The Sound of Distant Ankle Bells

from google

The Sound of Distant Ankle Bells …

​

Memories of those delicate tinkling bells,

casually fastened around calloused feet,

take hold of my waking moments,

and fling my thoughts back to a distant time,

where folk-songs were heartily sung,

joyful, yet hopelessly out of rhyme.

I barely saw her, a construction labourer perhaps,

hauling bricks, cement, anything, on a scorching Delhi day,

while in the semi-shade of a Gulmohar tree, her infant silently lay.

A cacophony of thoughts such as these swirl around,

yanking me away from the now, to my cow-dung littered childhood playground.

Now, a lifetime of displacement has hushed the jangling chorus of the past,

to a faint trickle of sounds, as distant as an ocean heard inside tiny sea-shells,

and,

I know, that the orchestral nostalgic crescendo, rises, dips, and swells,

as tantalisingly near, yet a world of time away, as were the tinkling of her ankle-bells.

from google

Drowning in her Eyes

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

My beach of Dreams

My Beach of Dreams …

1.

Turquoise waters tease your toes,

walking on our dreamy beach,

fingers entwined,

a sensuous breeze caressing your lavender hair,

the soft sand kneading your feet so delicately bare.

2.

The burnished sun swoons and dips,

my ravenous mouth hungers for your sweet lips,

our hearts beat as one to the rhythm of the waves,

scorched by the furnace of desire that our love so passionately craves.

3.

I wake up, with your head on my shoulder,

my soul, my being, my very self continues to smoulder,

I kiss you gently on your forehead,

my fingers tracing poetic verses down your cheek,

I am,

at long last,

at peace,

within,

I have found my home,

there is nothing more I care to seek.

from google

disjointed rhyme

art from google

disjointed 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 scoured the earth for a peaceful place,

where bigotry didn’t present its grotesque face,

and after all the years spent seeking,

we found nooks and crannies where racism lay reeking.

all our desires, all of our dreams,

in a gilded cage lies trapped it seems,

still we scan 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,

or perhaps there exists no such place,

across the earth,

for tolerance long ago did depart,

and yet we cannot be from each other apart,

for what we have found in each other,

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

those are the truths that we have embraced in our heart …

from google

“why are you here, you filthy immigrant”

from google

“why are you here, you filthy immigrant”

why are we broken by spoken barbs,

spewing out of sewers cloaked beneath acceptable garbs,

while the blades of splintered humanity are sharpened into lethal shards,

of ‘my country right or wrong’,

under the comfortable charade,

the vulgar parade,

of clinging onto feigned piety,

dragged pitilessly along,

weaving new lies, obfuscating what is right and what is wrong,

waving flags tainted with blood, on and on, as the pain never ceases to abate,

wielding blood-soaked swords to behead, to oppress, to subjugate,

the many who have forever been on the wrong side of the fence,

the other side of the tracks,

nakedly vulnerable outside the gate,

shut out of the dream,

pummelled by untruths of working hard, doing more, and shutting up,

carrying within, the ghastly pain, a mute scream,

stuck beneath merciless clouds,

because we need the money,

the greenback,

the notes,

the coins,

the oil,

the designer innerwear that barely shrouds,

the racist cacophony of the hate-filled crowds,

the stench of putrid opulence, of festering greed,

of capital and influence and power ripping out each humane seed,

by the by, shutting out the opportunities for a better life for all,

because when love,

life,

hope,

dreams,

aspirations,

the yearning for something better,

is a lament, a plea, a beseeching call,

for respect,

dignity,

for the numberless,

always shoved down, yet standing tall,

the banished, cast away into the currents of the seas,

as every war makes human beings as you and I, like insects scatter,

viewed live on tv screens, but that does no longer matter,

to be swept along islands of stillness,

young children lying dead on pristine shores,

while the picture goes viral, and the shares, the views and the likes soars,

a child not lucky to ride the waves of random happenstance,

when just “making it to safety” is a mere throw of the dice of chance.

“so yes”,

“yes”.

