a sunday wish for you …
may your day be as gentle
as your soft smile, warm as your heart,
may your afternoon be caressed by kisses of sunshine,
may evening wrap you in a cocooned eiderdown,
may your night be peacefully restful,
warm and dreamy,
simple, and true,
as you.
Artwork from Google
scribble sans punctuation
just as morning sashays and twirls
dust clouds of trepidation swirls
another day infused with light
hushing the whispers of covetous night
where hopes are paraded like wares
and dreams traded as blue chiselled shares
when all of this and all that jazz
raises the din to an unbearable razmatazz
humaneness getting lost amidst the incessant din
wearing each others patience thin
till night swoons back into view
thankful that todays tears were but a few
and so it goes on and on and ever on
far too many battles fought for the war to ever be won
till it all comes down to this hollow grand charade
trumpeting the crudeness of the passing parade
till leaden hearts fall faitigued to the ground
rotting as the vultures circle around
waiting for the flesh to rapidly decay
chewing and spitting out souls decapitated along the way
is this the living of life blabbered about in verse and in song
when each being survives the tribulations of the wrong
even as we sputter on in the gutters
gulping every breath in doleful stutters
lambasting him and her and them all as convenient nutters
panting as down go the fragile shutters
wistfully trampling on hearts of glass that shatter
but who cares in any case what really is the matter
expecting no peace as howling winds screech and batter
each fragile heart grinning insolently
like the maddest hatter
yes this is life they say
this is life
devoid of mirth yet mired in aching strife
Artwork from Google
Artwork from Google
blah blah blah …
what is this life i live, once simmering with promise, now relegated to pigeonholes of so many lives led.
what becomes of this multitude of lives, where gentle peace and brutal strife smash against the ramparts of my soul.
the erosion of hope, year by year, the fear of the corrosion of love, of giving it all, only to be discarded in the rubbish bins of glitzy shopping malls, where emotions are traded, where trust is a commodity, where truth has long past its sell-by date, where love is bartered for the flim-flam of possessions, where feelings are numbed, printed dead on a budget t-shirt, where lost souls wander the emptiness, and broken hearts litter the polished marble floors.
is this the life you thought you would lead, filled with promise and love and 2 and a half kids and apple pie and picket fences, is this the vault you now feel ensnared in, for the dream once dreamed sours fast, quicker than the vows taken that were meant to last.
where do i retreat to, to regain some of my youthful promise, to see the moonlight dancing on your eyebrows, when love was simple, when we were free of the straightjacket of suits, when clasped hands and butterfly kisses meant more than all the world, when through the pain we held onto each other, as the days and months unfurled.
don’t you feel trapped at times, pouring your heart out on insipid rhymes, walking alone in this crowd, feeling it all to be a vacuum of the banal, day in and day out, shrieking your lungs out, muted, as from cubicle to cubicle you wander about.
these words may make some sense to me, for i have long forgotten to see, the wonder of a spring rain shower, when i now i trample, obliviously, the delicate blossoming flower.
what has become of me, of us, as we stutter in the haze of apathy, brokering our humanity for a pittance, cloaking ourselves in what we deem as armour, meant to protect who knows what from what knows what, gradually chipping away at our very core, where once thrived dreams of something better, something more, more than this dreary parade, far much more than this charade, where we have forgotten who we really are,
when everything seems a cacophony of meaningless blah blah blah
Artwork from Google
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 …
Artwork from Google
talkin’ walkin’ with a friend unblues …
we shall walk this earth, along the rolling African plains, we shall dance with glee, in the cool gentle rains,
we shall wade through the wetlands, we shall sing in the streams, we shall live life as it should be lived, as we have lived it in our shared dreams,
we shall travel to far flung places filled with flavours spicy, and to ancient cities filled with wonder, we shall wear out our walking shoes, as through the miles we continue to wander,
we shall walk side by side, our journey taking us to places and to people unknown, we shall break bread with all, singing songs of different cultures, woefully out of rhythm and tone,
we shall walk hand in hand, two friends roaming so many a diverse land, feeling the powdery talcum sand under our feet, on so many a distant island,
we shall talk as we walk, of hopes and of fears, of broken souls whole again, of eyes no longer moist with tears,
we shall soak in the warmth of human contact, of languages seas apart, we shall learn to speak many tongues, bidding adieu to friends made along the way, for the memories within us will always stay,
so let us walk along these paths ahead, leaving it all behind, our tortured past to finally be shed, making the soft grasses our nightly bed,
sharing with all peoples of all races, all religions, all man-made divisions,
that the colour of the blood that pumps through all our veins,
is red …
Artwork from Google
Artwork from Google
afternoon melodies,
rustle leaves,
swaying to the lilting song,
of a solitary bird
singing
a hopeful refrain,
in the icy sleet,
under the blazing sun,
lashed by
summer rain …
Artwork from Google
December 16th: South African Day of Reconciliation
Freedom!
The shackles have been cast off.
Chains broken.
People once squashed,
under the jackboot of Apartheid,
are free.
Free at last!
Freedom came on the 27th day in that April, 1994.
Freedom from prejudice.
From institutionalised racism.
From being relegated to second-class citizens.
Freedom came and we danced.
We cried.
We ululated as we elected our revered Mandela.
President Nelson Mandela.
Our very own beloved ‘Madiba’.
Black and white and brown and those in-between,
All hues of this rainbow nation,
rejoiced as we breathed in the air of freedom and democracy.
Today we pause.
We remember.
We salute.
The brave ones whose sacrifices made this day possible,
on that 27th day of April,
23 years ago.
Today we dance.
We sing.
We ululate.
We cry.
Tears of joy and tears of loss.
Of remembrance and of forgiveness.
Of reconciliation and of memories.
Today we pause.
We acknowledge the tasks ahead.
The hungry.
The naked.
The destitute.
Today we reaffirm,
that promise of freedom.
From want.
From racism that thrives still.
From hunger.
From eyes without promise.
Today we also wish to reflect on unfulfilled promises.
On the proliferation of greed.
On the blurring of the ideals of freedom.
Today we say
We will take back the dream.
We will renew the promise.
We will not turn away.
Today we pledge:
To stand firm.
To keep the pressure turned on.
To remind those in the corridors of power,
that we the people need to savor the fruits of the tree of freedom.
And till that time,
when all shall share in the bounty of democracy,
We shall remain vigilant,
and strong.
And we shall continue,
to struggle.
And to sing out loud:
“We shall overcome!”
.
.
.
.
Artwork from Google
bidding another year adieu … …
and when i see,
breathe her, her softness a whisper away,
she knows the ache, i fear,
of wanting,
needing perhaps,
the feeling of feeling dear,
not much,
soothing warmth,
enveloped,
our warmth, a light autumn shawl,
her fingers, mine,
tracing sketches, scribbles,
our waltzing fingers entwined,
shedding this year that wasn’t, or hardly was at all,
like so, so many yesteryears,
now long passed,
quietly, threading catacombs crumbling into dust,
gently, reverently,
laying it down, leaving it all far, far behind,
a few shared moments,
of gentleness, warmth, solace,
of pure, innocent, delicious, alluring promise of bliss,
so rare,
priceless, almost,
almost,
too rare to find … …
Artwork from Google
Artwork from Google
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 groteque 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…
Artwork from Google
Scribbled Verse 
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