Tag Archive: #ALS





My poem dedicated to the memory of Ahmed Timol’s, who was severely tortured and murdered by Apartheid’s Security Branch, recited by Luthuli Dlamini in the documentary “Someone to Blame” by Enver Samuels and aired on SABC 3 on Sunday 14th October 2018





Ahmed Timol – A martyr to the cause of Freedom …



(dedicated to the undying spirit of Ahmed Timol, brutally tortured and murdered by the Apartheid regime, and to the countless others who made the ultimate sacrifice in the struggle for liberation)





They tortured you, as you waged your struggle in the just battle, 


they murdered you, as you made the grotesque walls of Apartheid rattle.




Your indomitable will, your unshakeable principles, your unbreakable spirit,


soars high today in our collective African skies,


your ultimate sacrifice for freedom, inspires generations, as you  silenced their cowardly lies.




Today justice has prevailed, after decades of insufferable pain, years of deeply gnawing hurt,


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.








https://www.tvsa.co.za/actors/viewactor.aspx?actorid=3725

http://www.youtube.com/sabc3


http://www.ahmedtimol.co.za


https://khulumani.net/truth-memory/item/1350-someone-to-blame-the-ahmed-timol-inquest-an-enver-michael-samuel-film.html



Advertisements

Mushy Rhyme





mushy rhyme …




your love reaches high above, as into the heavens it transcends, lending me a hand to climb out of the abyss where my being often descends,


your love is a warmth that in my void inspires, coaxing me gently in those desolate moments when hopelessness transpires,


your love is a lighthouse that through the mist of life shines bright, a constant in the fog of my blindness, always a beacon of hopeful light,


your love dispels the vacuum of every encroaching night, as it wraps me in your cocoon, a shawl warm and tight,


your love sprinkles flourishes of gentle joy, in the numberless times of skewering pain,


tending to my wounded spirit, a calm balm massaging the hurt out from the cold slicing rain,


your love is a breath that reaches inside me, instilling my world with renewed hope,


as the endless hours of reality jab and sting, guiding me through the seasons in which I fear I cannot cope,


your all-encompassing love holds me so very close, as I stagger under the burdens of excruciating, back-breaking weight,


it is your love that finally relieves me, by unburdening the detritus of cruel fate,


your love permeates all around, as I breathe your gentleness through every pore,


filling me with a once unknown bliss, a special tenderness that I have never felt before,


your love sweeps away the agony of losing my sight, my failing eyes driving me to anger, bordering on the insane,


it is your love that leads me to see that in the desert of blindness, there still falls the healing rain that is a balm to my pain,


your love warms me with your whispers of a truthful ethereal peace,


murmuring words of solace that this ache shall also cease,


your love reaches down into the pit of my gloom, extending your ever-comforting hand,


as you lift me up, from the bowels of despair, so that on my feet I may again  stand,


your love rests deep, in the recesses of my injured soul, 


gathering the shattered pieces, making them once again, whole,


your love sates the furnace, this blazing cauldron of passion in which I burn,


filling my restless nights with dreams I once chose to spurn,


your love is a torch, a shining light that leads me back to our shared pathway,


far from the thorns that on the boulevards of diamonds casually lay,


your love is a precious gift, far too special, a truth I shall always endeavour to cherish,


always and forever,


a treasure that stays within me,


an intrinsic part of my life,


without which I shall no doubt perish …


























schmaltzy mushy “it has got to rhyme” rhyme … 😊





Holding hands, we traversed the chasms of life,


hand in hand, through bleak times and strife,


holding each other in rain and in sunshine,


never letting go of your hand in mine.




We scour the earth for a peaceful place,


where bigotry does not bare its grotesque face,


and after all the years spent seeking,


we have found every nook and cranny where racism lies reeking.




All our desires, all of our dreams,


lie trapped in a gilded cage it seems,


still we search these lands for respite,


beyond the hate, despite the spite. 




How long will we have to walk these pathways,


seeking simple gentleness along life’s alleyways.