“that is how I got to be here”,

the immigrant says.

art by Banksy

peace and equality?

from google

peace and equality?

when greed poisons our waters, tainting pristine nature,

when jingoism infects our minds, eroding our shared humanity,

when fanaticism corrodes our vision, seeds of division are sown,

when oppression lashes people, hate is nourished,

when prejudice spews vile invective, walls emerge between humanity,

when science is derided by obscurantism, we take a collective step backwards,

when love is bartered, emotions decay,

when flim-flam glitz is coveted, humane sentiments are sold into apathy,

when the pursuit of wealth at any cost is craved, far too many get left by the wayside,

when wars-for-profit are unleashed, killing innocents, the terror of makeshift bombs kill innocents,

when tolerance, not acceptance is preached, crevasses crisscross this common earth,

when far too many are left to scrounge for food, for dignity, the far too few are complicit,

when doctrines of us and them are promulgated, the body of the human race is splintered,

when poverty stalks the night, while slimey ostentation rules the day,

you and i,

him and her,

us all,

are dispassionately wrenched apart,

when clean drinking water is a luxury, while numberless golf courses are irrigated, the parched earth trembles,

when food is dumped to maintain profit margins, while countless stomachs never cease to rumble,

we have all failed each other.

period.

from google

“Brother, can you spare me some change?”

from google

“Brother, can you spare me some change?”

The parched and thirsty,

still walk soul-less avenues,

and 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 and purses,

for some loose change.

Nelson Mandela

talkin’ walkin’ with a friend unblues

baobab tree – art from google

talkin’ walkin’ with a friend unblues …

we shall walk this earth, along the rolling African plains, we shall dance with glee, in the cool gentle rains,

we shall wade through the wetlands, we shall sing in the streams, we shall live life as it should be lived, as we have lived it in our shared dreams,

we shall travel to far flung places filled with flavours spicy, and to ancient cities filled with wonder, we shall wear out our walking shoes, as through the miles we continue to wander,

we shall walk side by side, our journey taking us to places and to people unknown, we shall break bread with all, singing songs of different cultures, woefully out of rhythm and tone,

we shall walk hand in hand, two friends roaming so many a diverse land, feeling the powdery talcum sand under our feet, on so many a distant island,

we shall talk as we walk, of hopes and of fears, of broken souls whole again, of eyes no longer moist with tears,

we shall soak in the warmth of human contact, of languages seas apart, we shall learn to speak many tongues, bidding adieu to friends made along the way, for the memories within us will always stay,

so let us walk along these paths ahead, leaving it all behind, our tortured past to finally be shed, making the soft grasses our nightly bed,

sharing with all peoples of all races, all religions, all man-made divisions,

that the colour of the blood that pumps through all our veins,

is red.

a baobab tree – from google

untitled

from google

sidestepping shards of splintered glass, beyond the haze of billowing grass,

yesterday came, as today left, leaving me empty within, bereft,

so take my hand and walk with me awhile, beyond the tears, smuggling in a faint smile,

who knows the paths we’ll weave, as time trickles through its merciless sieve,

so take my hand and we’ll walk awhile,

a few steps today, and who knows,

tomorrow may be many a mile …

from google

migrant feet

The Immigrants Void – Sculpture by Bruno Catalano

http://brunocatalano.com/sculpture-bronze2/sculpture-en-bronze-bruno-catalano.php?galerie=1

migrant feet.

bleeding feet.

bare,
alien,
calloused feet,

that bleed,

trudging,
scraping souls,

seeking paths that lead,

somewhere,

anywhere from here,
from the horror of the now,

wiping bloody sweaty tears,
of grandmothers’ brow,

seeking refuge, sanctuary,

from bullets,

from epithets that wound,
that slay,

from men, always men,

puffed-up, inflated,
stuffed with raw venomous hate,

to be flotsam and jetsam,
adrift on the seas,

crammed into boxes,
clutching onto every choked breath,

seeking another fate,

not an asphyxiated blueish death,

tossed, seasick,
wracked and pained,

inside,
cattle-cars, slave-ships,

modernised mechanised terror,

the horror of self-righteous zeal,

nations, cultures,
tribes, traditions,
creed,

stoking the flames,
sectarian, communal,

the fuel on which bigotry must feed …

tiny feet, old and cracked,
all kinds of blistered twisted feet,

a death march along the treelined street,

seeking only alleyways of peace,

and,
perhaps,
perhaps, a bite to eat,

as gleaming chariots roll on by,

and if you’re thinking you’re safe,

if you’re thinking it isn’t us, its them,

him, her, they, those people,

for now,

think again,
and think how,

“… first they came for the communists … ” *

      
           _____________

* Pastor Martin Niemoller

http://tinyurl.com/oo45esm

from google

Hope always!

