the physics of love

made of starstuff*, you and i, the random crossed paths of our orbits, reaching deeper into the quarks and gluons that bind us together, tiny strings, weaving a tapestry of oneness.

made of starstuff, you and i, intertwined synapses flowing through neural networks, somehow, in the ways of the cosmos, fusing these two beating hearts together.

made of starstuff, you and i, the unfathomable meeting of mind and soul, beyond the knowable, yet forging the knots, linking us in an unending entanglement of distilled love.

made of starstuff, you and i, the touch of our lips, the feel of our heartbeats, the brushing of our fingertips, remaining so inexplicably unquantifiable,
and felt,

so deeply immeasurable.

         _______________
( * inspired by Dr. Carl Sagan and by Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson )

awfully soppy 😊

​

together, we have journeyed, through thickets of pain, under thrashing icy rain.

together, we have held on, to each other, believing in one another.

together, we walk on, our love the glue, binding us to that which is true:

without each other,

there is no me,

there is no you.

for Comrade Chris Hani (1942 – 1993)

Comrade Chris Hani

( 28 June 1942 – assassinated 10 April 1993 )

Mowed down

by hot lead,

your blood flowed

into our African soil.
Murdered you, yes, they did.
Silence you, they never will,

for your voice,

your spirit,

speaks to us still!
          ______________

http://www.sahistory.org.za/people/thembisile-chris-hani

​Solomon Kalushi Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:

Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.
He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.
After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.
In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.
Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.
He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.
Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.
On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.
Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.
His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.
In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.
On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:
‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.
Tell my people that I love them.
They must continue the fight.’
Mahlangu died for a cause!
Salute!
The Struggle Continues…
(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)
            _______________
http://www.sahistory.org.za/people/solomon-kalushi-mahlangu

when we kissed

​when you kissed me, our tongues waltzed in symphonic harmony, teasing the crescendos as we sipped ambrosia in our tango of passion.

when we made love, our bodies fused, in singular unison, the sweat mingled with the desire to soak in as much of the nectar of love.

when we walked, hand in hand, the powdery beach beneath our feet, we became one with nature, our love a testament to the unison of complete surrender.

when we spoke of times past, and tomorrows yet to dawn, we felt the tug of kindred spirits, so elusive until now.

when we gazed into each others eyes, we felt ourselves drowning in a maelstrom of unquenchable togetherness.

when we kissed again, and again, as we do now, we bask in the sunlight, of a love impossible to explain,

a love that weathered the seasons, the coming of autumn, through life’s pain, and through the slicing barrage of fate’s icy rain.

 

for Comrade Ahmed Kathrada (1929 – 2017)

you stood tall.

shoulder to shoulder with your oppressed compatriots bludgeoned by the jackboot of Apartheid South Africa.

you stood tall.

shoulder to shoulder with your fellow interned comrades on that desolate rock, Robben Island.

you stood tall.

shoulder to shoulder with those who yearned for freedom, for the common decency of being treated as human beings.

you stood tall.

your principles of non-racialism steadfast as your commitment to the freedom and democracy you and your comrades dedicated your entire lives to achieve.

you stood tall.

in the face of the brutality of the Apartheid state, as they tried to break spirits that could not be shaken.

you stood tall.

for 27 long years, alongside your comrades Nelson Mandela, Walter Sisulu, Govan Mbeki, Andrew Mlangeni, Denis Goldberg, and Elias Motsoaledi, Raymond Mhlaba.

you stood tall.

inspiring a generation to continue the struggle against Apartheid tyranny, your example burned bright in the hearts of those who yearned for, and fought for the freedom of South Africa.

you stood tall, comrade Ahmed Kathrada.
you stood tall, uncle Kathy.

you stood tall. and you shall stand tall.

you shall stand tall, for those of us you leave behind.

you shall always stand tall, for those yet to come.

you shall always stand tall.

Amandla!
The Struggle Continues!
Aluta Continua!

     _________

http://www.sahistory.org.za/people/ahmed-kathrada

repost: a child of war

​I am so pained to be reposting these poems. It seems like the so-called leaders and those who carry out wanton violence in the name of religion and caste, gender, land, wherever they may come from, are dragging our world further into the callous abyss of bloodletting. It cannot go on this way. It must not go on this way. It must not be allowed to go on this way. I am helplessly wishing for peace inspite of the orgy of violence and death that seems to have consumed this fragile planet we all call home.

a child of war…

 

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,

as her blood soaks it the colour of cherries her mummy buys.

 

as she lies bleeding,

she sees people all around thick 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,

for even in death she bleeds some more,

shrapnel wedged in her torn stomach,

stealing the light from her bright little eyes.

as she lies bleeding …

in jallianwala bagh in ‘19,

leningrad in ‘42,

freetown in ‘98,

soweto in ‘76,

new york in ’01,

jenin in ‘02,

hanoi in ‘68,

beirut in ‘85,

raqqa, london,

basra, mosul,

yemen, paris,

now.

 

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 …

Buchenwald Concentration Camp (1979)

Buchenwald – 1979

walking towards horror,
my seven year old eyes,

were sewn open on that day at Buchenwald.

the reeking stench of death
was by now,
lost to the winds,

and ahead,

stood Buchenwald Concentration Camp.