We find only intolerance and it’s poisoned dart,


and it seems that tolerance did long ago depart,


but we cannot be ever apart,


as we traverse these bumpy roads in our ricketty cart,


always,


always sharing the simple love of two souls merging as one whole part,


these are the truths we embrace forever more, in the deepest depths of each others heart …





Peace Dove art by Picasso




rhyming love and anti-bigotry scribble …



We lie on a bed, stung by many an intolerant thorn,

our love dismissed with bigoted scorn,

rattling the foundations of every societal norm.





We scaled the hateful walls of divisiveness,

we banished the boundaries of race,

of gender,
class,
tribalism,
ageism,

of religion and of creed,

we have walked hand in hand, upright and never cowering,

refusing to feed the beast of sectarianism,

of communalism.





We have refused to feed the weeds of hate,

we have ripped out the roots of fear that keep human beings apart,

we may be only two, our love hardly piercing the putrid flesh of discrimination,

or the smiling facade of accepted segregation.





We know our union is strong,

standing firm, however harsh the storms that batter us,

we have cast off the shackles that bind,

for true love like this, is truly far too rare to find.





Our path ahead may be beset with the bile of holier-than-thou judgment,

with the jabs of barbed words callously spoken,

yet our bond, our tethered connection is firm,

we shall not let hate shatter us, our love shall remain unbroken.





We tighten every strand, to keep our love buffered from the choppy oceans of racist fungal minds, who spew misogyny, blinded by their twisted notions,

while we grow ever closer, sharing the years of our love’s emotions.





So we walk tall, hand in hand, always standing firm,

finding solace in the overwhelming humaneness of the vast majority of our shared human race,

taking heart of the tide that must change,

as bigotry gets swept away,

allowing us all to share a common,

dignified,

free,

prejudice and racist-free world,

as we inch by inch, keep on the fight, to raise the flag of hope,

so we may all bask in its comforting shade,

as it is, at long last,

unfurled …







the beauty in you …




My eyes have travelled across oceans, beyond valleys and peaks, across the vast savannah and swirling in murmuring streams,


my eyes have travelled far and wide in many kaleidoscopic dreams,


my eyes have travelled here and there, and through places in between, yet your beauty remains a constant, skipping off the most radiant sunbeams.




I have felt the touch, the wild deluge of the monsoons, drenching me in its cleansing rain,


I have felt the touch, of moonlight cocooning me, a soothing veneer, that has kept me sane,


I have felt the touch, of your body, your lips, your being a healing presence, your unspoken words a melodic refrain.




You come to me in moments alone, when this world seems empty, a chalice brimming with tears,


you come to me in moments dark, your delicate whispers banishing away all my dreadful fears,


you come to me in moments of splintered thoughts, your wondrous self offering shade from the scorching sun that sears.




The beauty in you lends a lifeline to me, dispelling my mute vacuum, raising me from life’s empty hole,


the beauty in you douses the flames of my self-immolating fire, breathing life into me to once more be whole,


the beauty in you is a sublime truth, a truth of love and of belonging, a truth that has firmly taken root, in my once barren soul.



art by banksy





lost echoes of our love …




In the garbage heap of torn dreams,


long doused embers now cold and dead,


lie festering wounds, choked by dread.




Lost echoes,


whip up raw wounds, tearing at the scabs excruciatingly slow,


flayed by dimmed memories of long ago,


twisted, mangled emotions in our garden where flowers no longer grow.




Lost echoes,


creeping along life’s blade,


skewered sunlight condemned to the bleakness of the shade,


leaving a cowering form, torn apart, and afraid.




Lost echoes,


brewed in a chalice of once sprinkled kisses,


simmering on the furnace of burnt out wishes,


separated by deep crevasses, slipping into today’s yawning fissures.




Lost echoes,


now mere incomprehensible trashed thought,


charred, stuttering, a love reduced to absolute nought,


in life’s bazaar, where love is not love, but a commodity to be haggled over and bought.




Lost echoes,


dimming, dragged down bleak alleyways of curdled hate,


blinded by destiny, all hope lost to the tick-tocking clock of fate,


knowing now that it is all much too late.




