Tag Archive: sectarian


Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

(January 15 1929 – April 4 1968)

1.

You had a dream, of pastures of peace,

where children of all hues mingle like rainbows.

2.

They silenced you, yet your dream
resounds louder still,

in pastures not yet of peace,

where children of all hues mingle like rainbows.

3.

You said that you had been to the mountain top,

they tried to strangle your voice as you saw the promised land,

those pastures of peace,

where children of all hues mingle like rainbows.

4.

Today your dream is glimpsed in pastures,

not yet of peace,

for though they tried to silence your voice,

your spirit in our collective hearts does rejoice.

5.

Your spirit, your dream,

mingles in the winds of all those pastures,

over the valleys, in the oceans, across the mountains,

in every flowing stream.

6.

Today, your dream lives in the wind,

seeding the prairies, the steppes, the savannahs, the pampas,

pastures of peace,

where children of all hues mingle like rainbows.

7.

We remember you today,

with a shared pledge to nourish those pastures of peace,

in each of us,

where your dream may thrive,

blossoming into our shared dream,

bounteous, and alive.

8.

Your dream realised shall then seem,

where children of all hues mingle like rainbows,

when we give life to the promise of the radiance of your beautiful dream …

“Usilethela Uxolo” – “Nelson Mandela Brings Us Peace” by Stompie Mavi from the documentary “Amandla!: A Revolution in Four-Part Harmony” by Lee Hirsch

✊🏾

“Amandla!: A Revolution in Four-Part Harmony”

✊🏾

from google

✊🏾

The Stench of Prejudice …

When silent prejudice strikes,

in living rooms with plumped-up sofas,

a quietly insidious venom begins to seep,

into the consciousness of the chattering ones as they sleep …

The beliefs held so true and so deep,

are stripped of all feeling,

empty and hollow and without compassion,

as the conceit grows in the chests of those with righteous passion …

The prejudice once firmly entrenched,

is worn like a warm and comforting shawl,

needing precious little to compound and to mutate,

into the doctrines of superiority, racism, misogyny, gay-bashing,

and of intoxicating hate …

We are all guilty of succumbing to this silent pervasive plague,

as we sip martinis and laugh and shovel more food on our heaving plates,

as we slip into pleasantly inebriated moments we dare not care,

to smell the stench of hate and of prejudice and of greed wafting in the cool evening air …

✊🏾

“Stimela” – “Coal Train” by Hugh Masekela – from the documentary “Amandla!: A Revolution in Four-Part Harmony”

✊🏾

from google

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art by banksy

The Markets Are Down 2% …

Banish the hubris,
Toss away the choice words
Spoken by rotten, broken tongues.
Silence the chorus of appalled shock.

Shred the sermons,
Burn down the gory edifices:
The churches, mosques, temples
And the muted Gods they mock.

Drain the sewage.
Flush away the insidious odour
Seeping up from malls, homes, carnivals.
Put it in a closet and weld the key in the lock.

Shut it all off.
Turn out the lights.
Pull the damned plug.
But hold on to that blue-chip stock.

art by banksy

youtube.com/watch

Billie Holiday – Strange Fruit
from google

wearing masks,

shrouding each mood …

… facades

gnawing at raw wounds.

 

wearing masks,

veiling each feeling …

 

… charades

snapping at open sores.

 

wearing masks,

mimicking the other …

 

… masked facades,

veiled charades,

shrouded screens,

masquerading as truth.

 

Truth lies in wait,

beneath the mask,

under the veil,

behind the screen,

through the shroud …

… truth lies in wait,

 

and waits …

waiting.

“Billie Holiday” by banksy
Billie Holiday – Strange Fruit

Poem Series – In your Eyes …

all art from google

Poem Series – In your Eyes.

1.

In your Eyes #1.

in your eyes, a maelstrom of emotion,

in your eyes, whirlpools of desire,

beckoning, inviting me to plunge, into the celestial waters,

of your eyes.

all art from google

2.

In your Eyes #2

whittling down reason, drawing out a rhyme,

searching for the truth,

hurtling through time,

in your eyes, i find my answer, my refuge from the incessant rain,

in your eyes, i sail upon the ocean, devoid of pain.

all art from google

3.

In your Eyes #3.