​deciphering silence

from google

​

deciphering silence …

you and i,

shielded by silence.

barred from ourselves at times.

exiled hearts,

building ramparts.

a wall that may fall.

so, my friend,

lay your head on my chest,

letting my fingers run through your hair,

lulling you gently to rest, as we share our silences,

for life is far too short anyway,

to squander even a day.

from google

the palette of colours

from google

the palette of colours …

earthy dust awash with rustic tinged passion,

vibrant hues of emotions sketched,

aflame with jasmine scented swirls,

each dawn breathing life,

as sublime flowers their petals unfurl.

our lips, tracing feelings

deeply etched,

coursing through autumn browns,

winter charcoals,

infusing each breath with smiles that banish doleful frowns.

teasing out love from nature’s palette of colours divine,

entwined by a bond felt deep, in your soul and mine.

a riotous desire imbibed not by neatly manicured gardens of blazing reds,

but far, far away from human eyes,

in places untamed,

in the forests of wild, pristine, untouched flower beds,

soothing the mind,

yawning across crystal streams,

in colours of exultant life,

painted in the palette of dreams …

from google

a wish for you

from google

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 …

from google

i am he

from google

i am he …

he continues walking down the empty boulevards, the soft petals beneath his shambling feet, his head down, feeling the earth crunch and the flotsam scatter, as he reminisces of yesterdays bygone, and tomorrows yet to dawn. he speaks to no one, just the obligatory shake of the head in acknowledgement at another soul traipsing down the same cobblewebbed slippery slope, braving the sudden winds that lash his frigid hands as he turns up the collar of his coat, feelings swell and peak, the music of the banal soothing him somewhat.

he lets his mind wander too, mourning crushed flowers strewn like blood on the soft earth, and fears the onset of the years, slower and dimmer, yet racing past at breakneck speed, heading for a heavens knows where, but just content, content to be in motion, walking, walking down the rusty dusty alleyways of this life …

from google

common fountain

from google

common fountain …

in a world tugging,

pulling, drawing and quartering,

each soul apart,

and as mercy, humanity, love,

effortlessly, and resistance-free,

depart,

embracing ignorance, hugging credulous unreason,

fracturing human bones,

cartilage, tendons ripped,

shattered hearts, broken minds,

there can be but one answer,

simplistic as it may sound,

teach respect, not creed,

worship shared humanity,

shun lecherous greed,

then, and I believe only then,

may we truly, as one,

from our common fountain feed …

from google

Nelson Mandela Centenary (1918 – 2018)

Nelson Mandela Foundation

Nelson Mandela Centenary (1918 – 2018)

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

A man of action forged in the crucible of resistance.

Resistance against racial discrimination.

Resistance against injustice.

Resistance against oppression.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

A man burnished in the furnace of struggle.

Struggle to defeat the crime against humanity that was Apartheid.

Struggle against the obscene notions of racial superiority.

Struggle against the scourge of hate.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

A human being who personified kindness.

A human being who embodied humility.

A human being who exemplified the unity of our human race.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

A man of peace, and a man who fought the just fight.

A man of forgiveness, and a man who battled the Apartheid regime for the need of taking responsibility for the heinous crimes of the past.

A man of truth, and a man of humane love.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

He was of flesh and of blood, and he shed his blood as he endured the lashes of the whip on his flesh.

He was of flesh and of blood, and he fought ferociously against the suppression of his fellow human beings.

He was of flesh and of blood, and he emerged with dignity from the hell of twenty-seven years of imprisonment on an island of tyranny.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

He was a man of a steely will in the long cause to rid all oppressed people from the yoke of colonialism, he picked up arms and fought the honourable fight.

He was a man of fiery resolve against the scourge of divisiveness, he was at the forefront in the battles against human subjugation and indignity.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

Madiba was a revolutionary, in the trenches against the obscenity of poverty and deprivation.

Madiba was a soldier, on the ground in the service of the most vulnerable, the children of this world.