Lost echoes,


unfeeling, just numb streaming tears,


burdened by the hopeless detritus, of far away splintered fears,


our shells, this life we carry, into the crowd as engulfing flames sears,


while we stumble,

while we fall through the cracks, as agony chuckles and leers,


at the hopelessness of all these days and months of the passing years …




art by banksy




just talking life  …




walking through the thicket, nettles stinging our hearts,



ever on the lookout for pathways of promise, yet forever treading the beaten track.



the hands of fickle time, jabbing these bodies, our shells to continue on ahead,



passing myriad alleyways of beckoning promise, a different course to chart alone,



though thorns dig deep, we persist, blindly trudging this dreary old way,



study hard, work harder, get married, have kids, buy a house, pay off the mortgage, babysit the grandchildren, develop illnesses, totter unsteadily on walkers, lay bound to our beds,



the well-travelled alleyways so many stumble through – over and over, and over again,



staying on the narrows, not going against the grain, banishing the murmurs, that whisper in our ears, to take a chance, to veer off the road, to stray down a more twisting thicket,



into an unknown realm, of dangers that may litter this course, of the light of hope that may shine in the dark,



oblivious of dragons that may lie in wait, hugging the shawls of comfort zones, soon to tattered by time and fate, to be left in the open, to brace the elements,



the same howling winds of that other well-trodden way, stung by similar twists and tragedies, tripping and falling, finding love perhaps, another one who has chosen to swim the streams alone,



we may lose our footing, sliding down slippery slopes,



but with a raging fire of hope, burning deep inside, knowing this has been our unique journey, far from the well-worn shoes of that other life,



stepping ever onwards one tiny inch at a time,



beholding beauty not even known,



tasting the sweet nectar of something new,



swimming the seas of uncharted waters,



thrashed by deafening winds,



tossed around by slashing waves,



till in the distance, we spot land,



and as the tides wash us ashore, we drift into fatigued sleep,



awakening to the soft chirping of the birds,



surrounded by swaying palm trees,



the hues of nature so vivid, the feelings in our soul so true,



as we feel talcum sands beneath our feet,



hearing the familiar music of life,



the sounds of the living surrounding us,



as we find this new abode teeming with life,



a world of peace we have at last found,



as we disappear into the sunset of a new day,



with the countless others,



who also chose this other way …






the girl with the book

from google





The girl with the Book …





We stood beside each other, in the icy sleet and the piercing rain, 


she held a book in her hand, Nelson Mandela’s “Long walk to Freedom“.




She asked me if I had read it, and I betrayed my ignorance,


“I don’t like politics, its too dirty” I said,


“Everything is political”, she replied as I felt myself being read,


by her eyes chiseling into mine, until I shook my head.




“What comes of politics, when it is all a corrosive pond of muck?”, I asked,


she nodded, “we would not be standing at this bus-stop, were if not for people like him”, and she looked away,


“but his was a struggle for freedom from the tyranny of Apartheid, nothing close to the politics of greed we witness each day”, I said with a self-assurance so plain,


“his comrades and him struggled against Apartheid, yes”,


“but his political creed was the bedrock upon which all his ideals lay”,


“and that was the politics of revolution, and of pursuing a political end”, she smiled at me,


“and was it not his selling out that lead directly to this, our country’s mess?”, I pushed back,


“and you say you’re not interested in politics yet have such stinging political views”, she looked me straight in the eye,


“he sold out so that you and I may share this bus stop together, he sold out so that you and I may walk these streets as citizens, he sold out so that you may vote, he sold out so that your door is not knocked down at 3AM because you hold these views”,


“he sold out so that you and I and all the different races in this country can ride this bus that we are waiting for”.




As we got onto our different school buses she waved goodbye.


in the sleet and pouring rain,


I smiled and waved back, never to see her again.




The girl with the book.


The girl with Nelson Mandela’s “Long walk to Freedom” in her hand,


and I knew then that there is, and that there will always be hope,


even as today looked and felt impossibly bleak,


there will always be hope,


for a better tomorrow, less cruel and more just,


as long as we carry in our eyes and hold in our hearts,


that passionate,

unbowed,

principled, 


steely streak …







during Apartheid South Africa



she who is free …



I would have called out to her, across the the green fields she walked,

her silhouette fading in the distance.