As another day recedes,

enveloped under the shawl of night,

allow me to drown,

in your eyes.

Moments fleeting,

fickle hands of time unseeing,

allow me to seek solace,

in your eyes.

The trodden path littered with each shard,

regrets this heart wishes to discard,

so allow me to seek refuge,

in your eyes.

I have walked through twisting boulevards of life,

seeking simple joy, away from desolation, strife,

so allow me to find peace,

in your eyes

all art from google

4.

In your Eyes #4.

I find,

the gentleness left behind,

away from superficial smiles,

away from fatigue of the walked mile.

In your eyes,

I feel,

at home at long last,

your love caressing away the restlessness of the past,

stepping out of the shadows to embrace pure contentment,

though a bit player,

in your life’s theatrical cast.

In your eyes,

I touch,

the flame of promise radiating through your loving light,

that is why,

I no longer dread,

the vacuum of encroaching night.

all art from google

5.

In your Eyes #5.

in your eyes,

marmalade swirls,

candyfloss twirls,

draw me ever deeper,

as another day unfurls …

all art from google

6.

In your Eyes #6.

I have plumbed the depths of truth,

in your eyes,

I have found rejuvenated youth,

in your eyes,

I have seen my future, and my now,

in your eyes,

that so effortlessly soothe.

all art from google

7.

In your Eyes #7.

clasping onto hope,

fragile strands of sanity dispelling unseen phantoms,

lost amongst the suffocating crowd,

cloaked in your invisible shroud,

fortitude restraining you from crying out loud,

still your fire rages, crackling embers testament to your dignity,

your insolent defiance, ever steely, seeing through the lies,

your quiet strength resting deep,

in your eyes.

all art from google

8.

In your Eyes #8.

in your eyes, I see,

desolation flee,

in your eyes, I know,

is a humanity that shall always flourish, ever grow,

in your eyes, I see, a fiery need, passion ablaze, mirth set free,

in your eyes, is where I wish to be.

all art from google

9.

In your Eyes #9

in your eyes, I see,

waters of turquoise,

pearls in the deep,

in your eyes, I drown,

swept by the currents,

banishing my sleep,

in your eyes, I feel,

a yearning for peace,

beyond the tears we weep.

all art from google

10.

In your Eyes #10.

consumed by the crowd, deafening silence assailing my ears too loud,

slipping away from the raucous row, the din of moments, the savagery of the now:

finding you,

my open sky so blue,

seeking peace, elusive,

rented out on a married lease,

give me a kiss, honest and true, deep,

in your eyes, finding the peace, that renders me a bore,

exhausted, fatigued,

needing only you, in your arms a restful sleep.

all art from google

11.

In your Eyes #11.

your light blazed bright,

a comet slicing through the moonless night,

enveloped by your sight, dimming the pangs of my darkening plight,

I found my peace, in the blue open skies,

of your eyes.

all art from google

12.

In your Eyes #12.

darkness enfolds night,

suffocating, cold, empty,

I stare, unseeing,

alone, desolate,

till I see,

the light in your eyes.

all art from google

13.

In your Eyes #13.

in your eyes,

spices swirl, dark chocolates whirl,

awake beside you,

your breath against mine,

waiting, as you sleep,

for your eyelashes to unfurl.

all art from google

14.

In your Eyes #14.

in your eyes,

seeing the pain i touch and feel,

in your eyes,

the ache of having to scrape and kneel,

in your eyes,

beholding the fire of your wandering soul,

in your eyes, I see,

the promise of being whole.

all art from google

15.

In your Eyes #15.

May your embracing warmth,

be forever by your side,

may you walk the soft beaches of the fates, at the coming in of the tide.

May life shower you with love, laughter, truth, peace, health,

your spirit be a wellspring of ceaseless wealth.

May your dreams be boundless soaring through hopeful skies,

the open skies residing,

swirling, bubbling,

in your eyes.

all art from google

16.

In your Eyes #16.

Walking along these bending alleys of life,

the promise of meeting a fellow-traveller was deemed far too remote,

and so,

I shut down my heart,

severing all loves’ ties,

but then again,

that was before,

before I gazed into the ocean of your fiery, gentle, irresistibly enticing eyes.

all art from google

17.

In youe Eyes #17.

Your eyes sketch skies,

a silken canvas.

Your touch,

the smell of your hair,

seduces me,

in an avalanche of curls.

Our kisses like tributaries fanning out, eroding life’s cold hard stone.

In your arms,

in the shadows of your form,

I am whole,

I am never alone.

all art from google

18.

In her Eyes #18.

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.

all art from google

19.

In your Eyes #19.

my starved eyes, aching for a glimpse of your smile, ready to beguile, their thirst quenched, seeking simple joys, not million dollar toys, finally, coaxed the ocean of your eyes, to reveal the kernel of truth beneath the veneer of lies, so love me now, today, where fractured dreams are made whole by the sea spray, plunging deeper into the ocean shimmering in your eyes, hoping we may breathe, like the terror of time, high on up into blue skies, where love roams unshackled, in that ocean so deep,

in your beautiful eyes.

all art from google

20.

In your Eyes #20.

I need no pity,

no earnest sympathies,

hearing the birds singing in the trees,

enough to raise these spirits to the skies,

sans pain, sans beholding eyes.

all art from google
from google

Hardly a Poem

Splinters embedded under my skin,

each memory a shard of stinging glass,

I see that I see it all now,

the infinite regrets meandering,

down foggy alleys of yesteryear,

as decades and moments come to pass.

Wearing my many masks as I cascade,

leafing through my conscious betrayals,

of gentle hearts once treasured,

now left to decay, in the empty cold.

Seeing my treasures turned to stone,

while wearing the blues like a convenient coat,

untrue to most, I stand accused,

in the dock, the fragments of my past,

are all that I am able to hold.

Where do I go from here,

as I stand ashamed, rooted to this spot,

my sins are countless, my excuses fickle,

the lies have been many,

and all the untruths have already been told.

Was it not just a fortnight ago,

when I was younger than I am now,

you loved me completely, you told me so,

while I slithered inside my thick skin,

shutting you out,

and embraced comforting desolation into my fold.

Now the momentary tears have all been shed,

the wounds of time too, have silently bled,

and all beseeching prayers have been said.

I stagger on, my reflection a mirage,

my heart and soul battered black and blue,

still, grasping onto the tendrils of hope,

if not, then I am truly dead.

from google

from google

DISCLAIMER:

Thank you ever so much for all the kind words and sentiments expressed here.

My scribble is just me moping a lot and wallowing in some irresistible self-pity.

I have caused far too many good and kind people far too much pain and hurt and I have been untruthful as well as being many other not nice at all things to those who have been the nicest to me.

So my moping here is just that – moping.

Thank you yet again for your warmth and kindness and to all fellow WordPressers for all the kind words shared by us in this wacky but lovely WordPress family.

from google

I am broken,

fractured, lost amidst the folds of well-meaning words spoken.

I am torn,

splintered, numbing myself in that vain hope of a new day yet to dawn.

I am dead,

inured, feeling no pain even as the flowing of red-hot crimson blood is bled.

I am nothing.

I am nothingness.

I am choking,

flailing, churning in the maelstrom as my life lies in cinders, silently smoking.

I am moulting,

discarding this sorry skin in which I feel unbearably revolting.

I am without place,

a dandelion seed on the thermals that scald my innerspace,

I am without place,

a shell of a man who can longer bear to see his own face …

from google

“Ode to Joy” – Beethoven 9th Symphony sheet music from google
“Starry Night” by Vincent van Gogh

Poem Series – Vincent van Gogh and Ludwig van Beethoven #1 to #10

1.

Vincent and Ludwig # 1.

“Do you know, my dear Ludwig, that I’ve sold just one of my paintings?”

“Yes, Vincent, do not despair, my friend, they cannot, will not, fathom the flower that reveals its petals before their eyes”

“I suppose you are right, old friend. They cannot, will not, hear your ‘Ode to Joy’, though it is you who are deaf!”

“But my dear Vincent, you do hear my ‘Ode to Joy’, deep in your soul”

“Yes, I hear it, I feel it, Ludwig, flowing like liquid paint through the canvas of my veins”

“My dear Vincent, I too feel your brush-strokes, and in each swirl of colour I hear your joy, and I can touch your pain”

“What does that make us, my friend? Two men cast adrift on the bluest seas, leaving nothing behind, yet heading nowhere. What does that make us then?”, asks Vincent.

