Tag Archive: victims of war


freeversing nonsensical blah

Artwork by Banksy






freeversing nonsensical blah-blah …





so we work and we eat, even though we are still asleep in the bubble of our own conceit, faking crocodile smiles, while breaking up inside, layering on the facade of being alright, while all the while, we tear at our shattering tears carried inside, lost in the crowd of judgement, the cloud of racism – now our default state –

 the naked face of homophobic hate, picking and choosing what and who’s human-rights matter, while holding on tight to religious beliefs, thinking not twice to the “others” culture and faith smash and shatter, and still we go on and on, the trump card of nationalistic jingoistic drivel being spewed, treating those who choose to love differently from us us, baiting those who pray to other gods, those whose colour and culture isn’t “ours”, as we bow down and grovel to wealth and power, as we in front of tv-sets cower, gobbling up the reality shows of the greedy and the rich, even as our reality is our collective dignity rotting in a toxic ditch, yes we are hypocrites one and all, you and me, destroying our environment, cutting downs trees, vomiting sewage into our blue planet’s once pristine seas, all so that we may be, draped in luxuries the 1% tempt us with, poisoning our thoughts that we need gucci and prada and diamonds and gold, while into crushing, gruesome poverty, and in sweatshops our sisters and brothers are sold, human beings all who laugh and cry and who love and need the basics that which for granted we take, as our embraced blindness ensures that for our comforts the “others” must break, the sweat pouring off 15 year olds who stitch together and sew, the clothes we envelope ourselves with feigning not to know, the price, the toll of suffering that rains down everyday, just as we consume and fly buy dubai, never giving a hoot for the oceans of tears that the 99% cry, because of course, we must look better than the rest, we must conform to the illusion that is sold to us, and even as we pray to our gods with humility and faith, we disregard everything ugly, explaining it all away, as the divine powers putting everyone through a test, with no room to breathe or love or think, for we ride around in obscene cars, not caring about the rest of humanity’s scars – as long as it’s a ferrari and as long as it is blood red, as long as we live in mansions of comfort, cloaked in 

the finest and eating haute cuisine in haute couture, we our humanity do freely shed, while we pay our way, our obligatory charity and million dollar philanthropy, we then tear our eyes out to all the blood that must be shed, for our status quo to remain intact, for if we do not see, then no longer can we culpable be, paying our “servants” to pick up after our trophy kids, as we abuse religion to be of all guilt free, while all this time, the “leaders” of this world stoke up fear, that the “others” are at the borders just waiting to snatch all it is that we hold dear, and as all our “leaders” create this fake charade, this glittering parade, this repugnant theme park where we must play, it matters not who they bomb and kill and maim and slay, and yes I agree, that there are many who enslave and transform their countries into a living hell, but we are duped as our “leaders” to those very countries do armaments and bombs and mines and guns do sell, for it is all about the money, be it in tree lined suburbs or in the corridors of power, for it is all about rapacious greed, as we pick and choose convenient verses upon which we feed, freeing ourselves from our callous complicity, just as long as the other half starve across the railway tracks, it is so much more comforting to turn our collective backs, to the overwhelming number of humans who barely survive on a dollar a day, while we build towers of worship in which we pray, not just to god but to towers of tax-exempt loopholes, not just to god but to the machine that makes mincemeat of our brothers and sisters, just as long as we, on the cool spray of water guzzling golf courses drink and play …


… and yes, I too am guilty, 100% so, not caring about the seeds of toxicity that along with you I sow, but again who am I to care, who am I to even spare, a thought for those who do not get their fair share,


just as long as I can eat and ride my chariots laden with riches,


just as long as I can remain in this cocoon of uncaring slumber so deep,


and just as long as I on my soft bed,


in my fancy mansion,


can peacefully sleep …






Artwork by Banksy

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Artwork by Banksy







talkin’ midnight ravings blues … … …





why are these lies casually spoken, by mouths torn, bruised, broken,



I am fine



no i am not fine, im as fine as a dung dusted shoe is from a shine, im not fine, im lost, between alluring dreams, and silent screams, sometimes a duet, mostly a cacophony of noise, white and bland and dull, just enough to discern, that humanity is null, humaneness void, and of all conscience, devoid … … …




Artwork by Banksy

let us walk together

Artwork from Google







I told her that I love her.


she smiled.