I would have called out to her,

she who walked her own path now,

free from all the weight that caged her will.




I would have called out to her,

yet I remained still. 




what she said

she said that she had seen them all.


the promise-makers, the vow and oath-takers, the silken tongued smooth talkers, the quiet intense brooders.


she asked me if I could love her. truly love her.


I said that I would spend our lives trying.


it’s enough‘, she said.



L O V E

art by banksy




seeing you …



seeing you,

wraps my day in blanketed warmth,


seeing you,

feeds a hunger buried deep,


seeing you,

radiant in my dreams,


so close, so far,


scorches me, that burning furnace, an unquenchable desire,


the endless supernova of your ravenous fire …




art from google






a baobab tree – art from google




Passion …





undulating, lengthy, scorching kisses,

peppered with sensuous caresses,

with you, i am one,

a bouquet of feelings, infusing every pore,

our bodies in unison, fused at our passionate core.





scribbling verses on on your fiery skin,

dedicating odes to you, my love,

melting into a poem of desire,

burnished against our writhing bodies,

inflamed, on fire.



.

these nights of hungering need,

these days aching to upon each other ravishingly feed,

swept up by our orchestral crescendo,

the symphonies coursing through our veins with greed.




no scribbled verses may even begin, to convey the heat of our shared cauldron,

we become one, we are one, when the stars in the sultry nights disappear,

our sweat trickling off our flesh,

the sparkle in your eyes so crystalline, so clear.




though the years have vanished and slipped into cupboards to sleep,

though the wrinkles have imperceptibly on our brows begun to creep,


we have yet many moons to savour,

bathed in moonlight of our hearts beating as one,

within each other so immeasurably deep …


art from google


“Irises” by Vincent van Gogh



an unashamedly mushy lovey-dovey scribble …




I want you in my arms tonight, I crave your touch ever gentle, ever so feathery light,


I want you to kiss me hungrily beneath our African night, I want to sip the nectar glistening on your lips so bright,


I want all of you and more, I want to pick up seashells with you on our talcum shore,


I want you to clasp my hand, your fingers intertwined with mine, I want to be dazzled by the love we share, a flame that continues to brightly shine,


I want to escape this daily grind with you by my side, deep into the recesses of our souls, where there no longer is the need to scurry and to hide,


I want us to make love, our bodies and minds and hearts becoming one, I want to feel the heat between us like the blazing sun,


I want to promise you love forever more, a vow, an oath, kept safe deep within our core,


I want to grow old with you, my love, my light,


I want to savour every moment shared together,


forever and ever, with the knots of love binding us tight …



“Wheatfield with Crows” by Vincent van Gogh

.                 .             .               .

from google



Drowning in her Eyes …



Drowning in her eyes,

eyes chastising me for looking away,

till my gaze got caught, in her eyes’ captivating sway.



“I fear I would drown in your eyes”, I said in a whisper,


“drown”, she murmured.





from google

from google




The Shame of All Man …






There is a shame that must be felt, by all Man the whole world around,


a collective, gnawing, nauseating shame,


for Man’s actions over the millennia,


Man must face the unsavoury truths and share the repellent blame.




There is a complicity of silence, a screaming silence, the mute hushed cowardice,


of billions of tongues sewn shut,


a shrieking deafness, of Man refusing to hear,


the disgust of the predatory stares, the abhorrent cat-calls, the sick eyes that linger and leer.




There is a common affliction, an accepted conceit, the obscene display of Male Power,


the barbed words lashing out, the sewage slipping and dripping,


the fists, the palms, the kicks, the slaps, the “you are nothing without me” drivel,


all the while expecting the women to stay silent, to patch their bruised faces, and in corners to curl up and shrivel.




We are in the 21st century, with human beings walking the moon, of hybrid cars, of vulgar jewellery of diamonds and gold,


of bazaars where women are bought and sold,


of places in technologically advanced cities that glitter at night,


where young girls are shredded, their innocence torn out, all within plain sight.