Madiba was unshakeable, and he lived the example of the committed revolutionary and the dignified statesman.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

 

Our beloved Madiba does not walk amongst us anymore.

And yet, Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela lives within us.

Madiba lives in the streams that flow into the rivers that flow into the oceans.

Madiba lives in the winds that blow across the vast lands of Africa and beyond.

Madiba lives in the thud-thudding of heartbeats around our world.

Madiba lives in the veins where the blood flows through our common human form.

Madiba lives!

Madiba will always live!

Nelson Mandela casting his ballot for the first time as a non-white South African – 27th April 1994

what are we if not just human?

from google

what are we if not just human?

Beings flailing through the quagmire of life,

embroiled in emptiness so stark,

hoping to find some solace, some peace,,

stumbling along in the dark.

What are we if not just human,

grappling the torturous grind,

stabs of reality wounding us each day,

enduring hollow platitudes,

cloaked in the veneer of strength we portray.

What are we if not just human,

filling the void with trappings of convenience,

deluded that it will dull the pain,

buffering us from truths that surround us,

losing ourselves within our selves,

celebrating the meaningless ornaments that we attain.

What are we if not just human,

no more and no less,

praying for a salvation beyond this realm,

buying redemption with lofty intent,

crawling in apathetic inebriation,

always on our knees, our backs forever bent.

What are we if not just human,

trying to make sense of all we feel inside,

while in truth the masks we wear,

shrouds ourselves in cocoons to hide.

What are we if not just human,

clinging to scraps we find here and there,

what are we if not just human,

jarring ourselves to care.

What are we if not just human,

rekindling the humanity that resides in us all,

refusing to look away while those around us slip and fall.

What are we if not just human,

striving for a world less harsh, more true,

what are we if not just human,

never forgetting that we all bleed red,

him, her, us, and me and you.

from google

Not quite a Refugee

from google

Not quite a Refugee …

In all my life, I have waited, searched, stealing glances behind every closed door,

peering into teacups, my feeble attempts at divining what tomorrow may have in store.

In all my life, I have kissed the soft lips of joy, murmuring words of love, always trying to find a soul,

a soul perhaps far, far away, or around the corner, looking for that one who would make me whole.

I have found love, here and there, deep and true, as I have faced the gale, a hurricane that never ends, always on the lookout, for the poisoned arrows that fate sends.

I have found desolation, tossing me about, lost in the crowd, never fitting in, never wanting to fit in, to finally flee this city’s cacophonous din.

I have found pain, slicing me into bits , the offensive comment here, the hateful look there, the laughter of them all that echoes in my heart, barren and bare.

I have found anger, within myself, at my being the way I am, having to cross oceans, to walk amongst people who do not give a damn.

I am lost, an exile amongst my own people, where you either join the fake charade, or get dumped broken and bruised, trampled by the hollow parade.

I am lost, a refugee who will never be a part of the pack, for I know they will always snigger at me, behind my bent back.

What do they know of loss and of pain, what do they know of packing up a few belongings, fleeing cities, over and over and over again.

What do they think when they see me, a party trick who does the rounds, breaking little by little inside, while all around me their laughter abounds.

Where can I flee, where is my place of peace, while the jabs and the snide quips never cease.

Where is that promise of home that once burned bright, while now I am in the dark, bereft of hope and blinded without light.

How do I pick up these pieces, scattered fragments of my being, strewn across the world where I have always lost, a part of me staying behind, at an immeasurable cost.

How will I ever shed this skin of the clown, this fakeness I have wrapped around me, how will I ever be me, ridding myself of this plastic smile, to just be free.

This world, these places, offer me no hope at all, for they have thrashed me to the ground to mercilessly crawl.

This world, these crocodile smiles, these clinking champagne flutes, can never compare to the dung-caked soles of my roots.

This place, and countless others through which I have roamed, are razors which dealt death to me by a thousand and one cuts, where you must conform, without any ifs, and certainly without any buts.

I find my solace in my scribbles, in my blood dripping on each page, where I pour out my pain, my loss, my deadened spirit, my brimming rage.

I find solace in the moments when the rain washes these avenues, a rushing past of detritus in a cleansing stream,

I find solace walking through the icy rain, in my eternal quest to not reek of foreignness, for just a moment or two, to be pure and clean,

I find solace, fleeting at best, to moult this skin, of every pain felt,

and of every horror seen.

from google

The African Rains

a traditional Ndebele design

The African Rains.