I vowed to love her forevermore.



she smiled.



I said “let’s walk this earth together, not knowing where the paths lead“.



she smiled,


let’s






Photograph from Google

Artwork from Google




i love her.





1.




she found me, as torrents raged around me,


she found me, when my wings were shattered,


she found me, when i was desolately crawling,


she found me, in the depths of despair,


she found me, trapped in the quagmire,


she found me.




2.




she reached down, her hand extended,


she pulled me out of, the lair of emptiness,


she helped me stand, after my legs had been battered,


she fed me, nourishing my soul,


she led me, into pastures green and alive,


she held me, in the cocoon of her embrace.




3.




i was not worthy, of her delicate touch,


i was not worthy, lying in a discarded alleyway,


i was not worthy, of her healing embrace,


i was not worthy, of her tender love,


i was not worthy then, i am not worthy now,


i had nothing, and still have nothing to give,


still, she loved me, and loves me still.






Artwork from Google

my mother – a true story

Comrade Nelson Mandela’s mother and my mother – demonstrating against the jailing of political prisoners, including Comrade Nelson Mandela and my father – sometime in the mid-1950s or early-1960s


Letter of condolence from President Nelson Mandela to my father on the day my mother passed on in 2008




my mother – a true story …

My mother used tell me this with tears in her eyes.



My mother left South Africa in the 1960’s to join my father who was in political exile at the time in Zambia and Tanzania.



My father was a close comrade and friend of Nelson Mandela and shared the cell next to Mandela during one of their periods of being jailed by the Apartheid security services.



My father later escaped from Marshall Square jail along with his comrades, Abdulhay Jassat, Harold Wolpe, and Arthur Goldreich.



The four escapees were then were spirited out of South Africa as there was a then £2000 reward for them to be captured – dead or alive.



In 1970 my father was deployed by the African National Congress of South Africa (ANC) to India to be its Chief-Representative there.



I was born in New Delhi a couple of years later in 1972.



My mother and father spent two years in Mumbai (then Bombay).



One afternoon my father fell and broke his leg.



My mother knocked on their neighbour’s door of the apartment complex where they lived.



The neighbour was an elderly Punjabi lady.



My mother asked the elderly lady for assistance in calling a doctor to see to my injured father.



A Zoroastrian (Parsi) ‘bone-setter’ was promptly summoned.



My mother and the elderly neighbour got to talking and the lady asked my mother where they were from, as their accents were clearly not local.



My mother told the elderly Punjabi lady that my father worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had been forced into exile to continue to struggle to raise awareness internationally about the appalling situation in Apartheid South Africa.



My mother also mentioned that they had to leave their two young children (my siblings, whom I met only later in life) behind in South Africa, in the care of grandparents, and that they were now essentially political refugees.



The elderly lady broke down and wept uncontrollably.



She told my mother that she too had to leave their home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on their back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and when Pakistan was torn from India and formed, due to narrow religious and sectarian reasons, whose repercussions are felt to this day.



This was also a time when religious violence wreaked havoc, and untold suffering and death for millions of human beings.



The elderly lady then asked my mother what her name was.



‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’.



The Punjabi woman hugged Zubeida some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, by religion and all the things that seek to divide humanity,  wept, for they could understand the pain and trauma of a shared experience.



The elderly Punjabi lady told my mother that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she too felt the pain of exile after being forced to become refugees, and what being a refugee felt like.



Zubie and her husband Mosie (my father) and the family next door became the closest of friends.



Then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress (ANC) office was to be officially opened.



The elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes.



A year or two later, the elderly lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi.



The elderly lady telephoned Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live there, and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi, and that she should not feel alone.



Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi in the mid-1970’s.



Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, till the both my mother passed away in 2008.



My father and I still feel a close bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi, and vice versa.



A bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two countries of South Africa and of India, shattering the barriers of creed and of time.



A bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience.



That is why I shall never stop believing that hope shines still, for with so much religious bigotry almost consuming our world today, there will always be a woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, and as a fellow human being.



And that is why, I believe, that there will always be hope.



Hope in the midst of unbearable pain and hope in the midst of loss and of unspeakable suffering.



Hope.



For we can never give up hope for a better world.



Never!




(For aunty Lata’s late-mother, my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi, India)




Comrade Nelson Mandela and my father – Johannesburg sometime in the mid-1950s

Comrade President Nelson Mandela and my father – Johannesburg sometime in the 2000s

Artwork from Google





fingers …




entwined,

                 murmuring silent caresses,

                scribbling gibberish,


high above the cresting hopes,

            awash,

                        engulfed,

in the deluge,


of softly soaked-monsoon kisses,


adrift,

           free,

                   fingers, entwined,


teasing responses,

                           enmeshed, fused, between undulating waves,

            crashing,

                            within,

                                        our wordless universe,


in unison,

                 fingers entwined,

our oneness,

                      together, now,


presently,

                 present,


like ribbons and bows,

wrapped,


intermingling amidst shades,

                                   merging into hue,


breathing each other,

                                      in,


all of me,

                all of you …





Artwork from Google

nonsensical raving

Artwork from Google





nonsensical raving …



dreaming of unfettered tomorrows, with no weight of the now bogging us down, no more plasticine smiles, stuck on fake faces, all worn to get through a single day. no more vacuum sealed desires, to be consumed within three days after opening, the sham of it all boldly apparent, mirroring our cardboard selves.


when does it end, this gold-plated facade, this charade of having it all, and having it all together, without cracks on the edges, as unnatural as neatly trimmed hedges.


where did we go so wrong, our vocal acquiescence to the shimmering glittering circus that breezed through town some day decades ago, promising gags whilst gagging us to what should be real, ripping out our souls as we gleefully smiled, inured to the amputation of feeling, draining us slowly as our very selves were left reeling.


and what of today, as we glide through aisles, trying on this or that face, being ever egged on to join the rat race, without which we are rendered impotent, as barren as the desert of hope, while we are still, perennially, expected and aspire to smile and to cope …





Artwork from Google

Comrade and Martyr Dulcie September


African National Congress of South Africa




A Tribute to Comrade Dulcie September.

Born: 20 August 1935, Athlone Cape Town.

Assassinated: 29 March 1988, Paris, France.





Escaping the omnipresent shadows,

eluding the sweaty palms of the torturer,

remaining steadfast to not believing that you wore the skin of shame,

in hiding, here and there, with no one,

yet everyone to silently blame.



Leaving the lips once kissed behind,

to a refuge impossible to find,

not a word of sad welcome,

severing all ties that bind.



When finally you left for a new dwelling in a faraway alien land,

reeking and drenched in a foreignness so blatantly bland,

never fitting in, though always dreading being shut out,

singing paeans to hope scribbled in the sand.



You left your country, your home, your very own place of being,

you escaped Apartheid hell, into exile, far away from blinded eyes so unseeing,

and you held to a principle within, and you stood resolute,

till the shadows felt themselves in shame fleeing.



We salute you! And all like you, and the so many countless more,

into whose flesh the tyrant’s sword so cruelly tore.



We salute you!



You who fought at home and you who left to fight,

only to be murdered,

on a lonely, distant shore.



The Military Wing of the African National Congress



Plaque honouring Dulcie September in Paris, France

https://www.sahistory.org.za/people/dulcie-evon-september


Artwork from Google





you lifted me …





In the void of the crevasse,


in the bleakness that siphoned my breath,


in the pit of hopeless despair,


you lifted me,


to live again,


to be.




In the thrashing maelstrom of pain,


in the drowning sewage of that vile drain.,


you lifted me,


to live again,


to see.




In the suffocating hell of loneliness,


in the prison where I walked on shards of glass,


you lifted me,


to live …




you lifted me,

out of the bleakness of my personal hell,


you lifted me,

when all that remained of me was a hollow shell,


you lifted me,

each time I tripped, every time I fell …




you lifted me,

breathing life into my arid soul again,


you lifted me,

with the elixir to stand upright again,


you lifted me,

healing me with your human touch again …




you lifted me,

out of the desolation of that lifeless cave,


you lifted me,

you infused in me the hope that you so selflessly gave,


you lifted me,

steering me away from the edge of that yawning grave …




you lifted me,

mending the fragments of my heart,


you lifted me,

gathering the pieces of myself that lay torn apart,


you lifted me,

giving life, as the anguish did quietly depart …




you lifted me,

cradling me as I once more felt whole,


you lifted me,

away from the agony of walking on hot coal,


you lifted me,

as you lift me now …


now that we are one,

now that we are together,


now that we bathe in the light that fate once stole,


you lifted me,


as we remain as one,


heart to heart,

soul to soul …






Artwork from Google





Artwork from Google




love, passion, music and all that jazz …





The strings are tugged, the drumming feeds off the passion imbued,


soft notes caress each breath breathed,


the music within, so intricately weaved.




Our feelings are set alight by the crescendo that rises, the melodies of moments shared,


thud-thudding to the beat of our hearts, floating and coursing through our veins,


as symphonic passion flows through every note that strains.




Wind breezes into saxophones, fingers strum guitars, the jazz plays ever on, warming our souls, mending our fragmented hearts,


we kiss the blues away, aching inside, and with every lyrical turn, in the cauldron we dance as we burn,


inflamed by melodies hewn into our consciousness, softly stirring emotions that come alive,


as the music plays on, as passions bloom, blossom, and thrive.




How can we get through these parched days, these still nights,


without the tunes that reach for the heavens, soaring above our gnawing reality, picking us up from the cold ground, to embrace dizzying heights.




We would not still be here, if the music had stopped,


we would not still be here, through all these decades that have passed,


we would not still be here,


but here we are,


standing together, wrinkled fingers clasped,


still creaking along the grooves of vinyl infused hope,


we stand together, and we shall stand some more,


as we bask in the memories, of times gone by,


with the melodies of a life lived, and a life loved,


the music striking chords deep inside,


fusing our hearts as one, well braced for the struggles,


that may still lash us, shaking our ramparts with each incoming tide …





Artwork from Google






from Google




you are the physics of my world …



1.



the random sparks of infinitesimal neurons,

the random chaos of the vast cosmic beyond,

the random tugs of quantum strings,

have somehow,

incredibly swirled,

bringing your completeness into the vacuum of my world.




2.



these apparently random machinations, of this universe of possibilities,

has defied all permutations of chance,

to coalesce for us,

now,
today,

as we share our brightly blazing celestial dance.




3.



words escape me, there is no explanation,

to describe the meeting of our twin souls,

there is no hypothesis that I am able to construct,

that fuels these passions, these desires, these feelings that skywards into the heavens erupt.




4.



these atoms and quarks and gluons, bind us together in the most unscientific way,

they exude feelings impossible to explain,

love, for instance,

and a love as deep and abiding and true as ours,

is impossible to understand, even if we tried, spending years and countless hours.




5.



now my love of felines brings me to schrödinger and his deadalive cat,

for unlike dear schrödinger I can say with utmost certainty, that in that box my love for you,

is alive, and ever so true.




6.



all the dark matter, that is postulated to roam the entirety of space,

cannot dim the light of the stellar blaze of our star of love,

our sun that radiates gloriously, from the deepest recesses of our heart, from our magnetically interlinked place.




7.



all the talk of black holes not allowing light to flee,

comes not closer to the raging cauldron of our shared togetherness,

as we lay blanketed by the heavens above that envelope you, and that cloak me.




8.



the distance of light years are bridged so effortlessly, so easily traversed between you and I,

merging our love, our own supernova lighting the unfolding years we have yet to face,

roaring like a furnace, hewn into the very fabric of our innerspace …




from Google


Artwork from Google





yikes – this is just too schmaltzy …




The essence of our love rests not just in moonlight kisses, nor in dusky sensual caresses.




Our love, that hugs us both, shielding us from life’s travails,


steadies our shared ship on stormy waters, bolstering our sails.




This love we share with each other, through gentle words and tender acts,


may never be quantified, in infinite scribbles, nor in countless wordy tracts.




The core of our love, ablaze, forged in that passionate furnace into one,


shines brighter within us, far brighter than the midday sun.




The essence of our love, infusing our days, and weaving exquisite dreams in our nights of sleep,


that essence,

that precious nectar, shall nourish us forever more,


as it consumes us, drenching us both, right into our beings so deep …






Artwork from Google





Artwork from Google




talkin’ love’s hues unblues …



Scarlet roses infused in your breath, marmalade kisses passionate and sweet,


marshmallow clouds our embracing canopy, your ebony hair my silken sheet,


showering honey-dipped butterfly kisses, your sensuous form showering me with a nectar, ever so delicious as our bodies meet.