There is the new Man, who barters and buys women on e-commerce stores on the world wide web,


the new slavery with airplanes the new slave ships,


the places women cannot vote and young girls cannot attend school, under the convenient guise of religion, of tradition, of culture,


while Man holds sway, infecting each generation, circling each struggle for equality and emancipation like a diseased vulture.




These are just some of the abominable truths we stand by and watch, as part of the passing parade,


while mouthing platitudes to “women’s rights” as on goes the self-deluded charade.




I am Man,


the one among multitudes who must share the collective shame,


the one among billions whose back must be crushed by the collective blame,


the guilty unprincipled, vile, apathetic, uncaring, unthinking disease,


the one who must tear open my eyes in order to acknowledge that Man sees.




I am Man,


and no matter what I think,

no matter what I believe,


it is from deep within my putrid soul,


that this cancerous sickness I must begin to cleave.









an anti-Apartheid poster and slogan during the struggle against Apartheid

from google






talkin’ 21st century walkin’ blues …



( inspired by Woody Guthrie, Hugh Ramapolo Masekela, The Amandla ‘ANC Freedom’ Choir, Huddie ‘Leadbelly’ Ledbetter, Pete Seeger, uMama Miriam Makeba, Vusi Mahlasela, Youssou N’Dour, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Christy Moore, and far too many more to mention )






walkin’ down these jo’burg streets, where glimmering chariots and hunger meets,


talkin’ about these jo’burg boulevards, where few sip whisky while the many are pierced by jagged shards,


yes, just walkin’ down these suburban roads, where high fences shield the 1%,


while the generous ones roll down their windows to fling out a 20 or so cent,


they said that ‘capitalism with a conscience’ would lead to more equality,


now we know that those words were empty and meaninglessly shitty,


there is no ‘capitalism with a conscience’ to be found,


the system itself is designed to keep the have-nots manacled and bound.




doesn’t all this sound like familiar talk, wherever in the world you live and walk,


doesn’t this happen in your city too, no matter what the stock exchange wants us to believe is true,


as you go walkin’ in your countries and cities the world around, doesn’t all this talk of the economy seem like hollow mishmash sound,


doesn’t the shimmering of gold and diamonds, of fillet mignon and blue label neat, sicken you as you emerge from your cocoons onto the raw festering street,


yes, it’s the same the whole wide world over, the grip of need that binds like a twisted  choker, while millions are wagered in casinos around the whole world on games of poker,


so yes we’re talkin’ 21st century blues, where crocodile skin footwear meet torn shoes.




johannesburg,

detroit,

lagos,

gaza,

delhi,

london,

freetown,

beijing,


soweto,

harlem,

the favelas,

the “squatter camps”,

the “inner cities”,


all these festering sores on all of our consciences, are just blabbered on about in countless conferences,


where the rich and powerful and the greedy, give not a hoot about the starving needy,


where men in suits sip wine and on fresh salmon dine, as the conveniently invisible ones magically appear for a quick shoeshine.




i’m talkin’ these blues not because i’m wise, or humane, or have something so different to say, no i talk these words because i know there is a better way,


a better path where hope lights the lamp of equality, where protest and songs and the fight continues for true liberty.




i’m walkin’ and talkin’ these 21st century blues, knowing injustice is unsustainable, where the 1% will and must pay their pitliless dues,


it is our common internationalism to fight and pull out the dagger of inequality, so all may share the bounties of this earth, with no need for flinging money at the odd charity,


it is a hope we must all carry deep inside us all, and yes they will call us impotent and naive, but these are the common principles and values in which we have no choice but to believe,


as we go walkin’ and talkin’ these 21st century blues, fighting the good and the right and the just fight, even as they call us naive, against the stilettos of greed that into humanity do cleave,


so that the dignity, the respect, the gender-rights, the stab of hunger, the being homeless in the sleet and the rain, is not taken for granted as the normality of this life, where bombs and hunger are no longer taken for granted as “theirs” and not “our” strife,


but where uBuntu* is practised from the cradle to the grave,


for that is the only way we can our beautiful planet, our sisters and brothers, our mothers and daughters and the women so very brave,


fight on, resisting the grotesque truths of our world and our realities from callous greed shake off these suffocating chains, the hideous materialism that we crave,




that are designed to perpetuate the tyranny of the master and of the slave …







* – uBuntu is a Southern African isiXhosa/isiZulu concept that espouses the “belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity”









from google

image

from google

.

