Archive for November 16, 2018


When we Kissed

Artwork from Google



When we Kissed …



​when you kissed me, our tongues waltzed in symphonic harmony,


teasing the crescendos as we sipped ambrosia in our tango of passion.



when we made love, our bodies fused, in singular unison,


the sweat mingled with the desire to soak in as much of the nectar of love.



when we walked, hand in hand, the powdery beach beneath our feet, 


we became one with nature, our love a testament to the unison of complete surrender.



when we spoke of times past, and tomorrows yet to dawn,


we felt the tug of kindred spirits, so elusive until now.



when we gazed into each others eyes, 


we felt ourselves drowning in a maelstrom of unquenchable togetherness.



when we kissed again, and again, as we do now,


we bask in the sunlight, of a love impossible to explain,



a love that weathered the seasons, the coming of autumn,


through life’s pain, and through the slicing barrage of fate’s icy rain …



Artwork from Google

Advertisements

Comrade Nelson Mandela meeting my mother after 27 years – Sweden 1990

Comrade Nelson Mandela’s letter of condolence to my father on the day my mother passed away


a bit about my family …


https://afzalmoolla.wordpress.com/2018/10/07/my-family-a-south-african-anti-apartheid-journey-through-the-seasons/



with Comrade Winnie Mandela, sharing with me stories of my mum and her – who often worked together in the 50s and 60s and were comrades



The Women …


(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter just a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid’s racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,


these savage men, who skin just happened to be lighter,

and White was right in South Africa back then.



You did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,


their ‘racial superiority’, their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.



You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps,

the desolation of separation
from your beloved children,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,


whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,


of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.



You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,


of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,


a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land, who fought, sacrificing it all by taking a moral and principled and valiant stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed, your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!


Viva the undying spirit of the women Viva!


(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)



Comrade Nelson Mandela and my father – sometime in the 1950s

Artwork from Google



Hand in Hand …



take my hand‘, she said, as we walked on splintered glass,


we are together, braced for all that may come to pass‘,


we walk hand in hand today too,


traversing this world, that is often cold and untrue …



Artwork from Google

%d bloggers like this: