An absolute honour and truly humbling that the National Poet Laureate of South Africa Comrade Mongane Wally Serote chose to write the Foreword to my book.
The following is the Foreword by the National Poet Laureate of. South Africa …
Foreword by Professor Mongane Wally Serote.
National Poet Laureate of South Africa.
Afzal Moolla-The Poet.
Afzal Moolla is a South African poet. He is a prolific poet. He grew up in a family, which, for the longest of time, was part and parcel of the liberation struggle in South Africa. That is to say, he grew up in a family of freedom fighters.
You can imagine what he had to listen to at an early age. He absorbed it all. His folks are elderly now.
“…These were the early 1970s, and this story was told to me by my parents, who themselves were recently arrived political exiles in India, having to leave South Africa, where my father, Moosa “Mosie” Moolla was arrested along with Nelson Mandela and 156 others in the infamous Treason Trial of 1956…”
He is young, living in a country which emerged from the depth of one of the most cruel political systems ever imagined by human beings. Nothing will allow Afzal to forget that, even as he may have been a toddler when that system was at its most vicious.
And now at his adult life, some among us, seek to destroy a dream of the people. We must scrutinize what this poet says about those who do that: who are they if face to face with OR, Madiba, Che, Fidel… that they can ony be traitors.
As we read what Afzal says, we will also be engulfed by a progressive and humane attitude of human life. Afzal is of Indian origin, a South African, whose young mind was shaped by a people who had to strife with everything possible to be human.
The combination of poetry and prose in Afzal’s rendition, walks one in very rough terraine, not sparing one. He calls all this, his work:
STRUGGLE EXILE LOVE
“…As we walked through the tombstones of the war soldiers from all parts of the world, my father explained how apartheid was a scourge like Fascism and Nazism. He explained how the world had joined forces to fight Mussolini and Hitler, and why we too had to fight against apartheid….”
Even when the worst of things are explored in this work, the optimism of the spirit from the poet, is still the basis to seek hope; to search for a way out of pessimism. A rare skill indeed. He can express anger, or despair, even cynicism, as also he seeks an anchor in the strength which resides in the hearts of human beings. And therefore Afzal, refuses to let go of the humaneness of human beings.
He then braves the challenge by referencing the reality of the beings of struggle as the names of the freedom fighters spread throughout the pages which carry the weight of his writing.
There is too much pain in Afzals work, but equally there is love, there is joy and as said there is hope. Afzal is a skilled artisan of things made of words that is, of things which become the writing on the wall: a history, a culture tempered in the freedom struggle.
“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.”
There is no letting go here. Life is pursued relentlessly, with the knowledge that life itself is a struggle for life and living; but also, knowing from having lived in struggle and among freedom fighters that there is no alternative to freedom. That want and that knowledge is insatiable; it is only satisfied by the reality of the manifestation of the spirit, meaning, everything which is liveable and defining being free.
(About Timol-a name we know because its reality teaches about the extremes of human cruelty, but also about utter commitment to that unbreakable particle of the human spirit which forever defines, and forever seeks freedom. )
“today their lies have been consigned to the dirt.
They tried to murder an ideal,
the revolutionary spirit that burned bright in your heart,
they tried to silence you, not knowing your memory shall never depart.
They tried to kill you,
but they will never silence you,
for you live,
through the expanse of our land,
mingling in the rivers,
standing high upon our shared revolutionary hill,
they tried to silence you,
yet the hunger for justice will never be still,
they tried to silence you, but the memory of your martyrdom never will.”
—————————————————–
March 21, 1960 – Sharpeville
They shot you in the back.
The oppressors lead tearing into muscled flesh. The flesh of Africa.
They massacred you in Sharpeville, in Soweto.
Today we remember you.
We salute you…”
There is an isiZulu saying which rings of finality in its utterance, expression and thirst for freedom: si dela nina e ni lele (we envy you who have fallen). It is a battle cry. It is an expression of love and hope. It is a yearning which is insatiable which knows and aligns with the purpose of life that living life is a definition of Freedom. When Afzal names the freedom fighters, and as a series ofthese names emerge and spread throughout his poetry, it conjures that feeling and that understanding.
That is what defines “Dr Martin Luther King Jr. (1929 – 1968)
You had a dream, of pastures of peace,
where children of all hues mingle like rainbows.
They silenced you, yet your dream
resounds louder still,
in pastures not yet of peace,
where children of all hues mingle like rainbows.”
———————————————
” 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.
And,
still they 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:
“Che” “
Afzal is here, with that ‘…they…” referring to the international oligarchy, that “ …small group of people,,,”, who with mighty force control everything at all cost, against billions of people, indeed against humanity, who now, as Afzal warns us are pushing all of humanity to the precipice of a final and last war, if there are no thousands upon thousands of “Che(s)” who must emerge to stop them.
The world, humanity is once more, as the saying goes, that “…history repeats itself…” faced by a great possibility of an international arms race. The oligarchy’s objective: to amass all the resources of the earth for the “…small group of people…” They are relentless.