.

.

.

For Ernesto ‘Ché’ Guevara de la Serna

(14 June 1928 – 9 October 1967)

.

.

.

.


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.

.

.

.


They still 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” …
.

.

.

image

from google

double-helixed uBuntu*

from google






double-helixed uBuntu*




these interwoven veins


dna

double-helixed


microscopically

binding


me

you


us

all


through

this common

shared

truth:


‘I am because you are’*


all of us

together

as one


me

you,


uBuntu*




  


*uBuntu is an isiXhosa/isiZulu concept that espouses the “belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity”



from the Nelson Mandela Foundation

The Truest Beauty

from google



the truest beauty …





On that rainy windswept night, when we took shelter under a leaking bus stop,


shivering as invisibles, scratched out of this world’s pitiless sight.



We spoke at length, as the buses passed us by,


we bared our souls to each other, as strangers often do,


laughing about how we roamed these avenues without a clue.



We spoke of excruciating truths, of life’s random cruelty, of our hopes and of our dreams, of our small joys and of our fears,


as we stood under that leaking bus stop, the rain streaking down cheeks that were salty with tears.



I barely saw you, and you could hardly see me, in the rain and in the fog,


as we laughed and cried together, sharing feelings of being swamped in life’s quicksand tugging bog.



We spoke so much that rainy night, we shared what we could not share with anyone else, we spoke of love and the beauty of it all,


we stood in the rainy sleet, dwarfed by the grey buildings towering so impersonally tall.



The beauty that I felt in those moments spent with you, the truest beauty I have ever felt, far beyond the fakery of strutting it all on this daily, gaudy parade,


truer than it all, all of it, far beyond the hollow shells of the neverending charade.



That night passed, as all nights must, yet you remain with me, within me, the beautiful stranger I could hardly see.



Today, I look back through the wisps of time, failing to scribble even the simplest rhyme,


knowing not much, but this much I know to be true,

the truest beauty of all, caresses your soul, and envelopes your heart,


the truest beauty rests,

deep beneath the superficial you …




from google












from google




you are the physics of my world …


1.


the random sparks of infinitesimal neurons,

the random chaos of the vast cosmic beyond,

the random tugs of quantum strings,

have somehow,

incredibly swirled,

bringing your completeness into the vacuum of my world.


2.


these apparently random machinations, of this universe of possibilities,

has defied all permutations of chance,

to coalesce for us,

now,

today,

as we share our brightly blazing celestial dance.


3.


words escape me, there is no explanation,

to describe the meeting of our twin souls,

there is no hypothesis that I am able to construct,

that fuels these passions, these desires, these feelings that skywards into the heavens erupt.


4.


these atoms and quarks and gluons, bind us together in the most unscientific way,

they exude feelings impossible to explain,

love, for instance,

and a love as deep and abiding and true as ours,

is impossible to understand, even if we tried, spending years and countless hours.


5.


now my love of felines brings me to schrödinger and his deadalive cat,

for unlike dear schrödinger I can say with utmost certainty, that in that box my love for you,

is alive, and ever so true.


6.


all the dark matter, that is postulated to roam the entirety of space,

cannot dim the light of the stellar blaze of our star of love,

our sun that radiates gloriously, from the deepest recesses of our heart, from our magnetically interlinked place. 


7.


all the talk of black holes not allowing light to flee,


comes not closer to the raging cauldron of our shared togetherness,


as we lay blanketed by the heavens above that envelope you, and that cloak me.


8.


the distance of light years are bridged so effortlessly, so easily traversed between you and I,


merging our love, our own supernova lighting the unfolding years we have yet to face,


roaring like a furnace, hewn into the very fabric of our innerspace ..

 

from google

%d bloggers like this: