Tag Archive: #oaths


choosing love








choosing to love another, regardless of gender or colour,


a revolutionary act in a time of hate.




choosing to love another, beyond gender or creed,


reveals humanity’s true face,


beyond gender, religion, or race … …





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our dreams






I looked down and saw her calloused hands, as we tried to make ends meet,


we worked hard and lived frugally, feeling ourselves mired in the bog, barely having enough to eat.



“these days must pass”, we whispered to each other,

after yet another gruelling day,


through night in and day out, the pain gnawed silently,

as we saw our dreams receding,

farther and farther away …





a child of war and terror











a child of war and terror







as she lies bleeding,


the girl who skipped, hopped to school,


all of nine and a half years old,


with ribbons in her hair and a laugh that was her father’s pride.


 



as she lies bleeding,


shrapnel lodged in her torn stomach,


she stares at her skipping rope,


blood soaking it the colour of cherries her mother buys.


 



as she lies bleeding,


she sees human shapes all around, thick in the black smoke,


blurred visions of scattering feet, 


shoes left behind,

hearing nothing but the pinging in her smashed eardrums.


 



as she lies bleeding,


she slips away and then she is dead,


a mangled heap of a nine and a half year old girl,


whose laugh was her father’s pride.


 


 


as she lies bleeding,


even in death she bleeds some more,


shrapnel wedged in her torn stomach,


stealing the light from her bright innocent eyes.




as she lies bleeding …



in jallianwala bagh in ‘19,

johannesburg in ’93,

leningrad in ‘42,

freetown in ‘98,

soweto in ‘76,

beirut in ‘85,

hanoi in ‘68,


st. bernadino,

manchester,

baghdad,

brussels,

london,

tripoli,

miami,

jenin,

paris,

kabul,

raqqa,

basra,

mosul,

gaza,



aleppo still.


 


as she lies bleeding,


a little nine and a half year old girl,


whose laugh was her parent’s pride,


we know she’ll bleed more,


tomorrow and in many tomorrows yet unborn,


with shrapnel in her stomach,

ripped open and torn.


 


as she lies bleeding,


a child of war and terror.










as a former refugee, the child of political refugees, this scribble of mine resonates deeply within me, and reminds me always about the plight of those who have been displaced from their homes for the far too many cruel reasons we witness in the world around us.






The Immigrant …




Seeking solace. Seeking a home.



The immigrant finds, rotten prejudice.



Fungal anger.



The immigrant, alone, hoping for,


A solitary chance.



To belong.



The immigrant, alone,


always,


an outside entity.



Eternal outcast.



A viral threat.

A reeking odour.



The immigrant, ever alone,

and alone knowing,

that no place exists,



but that lost home …








War Clouds Gathering …






the fear is palpable,

sweaty, reeking,


stagnant, primal.




the spectre of thermonuclear war,


the ravenous vultures circling overhead.



all at the switch of a button.


infantile lunatics at the ready, exchanging taunts, rotten school yard bullies,


while the rest of us,


the people, forced to hear the terrorising drivel and spewed vitriol of ad libbed threats,


of the hubris of dictators,

whose people starve,


engaged in their machismo, their infantile game, their egos puffed and swaggering,


their testosterone fuelled male ugliness putting on an obscene, murderous show.



they have rested easy,

ensconced in their grotesque wealth,


cocooned and coddled,


while countless souls sleep hungry and wanting,

while numberless souls slog for minimum wage.



these men are unspeakably dangerous,


unhinged, seeing this world of ours as their fiefdom,

devoid of humanity,

brimming with twisted, smug arrogance.



we the people, can not,


should not, and must not sit silent,

lest we be complicit by being mute.



we the people,

can not, should not, and must not allow our indignation to be squashed.



we the people, have for far too long,

been battered blue by the actions of such men,


always men,

who have rained death and destitution and destruction upon millions.



we the people, can not, should not, and will not, 


sit quietly on the sidelines, as these men attempt to lead us to the precipice,

the brink of horrific suffering for our fellow human beings.


we the people, can not, 

should not, and will not allow our voices to be hushed,

our collective outrage to be beaten down,


for we are now in the deep,

murky waters of hate,


and unless we rise as one,


we doom ourselves to choke, gag,


and drown …







repost: I am Woman







I am Woman.




just when you think you’ve broken me,


with your cowardly fists,


with your diseased tongue,



I will not cower.



your fake macho shell does not frighten me,


your violence will not silence me.



I am I,


the mother,

the sister,

the partner,


the woman!



I am me.