“Human”, replies Ludwig, smiling.

“Human, yes, dear Ludwig”.

“And that is enough”, says Ludwig, almost to himself.

“It is enough”, smiles Vincent.

“To be human. It is enough.”

Vincent laughs, as Ludwig watches a gentle wave caress their toes, through their tattered shoes.

Symphony No. 5 sheet music from google

2.

Ludwig and Vincent #2

‘what inspired you to write your 9th?’, Vincent asks Ludwig.

‘madness, dear Vincent. Distilled, concentrated madness’.

‘wasn’t it madness that drove you to sketch starry nights above a sea of Irises?’, Ludwig asks Vincent.

‘madness it was, Ludwig. A madness of the soul. Restless, frantic, maddening madness’, whispers Vincent.

‘what does that make us, my dear Vincent?’, Ludwig murmurs, leaning close to Vincent.

‘sane’, says Vincent.

‘yes, Vincent. Sane’, responds Ludwig.

Vincent reaches up and feels around for his phantom ear,

Ludwig smiles, touching his ear that once could hear.

“Irises” by Vincent van Gogh

3.

Talking with Vincent #3

Alone,

in conversation with Vincent, we talk.

‘loneliness got to me’, he says with a smile.

I smile. I know.

‘I tried, I honestly tried’, says Vincent.

I know. I tried as well.

‘I tired, eventually I just tired’, he said with a wink.

I am tired too, I said.

‘I know’, replied Vincent.

art from google

4.

Vincent and Ludwig #4

“we are mere vagabonds, scraping here and there, never belonging anywhere, and never wanting to belong somewhere” said Vincent to Ludwig.

“yes my dear Vincent, we walk this earth with tattered shoes, our madness binding us in friendship, feted now and then, yet mostly left to ramble through our lonesome lives” Ludwig says, looking down at his weather-beaten boots.

Vincent and Ludwig share a smile, each knowing the feelings felt when sinking deeper into the depths of despair.

“your ‘sunflowers’ always bores a hole into my heart, my dear Vincent, your flourishes live in the swirls and your warmth and love for humanity shines through, tearing at my insides” Ludwig murmurs to Vincent.

“just as your ‘ode to joy’ bores a hole into my soul, with your unselfish, transcendent love for all living beings, alive and resounding in every note” Vincent says, looking into the distance.

“what are we, my dear friend, tortured by our inner demons, left to rot by the wayside, torn and broken by this harsh world all around us” Ludwig asks Vincent.

“we may be mad, and maddeningly so, my friend, but why do we see the smiles washed off the faces of the sane, why do we we tears trickling down from far too many eyes” Vincent says with a rueful smile.

“yes, my dearest Vincent, it often appears that this whole world, this whole veneer of civility, these people who have enough yet always clamouring for more, while those who have nothing hunger for just scraps” Ludwig says, almost to himself.

“and we see it every day, in their greed glazed eyes, their grubby grabbing hands, their world they call sane” Vincent mumbles.

“what are we then, Vincent, in this world of naked oppression, in these places of vulgar ostentation, in the midst of all this madness” Ludwig asks, looking to his friend.

“we are sane, my friend” Vincent says tugging at his phantom ear.

“sane, yes Vincent. sane” Ludwig says with a smile, his fingers feeling his ear that once could hear.

“sane“

Self Portrait by Vincent van Gogh

5.

Vincent and Ludwig #5

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, ifeel 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“

art from google

6.

Vincent and Ludwig #6

“they call us mad, dear Vincent”, Ludwig said to his friend.

 

“even as you sketch starry nights on the blank canvas of this torrid life”.

 

“yes, my dear Ludwig, they call you insane too, even as you pluck odes to joy from the depths of deafness”.

 

“they call us mad”, whispers Vincent. 

 

“mad, indeed”.

 

“I would rather be mad, than numb”, breathes Ludwig. 

 

“I too would rather be mad than what they expect us to become”, Vincent sighs as the two men share a smile.

 

“mad, yet never mere shades of ice”.

“Café Terrace at Night” by Vincent van Gogh

7.

Vincent and Ludwig #7

“i paint starry nights, Ludwig, to help me forget each torrid day”

“and i compose odes to joy, Vincent, to keep pain at bay”

“we are alike, you and i, dear Ludwig”, Vincent says as he sketches a smile

“yes Vincent, we are alike, our tattered shoes yet to carry us across so many a mile”

from google

8.

Vincent and Ludwig #8

“I often wonder how hands so coarse are able to infuse a stark, naked canvas into a symphony of sensual brushstrokes”, Ludwig says with a wink.

Vincent laughs, “as have I, wondered that is, how such a stark raving mad soul may transform a mere gaggle of notes into soaring orchestral harmony”.

Ludwig smiles, nodding at Vincent, who smiles at his bruised hands.

“Wheat Field with Cypresses” by Vincent van Gogh

9.

Vincent and Ludwig #9

“i often write to Theo, my heart dripping bloodied ink on paper, burning up the parchment. Theo is my brother, dear Ludwig, who often sends me money, to get by” said Vincent.

“i understand, Vincent, life has dealt me similar circumstances, a jangle of cacophonous silence instead of the song of even the solitary bird” Ludwig breathes.

“i sketch my own pain”

“and i compose mine”

from google

10.

Vincent & Ludwig #10

“oh to hear a bird singing perched on a fresh twig, weeping down willowy branches, into an azure stream”, said Ludwig to Vincent.

“yes, my friend Ludwig, my nightmares aren’t raucous, but silent”, murmured Vincent.

“a desolate silence”, Ludwig breathed.

“loneliness”, whispered Vincent.

“loneliness”.

“The Potato Eaters” by Vincent Van Gogh

11.

Vincent and Ludwig #11

“my dear Vincent”, breathes a pensive Ludwig.

“have you found any work as yet. I ask it rhetorically because I know the answer”

Vincent smiles, “your wit hasn’t forsaken you, my friend. Do you know that they call me a “Van Gogh-wannabe”, and I try but always in vain to explain to them that I am a van Gogh, to which the kindly people look at each other and say”,

“and look he even ‘looks’ a bit like Vincent van Gogh and the charlatan even dresses like the great artist himself. The cheek of it”

Vincent laughs as Ludwig shakes his head in what seems to be utter astonishment.

“but my dear Vincent, that’s exactly what they accuse me of being – ‘a Beethoven clone’ – alas my friend, what lesson can we learn from these bizarre happenings?”

Vincent smiles, tugging at his phantom ear,

” they barely acknowledged us as human beings during our times, my dear Ludwig, and in 2015 they accuse us of masquerading as the ‘great’ ‘genius’ ‘incomparable’ Ludwig van Beethoven and Vincent van Gogh”.

Ludwig laughs heartily and sings lines of a song Vincent thinks sounds strangely familiar…

‘… this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you…”*.

*Lyrics from Don McLean’s song “Vincent”.

Für Elise” by Ludwig van Beethoven sheet music from google

12.

Vincent and Ludwig #12

“Your ‘Sunflowers’ evokes the beauty of a sublime sonata to my deaf ears, my dear Vincent”,

“Ah! but you do hear! You hear the passions that torment my soul, my dear friend Ludwig”,

“And you paint in the colours of my dreams, Vincent, where I am alone in a field of sunflowers, as the moonlight caresses each tender stem”,

“Yes, Ludwig! Just as your ‘Moonlight Sonata’ moves me to tears, the tears that you see as delicate drops of dew on the sunflowers of your dreams”,

“Sunflowers bathed in soft moonlight”, smiles Ludwig,

“Oh yes, that same canvas of night that sways to the delicate touch of your music”, Vincent says with a wink.

Ludwig smiles again, as Vincent laughs a hearty laugh.

Beethoven Symphony 9 sheet music from google
“Sunflowers” by Vincent van Gogh

hope in dystopia

hope in dystopia …

fingers raw, bruised and sore,

masks stripped, truth tearing at the core,

feelings forgotten, discarded and rotten,

emptiness scratching at the bottom,

moments fungal, trapped in this desolate jungle,

scalding pride to ashes cold and humble,

dreams trashed, memories adrift, lashed,

wheels of lives callously slashed …

still, yet, always,

hope persists,

through life’s turns and twists,

hope never dies,

hope resists …

art from google

For Wendy Cope.

(Inspired by her poems ‘Bloody Men’ and ‘Flowers’)

1.

I may not have brought you flowers.

I know I was always late.

You tolerated my moodiness,

and my ever-increasing weight.

2.

You said men were like buses,

and you had grown weary of waiting,

Of putting up with my quirks and my fusses,

though we barely knew we were dating.

3.

Ah, but we weathered the squalls;

Your patience has always been saintly.

And now that old age palls,our tiffs are recalled only faintly.

4.

We laugh at youth’s follies and know,

the beauty we had sought unaware;

It’s as wide as a calm river’s flow,and as timeless as our years of care.

___________

(Inspired by Wendy Cope’s poems ‘Bloody Men’ and ‘Flowers’)

Searching …

Searching.

Searching, in the debris of the past, scraps of casually discarded emotion.

Searching, in hastily trashed yesterdays, an inkling of moments flung away.

Searching, in heaps of rubbished words, that tiresome sigh of defeated thought.

Searching, in the layers of moulted skin the wilting self that once was true.

Searching, in the reflections between the ripples, for the whispered pangs of roaring desire.

Searching, in the blank eyes streaming endlessly, an echo of the faintest sigh of new life.

Searching.



I am the Heartbeat of Africa …

I am the heartbeat of Africa. The blood flowing through its veins, and I have seen much. I have witnessed the the pummelling of peoples under the jackboot of colonialism, the plunder of wealth, stripping bare the very veins I flow through. I have urged the collective to stand tall, amidst the horrors of history. It has not been easy, the tyranny of centuries has left scars, raw scabby festering sores, my thumping scarlet oozing out of myriad pores, rendering the great continent pained, hollow … but still, and yet, I course inside millions of souls, refusing to capitulate, thick with hopes for the day and the days after the day. I have placated the wounded, the multitudes forgotten, the bodies seeking respite from the loss, the anger, the deprivation of spirits undimmed by the splintered darkness of racial prejudice. I have seen so much, children torn from loving embraces, mothers holding on, as the world turns its face away, conveniently absolving itself of its crimes. I have felt the hardening of arteries, the will to fight on, despite the overwhelming odds.

yes, I am the blood of Africa. 

and I shall continue to flow, coaxing my people to rise again, to summon up the valiant spirits of the ancestors, to stand and to fight against the insidious doublespeak of tongues, silken tongues peddling instruments of death, shunning the divides that separate one from another, to rise and greet the fresh blazing African sun, each day, every day, until that day when the daily battles cease, when the battles are done. 

yes, I am the blood of Africa, and I shall flow ever on, sowing hope where desolation stalks the evenings, I am hope for tomorrows dawn, for despite and inspite of it all, the new day of peace, of renewed hope, must be, must be born …

art by banksy

the stream of life …

the meandering stream of our lives, hopping over smooth pebbles, jarred by jagged rocks, swirling down maelstroms, surfacing in placid waters, washing up all our carried detritus on tiny islands of hope, coursing through the rapids of fate, just as life races on, a perpetual journey wrestling the still waters where hope itself, seemingly lies in state.

our lives, the daily grind, the cacophony of the banal, remains afloat, seeking solace in between crevasses, welcoming the temporary respite from the incessantly onward flow, stripping our skin bare, raw wounds inflicted by the flotsam and jetsam of these travels, the travails of the many masks we wear, seeking respite in the promise of an endless sea, always just around the corner, where for once, we may moult our broken skin, and where for once, we may just be.

the rising and ebbing of the tides, leave us gasping for breath, a seemingly endless cycle of the distant beacon of joy, only to be blinded by the silt, as the stream rolls on obliviously, leaving us gasping for breath, a twig snapped in two, while destiny offers us the mirage of a peaceful shore, only to be struck by the truth, the tired realisation that the stream rolls on, evermore.

we are torn apart by the ceaseless wear and tear, the infinite tears lost in the deluge, our fleeting laughs, our vanishing smiles, being pounded against the silence of the shallows, with hope a seductive vision, prodding us to go on,

to not sink in the greying depths of despair,

while we continually fall for the falseness of the charade,

grasping for just another breath of life affirming air.

