The Good Native

may I never bow,
kowtow,

do the jig that’s expected of me,

a wind-up toy,

the good native who knows just how to act, talk,

how to be

Seeing | looking | feeling | knowing – A Scribble

seeing | looking | feeling | knowing …

seeing,
through fading eyes,

looking,
yet unable to see,

feeling,
suffocating fears,

knowing,
these are not to be the last of the tears …

introspection – an Introspection

introspection – an Introspection.

when he | she | you left me,

i fled inwards …

… finding solace, comfort, a sense of belonging,

in the unfurling of emotions,

coiling around forlorn staircases,

brushing away hypodermic nettles,

scratching away cascading tears,

banishing uninvited truths,
shedding convenient lies,

losing confetti faith,
finding myself,

at long last,

in the flotsam and jetsam of far too many a guilty yesterday,

waiting to be flushed down the drain,

just like,
exactly like,

each and every word I say …

Port of Call – Yet Another Re-Post!

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 all past turmoil,

on a quest for solace, ever so hard to find,

yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,

as the tide cleanses all pain,

and leaves despair far, far behind.

barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,

drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,

that hushes the ache 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 a final adieu,

reaching under the sea so vast,

and seeking comfort in the depths,

while embracing,

the tomorrows to come,
wishing that they be true.

barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,

seeing my truths drown,

as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,

feeling my heart ablaze,

with a passion that rarely falters.

barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,

yet knowing that I am home at long 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 final port of call …

Where Wild Grasses Grow …

effortlessly soaring into abandoned flight,

yesterdays’ pain surrenders,,

drawn gently by,

departing moments’ caressing ebb and dreamy flow,

seeking only sanctuary,

to finally rest,

where wild grasses grow …

The Hissing of Time …

1.

time hisses,
the threat perennial,

needling sounds
stowed away,
tucked-in,

silent …

2.

time hisses,
the threat perennial.

Time bides its time,

stowed away,
tucked-in,

silently knowing,

all that we shall all come to know,

in time …

The Anonymity of the Shade …

beyond words,

mere paltry scribbled verse,

rolls across empty streets,

while today crawls to a fade,

as night descends,

offering comfort,

the solace of anonymous shade …

The Fickle Cog …

broken rays of sunlight pierce through the casket of night,

murmurs of gentle persuasion echo within a tormented soul,

the respite from nights’ smothering,

sneaks between the gathering smog,

urging the faltering spirits of this tormented soul to rise up from the clingy bog,

and in rising,

liberating this soul from the desolation of being a phony, fickle cog …

raindrops …

raindrops,
like celestial nectar,

drench my winter coat.

i stagger,
wounded,
half-blind,

though no longer filled with dread,

for i walk on,

unsure,
oh yes, most certainly so,

yet filled with murmuring promises,

as i welcome the myriad paths that lie ahead …

Day | Night

sweeping the remnants of bygone yesterdays,

under the carpet,

festering,
stewing,
mutating,

time scampers,
whispering lullabies,

teasing slumber,
surrendering to the night,

embracing the cocoon of the dark,

shedding the detritus of the now,

soothing and gentle as the softly departing light …

The Shade of the Baobab …

The Shade of the Baobab …

the wandering soul rests,

a Baobab tree offering sanctuary,

the South African sun,

ablaze …

the wanderer gives thanks to the ancestors,

a moment of respite from the unending journey,

sifting through the dust,

divining the road ahead,

a time to reflect,

on all the miles lost to the sieve of time,

and,

on all the paths that have yet to be tread.

http://simple.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baobab

Meandering …

Meandering …

Streams ebb,
flowing,

whittling away rock,

gradual,
patient,

seeking the anonymity of the seas.

Tears flow,
ebbing,

carving lines,
engraving faces,

frantic,
raucous,

fleeing the comfort of emptiness …