile really lands.
what grotesque metamorphosis have we been subjected to,
where we whistle down corridors oblivious, blinded to all that is true,
throttling the many for the benefit of the few,
all the while supping on heaving tables as if we don’t have a clue.
will we continue to feign ignorance of marital, partner, and child sexual abuse,
discarding each fractured soul as if they were stale news,
blindly turning our heads and thusly perpetuating male hetero-patriarchy,
keeping the blinkers on, while banishing the sordid truth we pretend not to see.
when will people of colour all around the world be seen, as human beings and not merely chattel,
as people, as a part of humanity, and not as some half-bred form of vassal,
to be used and discarded like stale garbage that needs to be trashed,
while on single malt whisky we gleefully get smashed …
… and when will all the world share in the bounties of this earth,
so that we may truly bring a more equitable, a more fair, a more just world to birth.
deciphering silence …
you and i,
shielded by silence,
barred from ourselves,
inured 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,
rest,
and lay your head,
upon my chest …
let us …
let us leave this place of jagged shards of glass, this place of crude spiked splinters.
let us leave this place of rotting words, this place of camouflaged jibes.
let us leave this place of race and of class, this place of us and of them, this place of prejudice and of tribes.
let us forge our own path ahead, choosing the simple purity of love instead.
let us walk on together till our hair turns white and till our skin wrinkles and pales,
we will have each other at least, if all in all, our great escape fails …
the bipolar conundrum …
something splintered
the fragmented mind,
deep within
flimsy neurons,
on
that day in may.
something splinters
flimsier dendrites,
each and every bloody day.
The rains over Jo’burg* …
The parched African earth soaks up the liquid offering from the heavens,
birds sing, ululate,
a chorus of catharsis flows through the barren land,
merging into a symphony of renewal.
The rains pour down,
transcending dry tinder of yesterday,
chasing insipid moments away,
drowning in a cacophony of jubilant life.
Life that rumbles,
streaming down desolate alleyways like meandering tears of joy,
drenching this mad,
wonderful, insane, bubbling city of gold*,
this Jozi*, our eGoli*,
thirsting for nectar from the skies above.
Moments of undistilled mirth,
herald the arrival of spring,
a triumphant rebirth,
jubilant,
ecstatic,
as the Gods of Africa, the spirits of the ancestors,
smile down upon us.
We of flesh and of blood, of muscle and of bone,
thawing our hearts from frozen winter cold as stone,
infusing hope,
as the fragrance of rain on dry soil sketches rainbows,
seeking respite behind heaving clouds of charcoal grey,
the rains banishing winter chills away,
while graciously welcoming spring to stay.
The rains over Jo’Burg cleanse leaves on trees,
rinsing the detritus that listlessly hung,
dry and scorched by the merciless winter sun.
But today,
there are songs to be sung.
Today I am with the heavens,
no longer a mishmash of fragments,
and as our city breathes,
purified by bounteous, rejuvenating rain,
I am whole, once again.
__________
* – the different names that refer to Johannesburg.
* – eGoli is an isiZulu name that means “City of Gold”.
My Bruce Springsteen Songbook …
Growin’ Up in Delhi town, far away,
from being Born in the USA,
your words rang true to me,
nothing more so than when you sang Cover Me,
as i ached for release from my urban Jungleland,
to the rock ‘n’ roll tunes of The E-Street Band.
you made me weep with your melancholic My Hometown,
as i related so deeply to I’m goin’ Down,
cos’ when you sang, you sang from the depths of your Hungry Heart,
all the way beyond the seas from Asbury Park.
your lyrics slicing deep, scraping away the veneer of cellophane,
stuck inside the prison of my Downbound Train.
i remember the first girl i met,
with Bobby Jean stuck in my lovestruck head,
and as we walked hand in hand through the city’s park,
all i wanted was to be, with her, Dancing in the Dark.
i believed that we were Born to Run, far away from that Brilliant Disguise,
far beyond the Darkness on the edge of Town,
escaping our fragile spaces, on our Rocky Ground.
when Little Steven sang Sun City, it gave me more of a Reason to Believe,
singing truth to power, raging against Apartheid’s vile hell,
for all who from racial discrimination had no reprieve.
and when you sang with Tracy Chapman, Peter Gabriel, and Sting, all of you on stage for the Amnesty international concert,
you carefully picked your principled fights,
as we all sang Bob Marley’s Get up, Stand up, stand for your rights.
as i grew up, on that forked Thunder Road,
you reminded me of The Ballad of Tom Joad,
you lyrics cut straight to the bone,
when you belted out your sarcastic classic We take care of our Own.
you made me cry some more on the Streets of Philadelphia,
while so many sweated it out in many a Darlington County,
and the wealthy smiled and grabbed at this earth’s common bounty.
oh how we joined you in the chorus, when you sang Woody’s angry This Land is your Land,
while you paid homage to the countless immigrants in your powerful and visceral American Land.
i imbibed your words, feeling them course threw my veins when i was bruised and tender,
because you spoke to me of holding on tight to hope, to the words of No Surrender.
