Tag Archive: a poem about life


mushy-schmaltzy scribble …

strange are parallel lines,
destined never to meet,

two hearts, aflame,
aching,
beating,

seeking litte,
not wealth nor title,

seeking human tenderness,
a gentle comforting solace,

when sipping from her eyes’ chalice,

parallel lines,

we may be,
bound never to meet,

seeking only peace, gentle love, trust,

another soul with whom to share this lifes’ smiles, tears,

each days’ hopes,
some nights’ fears,

parallel line we are, yes,

though we may never meet,

you are a part of me,

breathing your beauty into every  breath I breathe,

yearning for you,

its always been only you,

in every heartbeat.

within me

you smashed everything apart,
your light shone so bright,
you lost me from the start,

yet, and still,

you breathe within me as i trudge through another day and as another night readies itself to depart,
your light shines so bright,
deep in the creased corridors of fate ( do i believe that )

for you have the largest part of my miniscule heart

A Finnish Karelian and a South African Refugee (1990)

this is not a scribble.

this is living memory.

in 1990, we were in exile in Finland, where my father represented the African National Congress (ANC) at the World Peace Council (WPC) in Helsinki.

it was a tumultuous time.

the Wall had come down.

Nelson Mandela was a free man and arrangements were being made for us, along with so many political exiles, to return to South Africa.

it was around that time that we were invited to a Finnish comrades home for a meal.

during the course of the evening I saw my mother hugging an elderly lady, who appeared to be sobbing, on my mom’s shoulder.

it was on the metro ride back to our apartment on an island just east of Helsinki that mom told us the following:

that old lady was a Karelian Finn, who after the 1940 Winter War (Talvisota in Finnish) found herself among so many who had to flee Karelia and became refugees in their own country.

the old lady broke down and recalled her days as a refugee in the merciless Finnish winter of 1940.

you see, my mom and that old lady who’s name i dont even know shared a bond that transcended race colour religion political social and ideological boundaries.

my mom and the fellow refugee shared a human connection of shared pain, displacement, and loss and hurt.
image

long may the humanity of ordinary people live on, often the poorest and most deprived and ostracised and banished who constantly cling onto the threads and fragile strands that make us human.

they remind us
they shame us

they jab us to open our eyes
they prod us to do more

and they tell us
what we know
but what we often forget …

that we, the people, shall always, always be many many more

image

____________

with many thanks to the Kallio family of Helsinki, Finland.

for Anja, Jussi, Antti, Matti, Miikko & Liisa Kallio

thank you for your warmth and generosity of spirit and for your friendship

____________

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evacuation_of_Finnish_Karelia

uBuntu

uBuntu …

every spent shell
ever silenced
emptied

lost to the tide

shares the desolation

of
each leaf

of
every tree

that ever fell …

talkin’ corneal-transplantation stitches blues …

in stitches,
tears stream down my cheek,

grains of sand sprinkle my eye,

( sigh )

a stitch in time,
may save nine,

but my lesson has been learned:

don’t get too big for my britches,

after all,

life has been kind,

even if it often leaves me in stitches …

Ludwig & Vincent #8

Vincent & Ludwig #8

Vincent stared at the early evening sky.

Ludwig looked at his friend.

“why do we feel so alone, dear Ludwig, just look at this canvas, it bathes us, blankets us, and is filled with flashes of light” said Vincent.

“flashes of light, soaring like an orchestral crescendo, a blanket shared with a friend, yes, and yet, my dear Vincent, i feel desolate”, whispered Ludwig.

“do you see the empty space between the flashes of light, my friend, that space is what your music colours”, Vincent said.

Ludwig looked up, smiling ” yes, the space your colours infuse with hope, with every stroke of your brush, hope for those caught in all the empty spaces”.

“hope for us all, in each of our very own, empty spaces, yes”, Vincent smiled at his friend.

“empty spaces, but infused with colours, music, and hope”, whispered Ludwig, his smile broadening.

“hope”.

“hope”.

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