Tag Archive: #blacklivesmatter


The Rivers of a Life

Art from Google



The Rivers of a Life …





Bracing for the rapids ahead, clutching onto filaments where salty tears sting the places we have bled.



Hold on!



The rapids will stutter to a meandering stream, our brittle souls heaving sighs of relief as a glimpse of hope waltzes on a sunbeam.



Hold on tight!



The stream opens itself up, slipping into the wide waters of the river at peace, soothing our beings, the stabbing pain now beginning to cease.



Let go!



The mouth of the river yawns as it approaches the endless expanse of the sea, hushing us, stilled by knowing we are but an infinitesimal part of what we thought we could be.



Free at last!



beyond us the unseen future, right now we soak in the truths of the present,


behind us we leave the detritus of the past.




Artwork from Google



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Artwork from Google



what is love for me?


(while trying too hard to rhyme, and if it sounds like I preach, do forgive me, for at times I do try too hard, that I overreach 🤗)



Love is your head laying on my chest, beneath a swaying palm, love is the solace we offer each as a soothing healing balm.



Love is not swallowing what society wishes to us feed, love is wanting each other and not the illusions of material greed.


Love is knowing that the skin will age and wrinkle, love is knowing that the celestial star of togetherness will never cease to twinkle.


Love is knowing there exists no pristine hearts or souls, for we are all so very far from commercialised perfection, love is acknowledging that always, and in our moments of quiet reflection.


Love is truly and deeply loving each other, warts and all, love is kneeling down to lift each other up whenever we slip, whenever we fall.


Love is never thrusting ones beliefs unto each other, love is appreciating and embracing the differences between one another.


Love is not being constrained by race, religion, nationality, caste or tribe, love is knowing we all bleed red, and from a common fountain we all do life’ waters imbibe.


Love is honestly being content with what we have to share, love is never allowing the rat-race to us ensnare.


Love is not merely oaths taken, vows spoken, love is living and tending for each other when one of us feels lost and if one of us is torn, or broken.


Love is so much more than kisses and making love, though that is always oh-so good, love is nourishing each other with the truest emotions, the bounty of soul-food.


Love is having differences of opinion, of engaging in robust debate, love is not just agreeing with everything we say, love is not living in that sterile state.


Love is taking a stand, in this iniquitous world, love is speaking truth to power, love is never ever merely accepting it all, love is not us shielding ourselves so that in inured inaction we cower.



Love is your head laying on my chest, beneath a swaying palm, love is the solace we offer each as a soothing healing balm …




Artwork from Google

alone, together



Baobab Tree artwork from Google




alone, together …





The rays of the summer sun peek between the canopy of green above,


we walk hand in hand through the thicket searching for our sensual place of love,


a small pond and a gentle waterfall comes into view,


as we abandon all shrouds and wade into the soothing waters of blue.




Our bodies intertwine, flesh on bare flesh,


skin against skin, light years away from the city’s raucous din,


as we share light kisses, enmeshed in each others arms so close, so very tight,


while we float in the lyrical waters, eyes closed as all we need are tender caresses so exquisitely light.




We taste each other, sipping the nectar of passion with a desire that we need no longer restrain,


with the orchestral sounds of the jungle, swirling in their symphonic refrain,


our lips meet, we feel the thud-thudding of our hearts merging,


in harmony with the sublime feelings so wildly surging.




We whisper odes, we imbibe our hungering need,


as the meandering waters envelope us in their calming sheath,


we tenderly become one, restraining for now our insatiable greed,


and as our bodies writhe, we feel our shuddering deep inside, a quivering dewy leaf.




The sun slowly dips and swoons, we wish we could share these precious moments for many more moons,


but alas, the here and now calls out, drawing us out of this magical reverie,


as we find each other back amidst the cacophony of real life,


where we pine,

where we ache,

where we wish only,


to be together,


free …





Artwork from Google








True Detective Season 1



( for ‘True Detective’ Season 1 fans )


for rust & marty …


you see there may come a time when all of what we yearn and ache and pine and lie and cheat and kill and maim and hurt to attain may turn out to be as worthless as the lives we hurt and took and raped and pillaged and tortured and slapped and abused and molested and plundered and then we shall be seen for that what we all essentially are:

sentient meat. no more. no less.

               ________________



rustin’ away …



swept along tugged by the currents that weave cobwebbed chaos hurling us tossing our malleable forms further into the poisoned seas as tide after merciless tide batters and shatters our mortality thrusting us deeper into the bowels of asphyxiating numbness and dumbness that has numbed down and dumbed us even more so because we need the charade to persist for our egos will and shall not whittle away as flesh decays and in that sliver of the blink of an eye is the hysterical maniacal orderly randomness of it all in its naturally-selected symmetry of nothingness because how am i supposed to wake up tomorrow or next weekend if not for some hardwired tripswitch that shuts all critical thought albeit for an instant but in that instant and in each of those instances the ego keeps on cashing in on deluded overtime and we you her him i us yes us all don’t even know that its happening all the time and that it has happened since the manufacturing of the illusion of time and that it is happening right now to me and perhaps to you too yeah hmm …



and …



channeling rustin cohle …



yeah so okay it’s all just horseshit this damn grinder of souls enmeshed in sordid dreams of twisted consciences lost along the highway of shovelled lies spawned by the inebriated copulation of the gelatinous whole this whole hysterical theatre of bits and bites of neurons sparking all just electricity just plain damn old electricity seeding grief sorrow pain loss ache death life hiroshima where the living envied the dead yes that place this place still this place that exists as large as castles in our collective so called human minds collectively speaking of course but also force-fed the illusion of individual choice … 


        __________


Life’s barely long enough to get good at one thing. So be careful what you get good at” – Rustin Cohle (True Detective)



True Detective Season One

The truth of our Love

Artwork from Google




The truth of our Love …



1.




True love rests upon countless whispering leaves,


one by one falling to the ground,


the truest love is carried on dandelion seeds,


fluttering within hearts here, there, and all around. 




True love that settles and binds two souls,


intertwines emotions, with a comforting tenderness so rare,


as we trudge on, having long shed the expectations of togetherness,


in a cold callous world, in this grinder where flimsy connections flicker past as we lay our souls bare.




True love afloat on the breeze found me, when your soft caresses tremulously wafted into my life,


as you fanned the dying embers into a furnace, gently warming my entire world,


for when we walked hand in hand, on the beaches of our loves’ distilled truths,


a kaleidoscope of feelings were within us both, gloriously unfurled.




2.




We have shared a lifetime of embroidered passions, with gentle flourishes and scribbled verse,


we have held each other, in moments of desire, soaring into the boundless open sky,


we have stood shoulder to shoulder, as the tides of pain battered us, as the ache of the twisting talons of fate gnawed us, almost apart at our very edges,


we have weathered the howling winds of adversity, as one, we have nurtured the flame of our bond, in those bleak moments when it threatened to die,


yes, our love has cocooned us together, where words seem unnecessary, for when true love finds you,


it needs no oaths, no promises, no dotted lines to sign, no rehearsed, mumbled pledges …





Artwork from Google





The Rains have Come …



there is a rustling of leaves, sashaying in a sensual dance of the trees,

an awakening of senses, butterflies fluttering across the plains,

as the thrashing sun is shielded by dark clouds,

filled with the promise of soothing African rains.


all around is the scent of parched earth, eagerly awaiting the nectar from the skies,

reviving exhausted birds in their nests, knowing the coming downpour shall wash away the detritus of torrid days,

wiping away tears from so many thirsty eyes.


overwhelmed by the mirth of the expectant grass,

rolling with a hush, on the buds of every flower,

awaiting the life bestowing blessings of a serene summer shower.


the coming of the African rains, filled with life,

offering a bounty hope for the living beings we share this earth with,

as we all await, patiently,

for the deluge that shall cleanse away all of yesterdays’ strife …



The Arrival of the Rains





Racism + Silence = Complicity.



racism stalks the cities, slimy and rotten,

memories of Apartheid, of segregation, so conveniently forgotten.



racism infects the home, reeking and vile,

memories of discrimination, of slavery, bubbling up like bile.



racism must be fought, in words, in thought, in action, by daily decent deeds.



racism, hate, prejudice, misogyny, islamophobia, anti-semitism, religious terrorism, sectarianism, tribalism, illegal occupations, gender-based violence MUST be defeated,

lest the repugnance of shameful, disgusting history be perennially repeated.




adrift, alone,
fleeing callous hearts of stone,

cast away, casting off,
shackles gnawing at the bone,

seeking,
yearning for,

somebody to call my home … … …

a common thread.

myriad strands, bind us all,
inextricably dissolving in an ocean of humanity.

threaded links, double-helixed dna,
scraping away notions of superiority.

uBuntu = i am because we are.

enough said.

The parched and thirsty,

still walk the soul-less avenues,

and the alleys of want and hunger.

 

Empty and barren,

coursing through heartless streets of need and despair.

 

“Change will come”,

said the promise of Freedom and Democracy and of Capitalism with a Conscience.

 

“change will come in time”.

Yes.

Change comes.

Sometimes,

when scratching through pockets,

for some change.

May Day!

A distress call,
echoes over the seas,
working men and women,
shackled, bound by wage slavery,
rise, as one, united, voiceless no more.

‘all frequencies jammed’,

‘we apologise for the inconvenience’

May-Day!

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 citizenship.

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,
18 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 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”.

hidden between fragmented shades,
mingling in the folds of thought,

dreams ceaselessly wander on
soaring above today’s tumult,

as this afternoon fades … … …

refugee

stifled by the throng,

fleeing strangled yesterdays,
human being weaving,
simply searching,

to belong.

they do not see me at all,

as I walk through these desecrated avenues,

of soul-deadening frenzy,

I see them all rushing past me,

and no matter how hard I try to holler and to call,

they do not see me at all.

it seems at times, that invisible am I,

for when I reach out, and shriek out, and when on my knees I crawl,

they rush past me,

for they do not see me at all.