Never Again!

we have said,
over and over,

and over and over,
but, but,

as Erich Fried* wrote,

it happened,

it is happening now,

and it will go on happening if nothing is done to stop it from ever happening again** …

    ____________________

* Erich Fried 1921 – 1988.

http://allpoetry.com/Erich-Fried

** taken from and inspired by Erich Fried’s poem “What Happens”

http://poetrypill.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-happens.html?m=1

afzaljhb@gmail.com

bigotry is binary – a rant

Niemoller

instilling fear,
sowing terror,
masked bigots seeking to silence us all.

instilling fear,
sowing discord,
blustery politicians seeking to terrify us all.

instilling bigotry,
entrenching hate,

schizophrenic fascism gestates,
                sinking fanatical talons into the corpse of humanity,

feeding hate,
sowing racism,

doctrines of superiority mutates.

bigotry is binary,

there are no shades of grey,
no colours of the rainbow today,

bigotry is binary,

we’re either white or wrong,
my religion right or wrong,
my country right or wrong,

many heads of the hydra,
monsters reared to prey,

while bigots of all shades,
spew hate as they pray …

Madiba

a child of war

a child of war.

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 parent’s pride.

as she lies bleeding,
shrapnel lodged in her torn stomach,
she stares at her skipping rope,
as her blood soaks it the colour of cherries her mummy buys.

as she lies bleeding,
she sees people all around thick 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 mother’s pride.

as she lies bleeding,
for even in death she bleeds some more,
shrapnel wedged in her torn stomach,
stealing the light from her bright little eyes.

as she lies bleeding …

in jallianwala bagh in ‘19,
leningrad in ‘42,
freetown in ‘98,
soweto in ‘76,
jenin in ‘02,
hanoi in ‘68,
beirut in ‘85,

raqqa now,
basra still,
gaza too.

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.

N O T
          I N
                M Y
                       N A M E …

double-helixed uBuntu

double-helixed uBuntu.

these interwoven veins,
dna,
double-helixed,

microscopic,
binding us, all of us,
together, as one,

species, one race,
human,

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”

“first they came for the _____” ( Mr. Trump, fill in the blanks )

then they came for the ______________

( fill in the blanks, Mr. Trump )

be careful,
the extremists appear to be on the ascendancy,

the brutal murderers of daesh and the neonazi drivel of trump,

so be careful: guard your mind,

never forget,
remember,

always,
always remember:

“first they came for the Communists …”

The Siege of Kobane (Saturday 11th October 2014)

The Siege of Kobane …

(Saturday 11th October 2014)

The resistance stands,

Kobane stands,

it’s defenders armed with Kalashnikovs and the fierce will of a people refusing to be cowed,

the resistance against the perversions of ISIS stands,

today,

in the streets of Kobane.

The battles rage on,

as we type these words,

as you read these lines,

the resistance against ISIL barbarity holds firm.

Kobane stands!

Still!

Kobane has not fallen!

Viva the Resistance!

The Battle for Kobane…

The Battle for Kobane…

The black flag of ISIS limply flutters on the eastern outskirts,

of Kobane.

The blood flows,
through narrow streets,

a ghost – town,

it’s people fleeing from the butchers’ knives,

refugees now,

in limbo,

while the parched desert sun sets on the battlefield.

If Kobane falls,

we shall all be on our knees,

naked and exposed,

to the void that is ISIS.

May the brave resistance soldier on,

under – equipped,

under – fed,

under constant siege,

yet they fight on,

against the backdrop of toothless air strikes,

as innocent blood flows,

and flows.

LONG LIVE THE RESISTANCE!

Alan Henning (Rest in Peace)

Alan Henning
(Rest in Peace)

A working – class man of conscience,

is dead.

Murdered by ISIS,

killed by hateful bigotry,

Alan Henning is dead.

Shame on you!

you who wield knives in the name of religion.

Shame on you!

you who take lives whilst chanting God’s name.

Shame on you!

you who rape,

pillage,

murder,

and murder.

Alan Henning is dead.

A working – class man,

a father,

a husband,

a friend,

a man of conscience.

Alan Henning is dead,

yes,

you killed him,

but,

but,

but,

you will not kill us all,

for we shall always,

always be,

many many more.

We SHALL always be many many more!

Rest in peace,  Alan Henning

afzaljhb@gmail.com

A Child of War …

a child of war…

 

as she lies bleeding

the girl who skipped and 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

the warm bullet lodged in her torn stomach

she stares at her skipping rope

as her blood soaks it the colour of the cherries her mummy buys

 

as she lies bleeding

she sees the people through the thick black smoke

blurred visions of scattering feet and shoes left behind

hearing nothing but the pinging in her blown-out eardrums

 

as she lies bleeding

she slips away quickly 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

for even in death she bleeds some more

the warm bullet wedged in her torn stomach

steals the light from her bright little eyes

as she lies bleeding

in jallianwala bagh in ‘19

leningrad in ‘42

freetown in ‘98

soweto in ‘76

jenin in ‘02

hanoi in ‘68

beirut in ‘85

raqqa now

basra still

gaza too

 

as she lies bleeding

this little nine and a half year old girl

whose laugh was her father’s pride

we know she’ll bleed and bleed some more

tomorrow and in many tomorrows yet unborn

with that warm bullet in her stomach

ripped open and torn

 

as she lies bleeding..

afzaljhb@gmail.com

#notinmyname

https://mobile.twitter.com/hashtag/notinmyname

afzaljhb@gmail.com

Buchenwald – 1979

Buchenwald – 1979

walking towards horror,

my seven year old eyes,

were sewn open on that day at Buchenwald.

the reeking stench of death
was by now,
lost to the winds,

and ahead,

stood Buchenwald Concentration Camp.

Never Again!

we have said,

over and over,

and over and over,

but, but,

as Erich Fried* wrote,

it happened,

it is happening now,

and it will go on happening if nothing is done to stop it from ever happening again** …

* Erich Fried 1921 – 1988.

http://allpoetry.com/Erich-Fried

** taken from and inspired by Erich Fried’s poem “What Happens”

http://poetrypill.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-happens.html?m=1

afzaljhb@gmail.com