Tag Archive: sunday


a sunday wish for you




a sunday wish for you …




may your day be as gentle

as your soft smile, warm as your heart,


may your afternoon be caressed by kisses of sunshine,


may evening wrap you in a cocooned eiderdown,


may your night be peacefully restful,


warm and dreamy,


simple, and true,


as you.

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Artwork from Google




scribble sans punctuation





just as morning sashays and twirls

dust clouds of trepidation swirls


another day infused with light

hushing the whispers of covetous night


where hopes are paraded like wares

and dreams traded as blue chiselled shares


when all of this and all that jazz

raises the din to an unbearable razmatazz


humaneness getting lost amidst the incessant din

wearing each others patience thin


till night swoons back into view

thankful that todays tears were but a few


and so it goes on and on and ever on

far too many battles fought for the war to ever be won


till it all comes down to this hollow grand charade

trumpeting the crudeness of the passing parade


till leaden hearts fall faitigued to the ground


rotting as the vultures circle around


waiting for the flesh to rapidly decay

chewing and spitting out souls decapitated along the way


is this the living of life blabbered about in verse and in song

when each being survives the tribulations of the wrong


even as we sputter on in the gutters

gulping every breath in doleful stutters


lambasting him and her and them all as convenient nutters


panting as down go the fragile shutters


wistfully trampling on hearts of glass that shatter


but who cares in any case what really is the matter


expecting no peace as howling winds screech and batter


each fragile heart grinning insolently

like the maddest hatter


yes this is life they say


this is life


devoid of mirth yet mired in aching strife




Artwork from Google


Artwork from Google





blah blah blah …





what is this life i live, once simmering with promise, now relegated to pigeonholes of so many lives led. 


what becomes of this multitude of lives, where gentle peace and brutal strife smash against the ramparts of my soul.


the erosion of hope, year by year, the fear of the corrosion of love, of giving it all, only to be discarded in the rubbish bins of glitzy shopping malls, where emotions are traded, where trust is a commodity, where truth has long past its sell-by date, where love is bartered for the flim-flam of possessions, where feelings are numbed, printed dead on a budget t-shirt, where lost souls wander the emptiness, and broken hearts litter the polished marble floors.


is this the life you thought you would lead, filled with promise and love and 2 and a half kids and apple pie and picket fences, is this the vault you now feel ensnared in, for the dream once dreamed sours fast, quicker than the vows taken that were meant to last.


where do i retreat to, to regain some of my youthful promise, to see the moonlight dancing on your eyebrows, when love was simple, when we were free of the straightjacket of suits, when clasped hands and butterfly kisses meant more than all the world, when through the pain we held onto each other, as the days and months unfurled.


don’t you feel trapped at times, pouring your heart out on insipid rhymes, walking alone in this crowd, feeling it all to be a vacuum of the banal, day in and day out, shrieking your lungs out, muted, as from cubicle to cubicle you wander about.


these words may make some sense to me, for i have long forgotten to see, the wonder of a spring rain shower, when i now i trample, obliviously, the delicate blossoming flower.


what has become of me, of us, as we stutter in the haze of apathy, brokering our humanity for a pittance, cloaking ourselves in what we deem as armour, meant to protect who knows what from what knows what, gradually chipping away at our very core, where once thrived dreams of something better, something more, more than this dreary parade, far much more than this charade, where we have forgotten who we really are,


when everything seems a cacophony of meaningless blah blah blah




Artwork from Google




Artwork 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 … 




Artwork from Google

Artwork from Google





afternoon melodies,


rustle leaves,

swaying to the lilting song,


of a solitary bird

singing

a hopeful refrain,


in the icy sleet,


under the blazing sun,


lashed by

summer rain …



 

Artwork from Google





December 16th: South African Day of Reconciliation




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 citizens.

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,

23 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 racism that thrives still.

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!

.

.

.

.