I have tried to raise their ire, I have taunted and goaded them, till exhausted and fatigued, to the cold damp ground I fall,

still they rush past me,

for they do not see me at all.

I stand mutely then and wave my hands all around while scribbling verses in my unintelligible scrawl,

and yet they rush past me,

for they do not see me at all.

they rush past me, knocking me over without ever looking back,

and then trampling over my fallen form, they look past my limp crumpled shadow, as they whine on in their monotonous drawl,

for they do not see me at all.

and when at last I see them look my way, and as a flicker of recognition crosses their faces,

I wish to crawl back into my nothingness,

where they cannot see me at all … … …

A 10-Minute Scribble of Hope

the morning dew glistens on feathered petals
alive with promise

the moments past, having past, are soaked up by
the streaming rays of sunshine

the wounds of yesteryear are soothed and wrapped
in fresh layers of quiet peace

all my aching yesterdays are quietly consigned
to the deep recesses of memory

haunting me no longer and tormenting me no more
as I shed the weight of the cross I so reluctantly bore

for tomorrow is alive with new hope

of gentle laughter
with quietly sipped joy
of sweet memories yet to be woven
and whispered songs yet to be sung inside
of scribbled poems yet to penned
and joyous tears yet to be cried

for tomorrow is alive with new hope

of sweetly scented roses blooming all around
and murmurs of delight in moments yet to be realised
of warmth and depth and freedom from pain
and of lost touches of myself once again sought after and found

for tomorrow is alive with new hope

of a new beginning devoid of the guilt of past decay
and of freshness in the very essence of this new day

with lilting melodies floating on the silken breeze
while banishing all pain and setting the mind at ease

for tomorrow is alive with new hope
and this very hope is what keeps the gloomy nights afar
for the emptiness is lit up with the shimmering of a solitary star
and it’s this very hope that I hold onto with my dear life
never to give in again to bleak thoughts of mental strife

and so hope it is, and hope it must always be
that keeps the sanity within and sets my soul free

A wish to you as you retire from this day
as fickle sleep quickly hops and slips away

may slumber embrace you and comfort you, my friends
for she eludes me and I know not how to make amends

and may the dreams you dream
be scented sweet as over you the sheets are drawn
and may your night be peaceful
and may you awaken to a promising new fresh dawn

Alone with only the
lonesome notes of a faintly soft tune
Once known and now a mere murmur
Carried by that veiled gracious breeze

Alone with only the
Doleful sighs of the turtledoves
As they console the weary mates
Nesting in the solitary willow trees

Alone with only the
Dirge soaring up and beyond the walls
Creeping through the ivy covered steps
Of that barricaded fortress of the heart

Alone with only the
Mournful whispers echoing along the halls
Of the crumbling mansion of memories as
The moments prepare to once more depart

Alone with only the
Promise of a new dawn that may be awaiting
the shattered soul of a battered frame of being
as it clambers up the slippery slopes of eager hope

alone with only the
abiding memories of that long lost truth that was
soaked in each pore and was imbibed greedily so
as it unfastened the dangling spectre of that rope

alone with only the
memories of then and the memories of now
swarming through a mind numbed with pain

alone with only the
thoughts of all that has passed and all the travails one has yet to face
while the heart is fortified still and resolute to go on against the grain

       

She,
remains just out of focus,
an elusive portrait,

etched in the corner of the mind’s eye.

she,
sometimes strays into view,
a blurred mirage,
of burnished words cast in indelible dye.

she,
steals fragments of each day,
a welcome thief,
of emotions left in some dusty space.

she,
scatters my poems in the breeze,
an invited spell,
that vanishes into the wind without a trace.

she,
renders me mute and so often blind,
the wild dreamer,
a seeder of impossible thoughts in the mind.

she,
brings the elements of nature to me,
a gentle healer,
she unfolds my thoughts setting them free.

she,
comes and goes as she chooses,
an untamed spirit,
soothing the very place that she bruises.

she,
rouses me in nights of empty slumber,
a murmured breath,
brushing my cheeks with kisses too many to number.

she,
remains to me the enigmatic one,
a burning riddle,
yet she stays with me as each torturous day is done.

she,
my heart knows not why she stays,
my consistent constant,
filling up my nights and consoling my days.

she,
deserves so much more from fate,
the truest soul,
she loves too much and knows not how to hate.

she,
arrives again tonight as I lie awake,
a thoughtful shield,
my coat of armour in a world far too fake.

she,
stays with me and within me stays still,
the true one,
and to dwell deep in my soul is where she always will.

she,
from whose cup I have so greedily drank,
a giver of life,
I have not the words with which to her wholly thank.

she,
knows how desolate a world this can be,
my sustainer of hope,
and of life and of breath is what she will always be … … …

Bereft of hope

stripped-off pieces
of memories
fall silently
to the barren floor.

bereft of hope
beaten and battered
slithering to
the emptiness below.

bereft of hope
clinging
clawing
grasping
clutching

onto a sliver
of a whisper
of a promise
on the wind.

bereft of hope
that sliver
of a whisper
of a promise
on the wind

may just
be
hope itself

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