Picasso’s Dove of Peace

a bloviating manic-depressive …

“Les Voyageurs” by Bruno Catalano

a bloviating manic-depressive …

squirming inside my skin,

razor blades grating within,

needing to moult once more,

knowing i am a wastrel, a festering sore.

whirling static in my mind,

swirling rainbows left behind,

needing to turn off every light,

knowing i am a stain, a grotesque blight.

jangling nerves shatter my soul,

rhymelessly battering my whole,

needing to flee from all of this,

knowing i am a mistake, hideously amiss.

discordant shrieks assail my heart,

baleful cries rip each moment apart,

needing nothing but desolate space,

knowing i am a shell, a hollow carapace.

wake me up when this night takes leave

thrash me with your words that cleave,

whip me into desiccated formlessness,

for there is nothing here i will ever miss …

art by banksy

A ha-ha-hee-hee Scribble …

a ha-ha hee-hee scribble …

1.

a soul lies strewn aside,

a rotting mangled heap,

a putrid heart decays inside,

a will too dehydrated to weep,

a festering me, aching to hide,

a mind too splintered to sleep.

a severance from the here, the now,

a life of constantly needing to bow,

a torn wail of pain, wailed somehow,

a frigid heart with nothing to endow,

a stench reeks from each guilty bow,

a stream of hot tears on blinded brow.

what happens when the mind itself claws, scratches, and mercilessly

lashes,

what can you do when the soul itself

shatters, and is slayed by the blade

that slashes,

it’s all a barren pantomime of unending dread,

it’s all a freak-show until everything is dead.

2.

it’s all just the ha-ha-hee-hee of cacophonous gibberish,

It’s all just the ha-ha-hee-hee of festering rubbish …

when death comes calling …

when death comes calling,

slipping effortlessly to rest by my side,

i will not flee, i will not try to hide,

i will not seek to scurry away,

i will embrace the dying of the day,

i will not cling to each breath,

i will not cower before death,

i will not try to escape it’s grip,

i will not steady myself as i slip,

for i know my betrayals well,

and i will have no more lies to tell,

so when death comes calling,

i will wade into the dark incoming tide,

for i am far too tired to continue to hide.

the air and the flute …

from google

the air and the flute …

… as air caresses the flute,

unseen,

leaving not a trace
of itself,

gently melodious notes
echoing,

fused,


by passionate breath mingling with air,

unseen.

… as does yours,


your breath and mine,

leaving fragrant traces,

of where your lips have been.

art by banksy

A Poem of Hope …

A Poem of Hope …

May we be gentler, softer and generous in spirit,

may we raise our voices against injustice whenever and wherever we see it,

may we treasure the love of family and of friends,

may we not be suckered into the million and one new trends,

may we speak truth to power in this world that is veering to the ominous right,

may we hold on to our basic humane principles strong and tight,

may we embrace the other without being bombarded by politicians’ peddling fear,

may we realise that all races and religions and genders belong equally on this earth so dear,

may we struggle for mother earth and may we heed her cries,

may we realise that without her everything dies,

may we continue to stand and fight for gender-rights and equality and justice and peace and hope and dignity for all,

may we be more willing to lend a hand to those who slip and fall.

May we finally realise that all the blood that has been callously shed –

is of one colour,

for we all bleed red.

Port of Call

“The Immigrant Void” by Bruno Catalano

Port of Call …

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

with the breath of the ocean

a caressing balm,

soothing pained memories away,

to the swaying of a solitary palm.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

feeling the brushing away of past turmoil,

on a quest for solace ever so hard to find,

yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,

as the tide washes away pain,

leaving despair far, far behind.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,

shushing aches of bygone moons,

tasting the salty tang on my lips,

as the burnished sun,

over the distant horizon,

swoons,

and dips.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

searching, ever searching,

for a slice of solitude,

as memory bids adieu,

reaching under the sea so vast,

and seeking comfort in the depths,

while embracing

tomorrows to come,

wishing that they be true.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

seeing my truths drown,

as they slip beneath turquoise waters,

feeling my heart ablaze,

with a passion that barely falters.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

knowing that I am home at last,

wishing the waves would wash away,

the defences that once stood

like an impregnable wall.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

I have found,

at long last,

my own port of call.

“The Immigrant Void” by Bruno Catalano

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