Artwork from Google




bidding another year adieu … …




and when i see,

breathe her, her softness a whisper away,


she knows the ache, i fear,

of wanting,

needing perhaps,

the feeling of feeling dear,



not much, 

soothing warmth,

enveloped,


our warmth, a light autumn shawl,


her fingers, mine,

tracing sketches, scribbles,

our waltzing fingers entwined,


shedding this year that wasn’t, or hardly was at all,


like so, so many yesteryears,


now long passed,


quietly, threading catacombs crumbling into dust,


gently, reverently, 

laying it down, leaving it all far, far behind,


a few shared moments,

of gentleness, warmth, solace,


of pure, innocent, delicious, alluring promise of bliss,


so rare, 

            priceless, almost,

            

            almost,

            too rare to find … …





Artwork from Google

Artwork from Google





letting go …





scratching

at wounds


picking

scabs


unleashing pain


twisting knives

turning effortlessly


amid the cacophonous romp

of highfives …



letting go

of

scraped souls


eroded

by

dishevelled dignity


stung

wrung

strung


and

hung


to dispel quaint smiles


perfected over a million wounded miles


shattering consciensces

along the way


blinding

blinkering

rose-tinted phantasy

day to groteque day


clogging vision

hazing eyes


tugging

pulling

tearing

down

curtains


leaving eyes

blinded

blinkered


unseeing

unfeeling …



while broken stems

mend gently


elsewhere


plucked

along strings


strings

strung

and

strummed


igniting

numbed senses


sublime flavours

on clouds of

touch

taste


melding

fusing


myriad dreams

into

dreadlocked hopes


entwined

intertwined


knowing the paths ahead

to be

far from kind


still

setting forth


yet

moving


ever moving

forward onward


hearts ablaze

hopeful


letting go

of it all


leaving it all

far far behind…





Artwork from Google

hopeful thoughts

Artwork from Google




hopeful thoughts …





deafening

howls of hate

may

yet

be


quelled


simply

by


knowing

believing

fairly

justly


collectively


that

you


me


him


she


her


they


us


yes us

may still


share

a

kinder

gentler fate


but only if

i


you


her


they


him


us

yes us


begin

anew


and then


when peace is what we all shall wage


we may then


and only then


begin to scribble afresh


new

dreams

aspirations

hopes


collectively


on


a


new

fresh page …




Artwork from Google

Artwork from Google




on the passing of the years …


age creeps up on one, and with the lightness of a dandelion seed, it floats seductively before our eyes, and then flutters away. 


the falls and the follies of youth seem bygones away, mere filaments of strings of memories encapsulated in the recesses of the mind. 


the passing of the years is often linked to the attaining of ‘wisdom’, and though I certainly am not wise, but these ensuing years have I hope, at the very least, imbibed in me a little sense of understanding. 


and sometimes I think that may just be enough. 


there is far too much pain and sorrow and war and deprivation in this mad crazy world, and as the years pile on it is my hope, no my fervent wish, to understand more. 


and by understanding a little more, I hope to be more human, less plastic, more caring, less callous. 


it is not an easy path to tread, but thanks to the love of all those close to me, both past and present, I have embarked upon the journey.


there are many steps yet to be tread, one hopes. 


may they be walked with a sense of humanity. 


that much is enough …




Artwork from Google

Artwork from Google


“Mora Piya Ghar Aaya”*

(My Beloved Has Returned Home)





Autumn:



the leaves fell, as you left, a bleak chill wafting across the barren space within my being,


you left, taking your smile and mine,



my smile rests with you still, leaving a void impossible to fill.





Winter:



pangs of longing consumed me, my only company in the frigid nights,


my tears remain frozen, within,



unable to fall from my broken eyes, as I searched the depths of the cold, harsh skies.





Spring:



birds returned home, though you did not, and I felt soothing rebirth all around,


memories of you began blazing, their embers stoked,



and at last the tears rolled, like ink on this blank notebook, my whole being pined for you, my very self in anguish silently shook.