We are Alive spoke of the many who died trying to reach The Promised Land,
to give it a shot, of Working on a Dream,
when crossing The River would impossible seem.
today, as so many are still sweating it out Working on the Highway,
you never fail to infuse hope,
the eternal hope,
of Waitin’ on a Sunny Day …
Dedicated to Clarence Anicholas Clemons Jr.
(January 11, 1942 – June 18, 2011)
the owl …
perched atop a tree stump,
it watches.
it sees.
seeing through ancient eyes,
it watches.
it sees.
shuffling its feathers,
it watches.
it sees.
its free skies stolen, its branches broken,
leaving just stumps to sit on,
having seen too much.
my loveliness waits,
through decades of lost haste,
through trials and grief,
peaceful days and dire straits,
my loveliness waits.
i wait …
through decades past,
for kisses meant to last,
i wait,
to hold my loveliness,
in these lonesome arms,
i wait,
transcending lust,
overcoming desire,
i wait,
to be burnt to ash,
in the furnace of her raging fire.
the subtle constant of mathematics …
rigorous proof.
simple. constant. real.
not this implausible charade, this illogical masquerade,
all our perambulations,
wasted wordy navigation,
our tottering,
our swaying,
our constant greed,
to believe,
clinging onto inexplicable human need,
the belief in fantasy:
fantasy as staple nutrition,
upon which our collective illusions,
continually feed.
on the cusp …
trawling turquoise seas,
cast adrift,
your eyes caressing fitful slumber,
whispering paens,
soothing the ache,
of this weary traveller,
parched,
thirsty,
alone,
cresting waves,
treading water,
hither and thither,
a tattered heart,
a wounded soul,
bathing my being,
nestling,
in cocooned dreams of your sugarcane lips,
seeing,
feeling,
tasting,
your breath,
soaked in visions of you,
the mirage,
a crescendo fanning flames of desire,
of love, lust, tremulous fingers,
brushing your hair away,
sipping kisses,
consumed by the furnace,
your body, mine,
entwined,
hungering for your tongue,
fiery,
insistent,
true,
soaring above vagabond skies of blue,
unshackled at last,
craving only you …
my bipolar scribble …
thoughts racing, taking on the whole world so cruel and wide,
‘I’m fine, I say, I just have to decide’,
do i stay in bed again, swirling down a maelstrom of gloom,
or commence the spring-cleaning of my already spotless room,
ah, decisions decisions,
far too many to divine,
‘I think I’ll scribble endlessly on,
because really, really, really,
I really am just fine’.
she smiled.
I told her that I love her.
she smiled.
I vowed to love her forevermore.
she smiled.
I said “let’s walk this earth together, not knowing where the paths lead”.
she smiled,
“let’s” …
minutes merge into tears, spilling from eyes dimmed by the years, lost in the blurred fog that never clears, screaming out silently so no one hears,
the tormented cries of a man lost and broken, shredding scribbled rhymes never to be spoken, amidst the charade, nothing but a mere token, baring his heart, nakedly open,
to wander these slippery streets alone, far from the promises set in stone, cut deep, the wound stinging down to the bone, yet still searching for the means to atone,
after all these years swirling down the drain, the rough taste insipid and plain, whistling a bygone dreary refrain, always first at the station, yet always the one to miss the last train,
setting off on a journey, seeking redemption for the lies, tearing at the shackles, twisting a lifelong of severed ties, to that place where sorrow eventually dies, away from the deafening deluge of hollow cries,
where peaceful waters gently flow, where the pace of breathing is soothingly slow, where lush green meadows grow, where anything is possible, where feelings are malleable as dough,
at last reaching that hallowed space, where misery evaporates without a trace, to finally feel a belonging, a bond to a place, to no longer be ashamed to wear this same old face,
to lose oneself beneath the brightest skies of blue, with you by my side, feeling my only wish coming true, tasting the freshness of the early morning dew, at peace, finally, in a haven built for me and for you …
Scribbled Verse 
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