Turquoise skies beckon us, as we lay together on the cooling forest green,


the emerald grasses a carpet of embroidered emotions, felt deeply within the crevasses of our hearts, remaining unseen,


as a bronze dusk etches the heavens above, mingling with the crystal waters of our tender shared stream.




We soak in the pallette of colours all around us, our dawns morphing from dark night into hopeful pastel hues,


our days as soft as my velveteen fingertips, gliding over your form, as we lay knotted together, hugging our love which we have promised we will never lose,


and as we slip away into dreams of passionate embossed sketches,


we know,


at long last,


that we have banished the detritus of yesteryear’s blues …



Artwork from Google

repost: LOVE: Access Denied

Artwork from Google 🙊



LOVE: Access Denied.



Love, snarled on the information superhighway,

a few dashed off emails,
a few hastily typed out instant messages,

a shared meme,
a forwarded self-help quote –

a couple of sentences here and there,

unlike real conversations, infused with true love and with thoughtful care.



I am guilty – mea culpa – no two ways about my falling for the same,

where a few fingerstips spell out words of hasty ‘I love yous’,

where love feels like a to-and-fro tennis game.




mwaahs …

💜 …

gonna b l8 …

more mwaahs …



Now I know I’m an old dude from back in the day,

when we committed pen to paper whenever we had a something to say,

with rose petals between the pages of a handwritten letter,

and as all oldies look back,

that seemed so much more sensual, so much more personal,

with many drafts discarded, many ink stains on my fingertips,

much ‘Parker Royal Blue’ spilled,

many ‘HB’ pencils with blunted tips.




Now don’t castigate me for not being ‘down’ with the times,

for I find word-processers just brilliant,

with that ‘del’ button manna from heaven,

and ‘copy and paste’ just too fine,

especially nowadays where I fail to realise how quickly disappears,

all my time.




Yes, I am just an oldie, with selective amnesia and hazy wistful thoughts,

of a time when I was younger,

awaiting my beloved’s letter with palpable hunger,

yes, I am just an oldie yearning for what for me was a simpler time, a less rushed world,

when I spent hours, and hours more,

on how my “t’s” on blank parchment,

danced and swirled …



Artwork from Google 🙊




Artwork from Google



A Tribute to 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 must still 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 …




Artwork from Google






Artwork from Google




you found me …



Sidestepping thorny shards on the pathways of my life,


rambling between alleyways of splintered glass,


slipping in the deep night of lonely despair,


shattering this soul,


this heart of mine, wanting to only be part of a whole.




You found me, torn on the cold frigid ground, you picked me up when fragments of hope were nowhere to be found,


your gentle love embraced me, as we stood shoulder to shoulder,


your warmth an exquisite cocoon, enveloping me, your caresses unshackling the knots, setting me free.




We loved each other with a passion unrestrained, you bathed me in the cool waters of a renewed life, you healed the wounds cleaved by that old lonesome knife,


our famished hearts feasted on a shared love, discarding the veneer of sight, our togetherness felt deep within our beings, unfettered from the chains that once suffocated us so tight.




Yes, you found me, you picked me up when all hope had fled, you loved me when I lay famished, naked, as my very sense of self I had shed.




Yes, you raised me, you embraced me as only the truest love can, you steered me away from the maelstrom, as we together lay in each others arms, beneath our solitary palm tree, on the soft gentle sand,


Yes, you saved me, you opened my eyes to behold the new dawn’s light, and we held each other with all of our love’s might.




Today, decades down the path, we still revisit our solitary palm, basking in its shade, your head resting on my chest, on our beach of talcum sand,


yes, today, decades down the path, we still walk together, shoulder to shoulder,


into the sunset,


hand in hand …





Artwork from Google



Artwork by Banksy




life, injustice, and a clean 

shirt …





we are entangled in the bog, as we sweat, as we slog.



the crumbs we receive, with fanfare do deceive.



the 1% whip up emotions of hate, as they remain buffered in their ostentatious state.



we the people are confined to sweatshops, grinding away, for 18 hours a day.



they dock our pay if we dare fall ill, sewing our tongues shut so we may not talk, as long as their designer labels get paraded on the catwalk.



we have been subjected to this and we may never leave, as our mothers and fathers before us, into whom the talons of greed did gnaw and cleave.