Soaking,
the rains settle,
meandering over jagged faultlines of our memory.

Drenching,
the rains settle,
streaming through veins,

the thud-thudding of the heartbeat of Africa.

Absorbing,
the rains that settle,
within each of us,

herald rebirth.

And,
if you listen,

if you strain to hear,

while shedding the raucous noise of your inner turmoil.

If you listen,

the whispers of the ancestors,

speak to us all,
lending us warmth,

urging us to stand,
even though we may stumble,

even though we may fall.

a baobab tree – 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 google

Heritage Day 2018

from google

South Africa: Heritage Day 2018

Today we celebrate our shared heritage,

through smiles and tears, the ache of the past and the hopes of today and tomorrows yet unborn.

Today we share our Africanness, our blood enmeshed within each other – bright red thumping through countless veins, reminding us of the spirit of uBuntu – I am because we are,

we are because of each other, fellow travellers through the travails of life, seeking not riches nor title, seeking the bright sunshine of peace banishing the darkness of strife.

We are one people, myriad hues of the rainbow enveloping us all,

lending a hand to each other,

every time we stumble, each time we fall. 

from google

Life, delusions, and Scribbled Verse

from google

Life, delusions, and Scribbled Verse …

I remain alone, never letting anyone in, my ramparts solid, my walls tall and impregnable,

I remain alone, always dousing the hope, my words of departure articulate and allowing me to unashamedly mope,

I choose this lonesome way, having tasted the nectar of love, and punishing it to always slip away,

I have chosen this path of quiet solitude, the cowardly one, shrouding my heart with armour, knowing I lack the fortitude.

Love has touched me deeply, I have loved with all my might, I have immersed myself in the cauldron of desire, yet I always seem to deliberately douse the fire,

these are not easy confessions to make, to share my inability to walk the long path of love, to always look for that escape, leaving good pure hearts scattered, as I search for the window where I can my slipping away make,

these scribbled words tear into my heart, puncturing my soul, fracturing my mind, as I sit and wonder why it is that I choose to never be whole,

I make no excuses, I sputter no half-baked reasons for my fleeing from love, while I have hurt the gentlest souls, the ones who deserved so much more, not the cowardice of a man, who always seems to find the exit door.

These words sound to me like comfortable self-pity, so easy for me to accept no blame, laying it all out, yet still brimming with the moping of the lying man, who feels no remorse, who will not accept the shame,

these hollow words as empty as the “it is not you, it is me” cop-out refrain, so easily blabbered forth, so conveniently absolving me of the cause of any pain,

how many times have these callous words been spoken, how they have fractured loves that were real, how many times have they left good souls broken,

and still my conceit above says it all, my belief that I have the power to cause fractured hearts and injured souls, the hubris of man who believes himself able, to injure the ‘weaker sex’, for ‘man is so much more capable’.

I rail against misogyny in my scribbled verse, I damn the narrow mindedness of male chauvinism, it is I who so effortlessly dons the mask of the ‘liberated man’, all the while it is I who am a part of my genders’ ‘entitled’ clan,

oh yes, I scribble against this evil and that injustice, I speak the loudest, claiming to be progressive in thought and in mind, but it is I who refuses to see, the vestiges of male superiority, which tightly do me bind,

what becomes of this world when so-called ‘unchained’ men like myself live in our cocoons of self-righteous comfort, what becomes of the struggle for gender equality, what is the future when I spout my egalitarian beliefs, so hypocritically solemn, while I am blinded by the fact, that I am part of the festering problem,

yes, I wave the rainbow flag and I shriek out the necessary slogans, I march alongside my ‘sisters’, I pour my drivel scribbled on pages as I delude myself that I really do give a damn,

what happens next for this world of inequity, this world of abuse, this world of gender-based violence, this world of female genital mutilation, this world of women enslaved by man’s convenient norms of male-centred religion, this world of the shackles of oh-so convenient culture and tradition,

what happens to this world when those empty like me beat the drum of giving a damn,

when all in all, when it is boiled down to the harshest truth,

I remain the ever hypocritical man?

from google