Summer:



alive I felt again, the promise of the coming cooling rain, easing the heat of desire,


yet the furnace slowly raged inside, your absence tearing into me, shattering my nights, my longing for you soaring unfettered across the skies,



dancing on clouds, blissfully free,





Monsoons:



heaven itself opened, the deluge an unending dream,


rain falling all around, mingling with my flowing tears,



and then I saw you, you returned, and I embraced you, never wishing to let you go,



and though I may wear the mask of the clown,



if you were to leave again,



my very soul, would quietly slip away, and in the monsoon rains, I would gratefully drown



Artwork from Google



* title borrowed from an old Indian folk song

from Google




barefoot in the rain





tiny splashes,

toes teasing toes,

as the rain lashes,


dancing under moonbeams,

hazy lazy clouds dripping nectar,


cheek to dripping cheek,

your hand in mine,

your eyes sparkling with a fire divine.




dancing barefoot in the rain,


with you, my whole, my own, my life,


dancing with you,

barefoot in the rain,


toes tickle toes,

far from this life’s pain, away from the strife,


with you, within you,

I have found renewed life 




Artwork from Google

Artwork from Google



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 still 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,


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





Artwork from Google

he …




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, feeling feeling 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 …



Artwork from Google




a taste of you …




tasting you, breathing you,


feeling you,


                    exquisite bittersweet touches,




undulating, swaying in the johannesburg breeze,


                       


  just knowing you,


       infuses emotions of mirth,


of simple joys,


        of peace …





Artwork from Google

flames flickering




flames flickering,

two:

gasping, wheezy, 
reduced almost to embers,


yet,

flickering,


yet still straining,

in disjointed unison,


tripping,

falling,


ashes and rust,

corrosive, acidic,


into dust.




Artwork from Google




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 hmmm



        __________

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

http://thoughtcatalog.com/steve-harris/2014/07/18-thought-provoking-rust-cohle-quotes-thatll-chill-you-to-the-bone/

(apologies i deleted this earlier post by mistake – in the “true detective” binge-watch mood ☺)






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




Artwork from Google



would you ?



would you walk with me through serene fields of green,


beneath the canopy of unseen night,


where yearning aches,


in the shimmer

of moonlight.





would you take my hand so we may disappear,


finding each other

in pastel shades,


so very far away from the here.




would you lay your heart,


to rest

beside mine,


          sharing


smiles


         tears,


                  reflections


         fears,


                  aches


           joys


                  sorrows.




together,

cocooned,

rested,


in landscapes etched and sketched,


embossed,

absorbed into a cardamom mosaic

of shared tomorrows.




would you wander these clouds of dreams?


bathed in rain-drenched kisses,


soaring across the seas,


             dancing

hopping


              afloat,


together in cinnamon waters,


sharing this lifes myriad streams.




would you?













Art prints from Google

empire




empire …




crackling embers of empire,


spew noxious toxicity,


lashing,

weatherbeaten faces,


scratching,

gnawing,

crunching marrow,


burrowing deep,


slaying,

praying,

selling,


wearing down,

laboriously,


chilling the furnace of principle,


doused by carbonated fizz,


rendering consciences inured,


consciousness cremated,


ash rising,


ascending,

exalted,


amidst hazy,

blurred,

just out-of-focus,


silhouettes of humanness,


shred,

minced,

chewed,


spat out,

cast aside,


stripped off the moulting skin of greed,


left out to bleed,


as vultures skulk,

and currencies’ sulk,


– markets open,


– the horde pounces,


scalping,

remnants of dignity,


as sweat pours off backs,

and as innocence roasts in shacks,


as the cacophony grows ever more shrill,


buy!


buy!


checking-in all humanity,

left to suffocate,


in a cashiers till,


as we writhe,

entwined,


savaged and ravaged,


by the diktat of Profit,


while,


innocence starves,

emaciated,

discarded,


flung into the cesspool of want,


trampled upon,

barbecued on Capitals spit,


while hollowed souls,

wracked by inert life,


seek respite,

from want,


hunger,


from ceaselesss,

merciless strife …





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