they stoke our passions, of race, gender, religion, to whip up hate, blinding us so we may not see that we all share the same fate.



we are stuffed into offices, while they withhold our pay, while they strangle us until we bleed, our families discarded, for who are we to breathe and to feed.



we are expected to endure this hell, of indignity, of injustice, of tattered souls, of inexpressible hurt,


as we are repeatedly kicked down into the dirt.



but the news tells us that all is well,


the stock-markets are rallying,


the market robust as their coffers continue to swell,


as their billboards entice us with that haute couture pair of jeans, that impossibly expensive skirt,


just so that we clock in,


day in and decade out,


in a crisp clean shirt …





Artwork from Google


Artwork from Google




what is love for me?



Love is your head laying on my chest, beneath a swaying palm, love is the solace we offer each as a soothing healing balm.



Love is not swallowing what society wishes to us feed, love is wanting each other and not the illusions of material greed.


Love is knowing that the skin will age and wrinkle, love is knowing that the celestial star of togetherness will never cease to twinkle.


Love is knowing there exists no pristine hearts or souls, for we are all so very far from commercialised perfection, love is acknowledging that always, and in our moments of quiet reflection.


Love is truly and deeply loving each other, warts and all, love is kneeling down to lift each other up whenever we slip, whenever we fall.


Love is never thrusting ones beliefs unto each other, love is appreciating and embracing the differences between one another.


Love is not being constrained by race, religion, nationality, caste or tribe, love is knowing we all bleed red, and from a common fountain we all do life’ waters imbibe.


Love is honestly being content with what we have to share, love is never allowing the rat-race to us ensnare.


Love is not merely oaths taken, vows spoken, love is living and tending for each other when one of us feels lost and if one of us is torn, or broken.


Love is so much more than kisses and making love, though that is always oh-so good, love is nourishing each other with the truest emotions, the bounty of soul-food.


Love is having differences of opinion, of engaging in robust debate, love is not just agreeing with everything we say, love is not living in that sterile state.


Love is taking a stand, in this iniquitous world, love is speaking truth to power, love is never ever merely accepting it all, love is not us shielding ourselves so that in inured inaction we cower.



Love is your head laying on my chest, beneath a swaying palm, love is the solace we offer each as a soothing healing balm …



Artwork from Google

The Rivers of a Life

Art from Google



The Rivers of a Life …





Bracing for the rapids ahead, clutching onto filaments where salty tears sting the places we have bled.



Hold on!



The rapids will stutter to a meandering stream, our brittle souls heaving sighs of relief as a glimpse of hope waltzes on a sunbeam.



Hold on tight!



The stream opens itself up, slipping into the wide waters of the river at peace, soothing our beings, the stabbing pain now beginning to cease.



Let go!



The mouth of the river yawns as it approaches the endless expanse of the sea, hushing us, stilled by knowing we are but an infinitesimal part of what we thought we could be.



Free at last!



beyond us the unseen future, right now we soak in the truths of the present,


behind us we leave the detritus of the past.




Artwork from Google



alone, together



Baobab Tree artwork from Google




alone, together …





The rays of the summer sun peek between the canopy of green above,


we walk hand in hand through the thicket searching for our sensual place of love,


a small pond and a gentle waterfall comes into view,


as we abandon all shrouds and wade into the soothing waters of blue.




Our bodies intertwine, flesh on bare flesh,


skin against skin, light years away from the city’s raucous din,


as we share light kisses, enmeshed in each others arms so close, so very tight,


while we float in the lyrical waters, eyes closed as all we need are tender caresses so exquisitely light.




We taste each other, sipping the nectar of passion with a desire that we need no longer restrain,


with the orchestral sounds of the jungle, swirling in their symphonic refrain,


our lips meet, we feel the thud-thudding of our hearts merging,


in harmony with the sublime feelings so wildly surging.




We whisper odes, we imbibe our hungering need,


as the meandering waters envelope us in their calming sheath,


we tenderly become one, restraining for now our insatiable greed,


and as our bodies writhe, we feel our shuddering deep inside, a quivering dewy leaf.




The sun slowly dips and swoons, we wish we could share these precious moments for many more moons,


but alas, the here and now calls out, drawing us out of this magical reverie,


as we find each other back amidst the cacophony of real life,


where we pine,

where we ache,

where we wish only,


to be together,


free …





Artwork from Google








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