I am Woman!




and you are not.

nor can you ever be.












withered feelings, like frozen tears, litter the dusty floor, splintered shards of vows,


once meant never to be broken, lie callously shattered,


strewn across the carpet of dreams, torn and mercilessly tattered.


why does love die, with hearts tearing each other apart, while desire dimly begins to fade,

retreating to a far off place, in the bleakness of the shade.


we were once loved, exalted to the crests of joy,


but now we sit in the corner, not unlike an old forgotten, used toy …










these days, without you,

wasting breaths meant to be kisses,

squandered caresses, lost moments of yearning desire.


these days, without you,

pilfering smiles meant to be hearty laughs,

seeing the time out in between, lost in the embers of love’s roaring fire …








hate speech is not free …


when prejudice and hate are spewed forth, in conventions and meetings and living room lounges,


humanity shudders.


when doctrines of superiority and racism are flung, in talk-shows and Q & A’s and town halls and pillow talk,


humanity recoils.


hate speech is not free, it enslaves the fungal minds of like-minded bigoted folk,


hate speech is not free, it denigrates the dignity of swathes of humanity, 


who are still, still, still trying to shake off racisms’ tyrannical yoke.


hate speech is not free speech …




stranded




stranded on this isle of the casually cruel,


bracing against callously random fate,


we have held on this far,


let us hold on a little further …







in love with hope …



she comes to me,

offering solace, gentle words whispered in my ear,


she placates me,

her words a tender caress, dispelling fear,


she seduces me, as sure as she breathes fire into my soul,


she teases me, offering glimpses of the promise of being whole,


she heals me, when i’m down, battered blue black,


she picks me up, shuffling my self as bones achingly crack.
in love with her, i know now, without her, i would not cope,


in love with her, i know now, she is abiding hope,


hope lives,

hope breathes,


always … …









neither here nor there …



traversing the meandering bylanes of life,


tears fall,


through the cauldron of strife,
memories like jagged shards of sorrow,


embedded,
hewn into a torrent of emotion,


flow on …

               and on,


cascading over raw wounds,
                reaching, without

                seeking,

peace …

                within.



clinging onto filaments of hope,


while hollow words
crawl,


fade,
mope,


slinking away to settle,


           on tattered scrolls,


while life persists,


so long as the river rolls…
                  











stricken …




​myriad interwoven strands of distilled feeling,


intoxicate me, leaving me reeling,


while forever more, I look up to you,


as I lay stricken, as I lay kneeling … …












a silly schmaltzy scribble …




you may fly away ever so far, leaving me wounded, tending to yet another fresh scar.




you may look past me, choosing not to see me at all, as I pick myself up from yet another fall.




you may not know me, our gaze destined never to meet, while I dream of our paths crossing, the lucky happenstance of seeing you walking down your street.




you may not know the feelings that I hide, 


tucked away neatly on the inside,


yet still,


I will be as faithful as the coming in of the tide … …











the comedy of mid-life surprises … …





we have been around a while, we have had our share of tears, and of many a smile,


life has often been kind, though at times it felt like all joy, all peace, was left far, far behind,


now our hair greys and thins, and we have chronic medication in more than a few tins,


we may have seen and heard it all before, yet, and still there is a wish felt deep within our hearts core,


perhaps not of rose-tinted love, or falling stars streaking across the skies above,


perhaps just a need to feel human again,
for the sun must shine after a shower of rain,


so why don’t we give it a shot, for who knows,
things may get a bit steamy, if not desirably hot … …








reflections.





the passing of the years roll on, decades distilled into momentary flashes,


fleeting memories of days gone by, of feelings run dry.


reflecting, some wounds healed, a few raw,


gnashing into the now, lost in the whys and the how.


standing here at the crossroads, divergent paths leading to the unknown,

having walked down these roads long ago,

all that remains – the endless charade,


the hollow passing show …



hope






weighed down, bound by the travails of this life,

at times desolate,

at times with seemingly no respite.


the sunken talons of the drudgery of the days,

clawing deeply, shackle each breath taken,

wresting joy away.


the fierce mauling of time, swatting dreams once dreamed,

left to fester in the chords of the unfinished song.


still we trudge, still we stand upright, still we scribble odes for tomorrow,


still we somehow cope,


still we carry our drained bodies,


still we persist, still we somehow hope …






nothing leaves a heart reeling,


more than the heart,


filled with an abundance of feeling 











spilled words …



what are these words, this ink on parchment, scribbled odes to love and to loss,


beseeching the fates, the rolling of the years, imploring them to be gentle,


yes, what are these words strewn across flimsy paper,


wrenching souls laid bare, offering comfort only in knowing that we shall never, ever cease, to dare to care …











twilight tales … … …




birds in free flight, 


nestled, settled, basking in the peaceful moonlight,


awaiting for night to descend aflutter.



humans, you and i,


forage for tidbits of peace,


and as moonlight beckons,


we draw every shutter …






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