Archive for September 27, 2021


the passion of my pen: you

art by banksy

the passion of my pen: you …

this pen dipped in ink, scribbles odes to you,

my fingers caressing your bare back, paints words of a love so true,

while in your eyes swirls the raging fire,

the passion of my pen scalds my being entire.

i may scribble a poem or two, my meagre words unable to convey,

the roaring furnace you have lit within me, this dervish who in a daze does sway,

sprinkling kisses on your honeydew lips,

feeling the desire raw and thirsting, from my soul to my fingertips.

your love has breathed life, awakening my slumbering heart,

to beat in tune with yours, scribbling oaths to never be, ever apart,

for a love so complete, so warm and so achingly deep,

was once only dreamed of, in waking moments of thought, and in the cauldron of my restless sleep.

these odes, these poems, are but scribbles on the parchment of shared time,

tucked away in the recesses of memory, finding solace in each paltry rhyme,

assailed by the nettles of days gone by,

emotions billowing like smoke into the bluest sky.

the passion of my pen is the mirrored reflection of your love,

the stroking of your hair, your head on my chest, the bounty we were blessed with, from the heavens above,

when days were humid and sultry, the nights torrid, bathed in the essence of need,

when all subtlety fled, as our hunger growled, wanting it all with an insatiable greed.

i recall those years of long ago, when we danced in tune with each heartbeat,

when our bodies lay entwined, the sweat dripping off flesh, as our minds and souls did effortlessly meet,

i can never forget those minutes that stretched into hours, in the Johannesburg thunderstorms, drenched in the cooling African rains,

your body my canvas, from the tips of your velveteen mountaintops, to the savanna of your rolling silken plains.

i recall every one of those minutes, i can hardly forget the warmth of your breath, as we sighed in unison, skin upon blazing skin,

and were i to never love again, were i to never savour that ecstasy, i will forever bask in the paradise of those memories, and i will constantly keep you, for you will always remain my heaven within.

art by banksy

the stream of life …

the meandering stream of our lives, hopping over smooth pebbles, jarred by jagged rocks, swirling down maelstroms, surfacing in placid waters, washing up all our carried detritus on tiny islands of hope, coursing through the rapids of fate, just as life races on, a perpetual journey wrestling the still waters where hope itself, seemingly lies in state.

our lives, the daily grind, the cacophony of the banal, remains afloat, seeking solace in between crevasses, welcoming the temporary respite from the incessantly onward flow, stripping our skin bare, raw wounds inflicted by the flotsam and jetsam of these travels, the travails of the many masks we wear, seeking respite in the promise of an endless sea, always just around the corner, where for once, we may moult our broken skin, and where for once, we may just be.

the rising and ebbing of the tides, leave us gasping for breath, a seemingly endless cycle of the distant beacon of joy, only to be blinded by the silt, as the stream rolls on obliviously, leaving us gasping for breath, a twig snapped in two, while destiny offers us the mirage of a peaceful shore, only to be struck by the truth, the tired realisation that the stream rolls on, evermore.

we are torn apart by the ceaseless wear and tear, the infinite tears lost in the deluge, our fleeting laughs, our vanishing smiles, being pounded against the silence of the shallows, with hope a seductive vision, prodding us to go on,

to not sink in the greying depths of despair,

while we continually fall for the falseness of the charade,

grasping for just another breath of life affirming air …

Picasso – Dove of Peace

Your Love

You have soothed the stinging nettles away,
your breath a balm,
your whispers soft as the oceans’ spray.

You have unmasked the spurious charade,
your hair a canopy,
your love so gentle as the delicate shade.

You have settled within my very core so deep,
your lips my chalice,
your kisses waking me from my fitful sleep.

You inhabit the largest part of my being entire,
your soul my wellspring,
your arms offer respite from the muck and the mire.

You inflame the passions I thought were all dead and speared,
your touch a furnace,
your presence a blazing dawn with all encroaching cobwebs cleared.

You transform each desolate night into a tapestry of light,
your eyes lift the veil of darkness,
your fierce desire envelopes me warm and tight.

You were my lifeline in the maelstrom in which I helplessly swirled,
your arms my anchors,
your incandescent sun the constant around which I whirled,

your truth a shield against all rocks hurled,

your trust an embracing shawl so effortlessly unfurled,

you,
my life,

you,
my exquisite world …

Picasso – Peace Dove
art by banksy

meagre rhymes of love …

This love that has cocooned us, enveloped us,

in the warmth of its comfort,

is a love so rare,
truly a love beyond compare.

The middling years of our lives,

when this world has us jaded,

our love melts away the despair,

banishing the pain, distant and faded.

The feelings I feel for you can never be scribbled on paper with ink,

the sentiments swim free under the placid stillness of the seas,

my heart beating in rhythm with yours,

in orchestral harmony,
our symphony soaring with inexpressible desire,

as I find myself forever drawn to the blazing heat of your inextinguishable fire.

Through desolate moments that morphed into years, tears streaming down the  deserts of lonesome cheeks,

we had given up on love, accepting that it may never glide on the wings of the breeze,

we felt ourselves sinking, thrashed around as we drowned in the maelstrom of emptiness,

crashing, slipping, weighed down into the  crevasses, as we trod on, mile after barren mile,

at times gutted as we plumbed the depths of our souls, facing the horror of forgetting the ability to smile a simple smile.

It was then that we met, as our years began to pall, the wrinkles pronounced, the grey hair starting to fall,

it was then, when we met, that we began to live a little each day,

no longer merely existing, ensconced in our catatonic state,

it was then, when we met, when the confluence of our lives were tugged together by fate,

it was then, when our footsteps were slowly merging, ever gently forming a shared road,

it was then, so dazzlingly bright, I saw in you my my shelter, my much sought after abode.

The years we have lived, so alone for most of our lives, have exacted their toll,

even as we did not seek to mutter oaths, to sign vows of undying love on a paper scroll,

for no parchent signed and tucked away in an attic somewhere, or framed for all to see can ever be so bold,

as is our unspoken love, where there is no bartering for love, no settling for less, no going through the daily grind,

for the years have sprinkled starstuff on us, the starstuff of deep abiding love, almost impossible to find.

I am now old and grey, my wrinkles deep, my gait bent,

and I treasure every moment with you I have spent.

‘Tis true that you now lie beneath the ground, but still your laughter I hear every day,

your smile, your fragrant hair, your soft body are alive within me,

no advancing years can ever take that away,

and as memories of you are a soothing balm, you live in my thoughts, you are my constant, you can never truly go away

as I remember our gentle tender kiss, on our beach of promise, under the palm that sashayed,

under our palm, that will perennially sway.







art by banksy
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