Afzal’s work of poetry traverses human feelings fearlessly. He is the child of Freedom. He is the adult nurtured by a series of names of people who carried the blood that has been spilled, whether in the street, or in the veld, or in the houses, on the bed or finally ill of health and having to bid a frail life farewell-nevertheless, life which sought to express the will of millions who have been trampled upon by the international oligarchy, “…a small group of people…” who will stop at nothing to burn the world and is content, turning it into ashes.
Afzal keeps “…Searching…” because he was brought up and grew up in the struggle for freedom. He searches, seeking to find that particle, which no one can break because it resides in spirit-it knows peace, it knows being secure, it knows the meaning of freedom. It is profound in it being simple.
To OR: Afzal says:
“And then finally off to a new dwelling in a faraway alien land,
reeking and drenched in a foreignness so blatantly bland,
never fitting in, though always dreading being shut out,
singing paeans to hope scribbled in the sand.
You left your country, your home, your very own place of being,
you fled, into exile, far away from blinded eyes so unseeing,
and you held to a principle within, and you stood resolute,
till the shadows felt themselves in shame fleeing,
We salute you! And all like you, and the so many countless more,
into whose flesh the tyrant’s sword so cruelly tore,
We salute you!
You who fought at home and you who left to fight,”
To his mother, who is an experience and voice of many women in South Africa, on Our Continent, and of the world; Victims of the powerful “…small group of people…” in the world, who tear it apart.
” For our Mother, Zubeida Moolla (1934 – 2008)
She left us,
with the thoughts of her embrace to warm us,
in frigid mornings of tomorrows yet to come.
She left us,
with words of tender truths to shroud us,
in the coming evenings of slicing sleet.
She left us,
yet she stays within us,
in our waking dreams, our restful thoughts.
She stays within us,
and of us she shall remain an abiding part,
of the love,
the pain,
the tears,
and for that, we shall never be truly apart.”
And of course Afzal the poet now:
———————————
As Evening Settles
As evening settles
may tender angels
ease the knots of tiresome day
and
may warmth embrace you
caressing your aches away
so, sleep softly
and
let the morrow bring
what the morrow may.
———————————————-
Overcast Skies
Overcast skies
when days seem bleak
and our shared sky is overcast
may you always be wrapped in warmth
enveloped in tender colours
for however dark the nights and days may seem
there is always hope
beyond the pain and the sorrow and the lies
there is always hope
there will always be a tomorrow
when a new dawn
a fresh sun
must
like us
rise.
Sometimes 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.
———————————————
For Wendy Cope
I may not have brought you flowers.
I know I was always late.
You tolerated my moodiness,
and my ever-increasing weight.
You said men were like buses,
and you had grown weary of waiting,
Of putting up with my quirks and my fusses,
though we barely knew we were dating.
Ah, but we weathered the squalls;
Your patience has always been saintly.
And now that old age palls,
our tiffs are recalled only faintly.
We laugh at youth’s follies and know,
the beauty we had sought unaware;
It’s as wide as a calm river’s flow,
and as timeless as our years of care.
——————————————
A Wish for You
May your smile never fade,
may you always be as you are now,
warm and kind,
true and filled with the generosity of spirit that defines you,
may your dreams soar into the boundless open skies,
and may the benevolent fingertips of time and of fate,
brush away any tears that should fall from your gentlest eyes.
May you forever stand tall,
may your head always be held high,
with stoic dignity.
May your past experiences be the stepping-stones that mark your path ahead,
may your heart be your guide,
your blazing beacon of wildly enthusiastic hope,
may your wishes be simple,
and may they come to be,
filling your life and your moments,
with joyous bliss,
where you truly feel free.
Free of the weight of yesterday,
free of gnawing doubt,
and may your being be infused,
with the softest serendipity,
so that you may spread your arms,
and to the heavens shout,
I am free,
I am me,
at long last,
I am standing tall,
never again to bow,
or to fall on bended knee.
This is a wish both simple yet elusive,
a wish that only you can make true,
by simply being,
the kind,
warm,
gentle person,
that is you.
———————————-
In Your Eyes
As another day recedes,
enveloped under the shawl of night,
allow me to drown,
in your eyes.
Moments fleeting,
fickle hands of time unseeing,
allow me to seek solace,
in your eyes.
The trodden path littered with each shard,
regrets this heart wishes to discard,
so, allow me to seek refuge,
in your eyes.
I have walked through twisting boulevards of life,
seeking simple joy, away from desolation, strife,
so, allow me to find peace,
in your eyes.
In your eyes,
I find,
the gentleness left behind,
away from superficial smiles,
away from fatigue of the walked mile.
In your eyes,
I feel,
at home at long last,
your love caressing away the restlessness of the past,
stepping out of the shadows to embrace pure contentment,
though a bit player,
in your life’s theatrical cast.
In your eyes,
I touch,
the flame of promise radiating through your loving light,
that is why,
I no longer dread,
the vacuum of encroaching night.
—————————————–
What all of these words say, which Afzal has crafted, which we dare not forget, is that we as South Africans, as Africans come from a poetic place, as do all of humanity who come from a “…Paean…” a ululation and praise of the relentless freedom fighters.
Professor Mongane Wally Serote.
National Poet Laureate of South Africa
Scribbled Verse 
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