journey through

Judas I have seen thy lips and they are folding into a kiss. The rooster has crowed thrice. It is thy night, come and perform thy deed, come and betray the son of a woman. Come and sell him out. Come up and pick what is yours, the thirty pieces of silver. Ready your kiss, Judas, and hand over the son of man. Ready thy tongue with words, to bind the son of man to a tree. Light a fire with thy tongue, so the son of man can be scorched, burnt and forgotten. I want to see his mother cry, and I wasn’t to see his father weep. I want to see sorrow, on the face of his brothers, she that loved him, and they that sang after him. I want to see the faces of men turned away, as they share in the pain of he that you accused. I can see you pointing fingers, and I can hear your sleazy whispers, but where art thou?  Where is thy face, Judas? Why hidest thou in the dark? Why do you snuff out thine light? Why do you remove your shoes? This place is not holy. It reeks of sin. It smells of what you have d

I have warned you Lament not when the time comes. Cry not out, for I have warned you before, and I have told you that this is going to hurt. You are falling hard upon a rock just like a nail falls to a hammer, or a moth to a glowing flame. You have dragged yourself to a land dry and barren. You have allowed yourself to stand on quick sand. The sun shines not on this side, and for centuries not a drop of rain has found its way here. It is a land of darkness and gloom, an infested marshland, a zone of war. You are walking to the land of the dead. Run while you still can, while you still have life in you. Save yourself and save your soul. Love, I am only a zombie, and in my soul I have ghosts of the past that was and never. I am not made for love. I am not made for you. Look at yourself, a creature of silk, and look at me, I am made of mud and sticks. You are made of gold and silver, but I’m fashioned from rags and stones. You know not how much I crave to hold you, but oh, you are too br

Murder Yesterday I walked down the road, to see if I could find the tree we planted, but it was not there, instead in its place a tall wooden fence. The tree was murdered, her fruits left for the birds, and in its place came a mighty fence, its heart plastered smack at the front. I walked by in a hurry, lest I got down and mourned, and I went up the hill. I climbed by the meadow that once was, and then to the place that the birds once nested, a barren patch of land. They had cut down the young flowers, and in their place stood demeaning posts. I got up the hill and searched for a place to sit. There was no grass like there had always been. There were no willows like they once were, and there was no life like there once was. Death and devastation was what grew there. Pain and desolation was what we left behind. When last were we under the tree? Oh, the day we fought, and I believed you would return the next day, or the day after, maybe the day after the day after, but you did not retur

Anarchy He littered the streets, upset the tables and threw them all onto the floor. He snatched morsels from the children’s mouth, and grabbed the last of bones from the stray mutts on the road. He walked through to the city in the sun, and turned off the sun. He stormed into the hearts of men, and replaced manhood with the nature of beasts. He carried in his hands the gift of disease and pestilence, and he ushered into the door a new age, the age of the traitorous, of hunger and greed. Parents hide from their children to eat in the dark praying they hear not a crunch and wake. Infants and toddlers hang on to withered breasts, and careless whispers become a death sentence. Oh it no longer is a town with people but ghosts. Dissidents tip-toe across the streets, carrying with them wordless words and accusations, whispering into the night to unhearing ears and unseeing eyes.  When the children of the town were young, they prayed for joy in life, but when sorrow knocked their doors, the

Curst be it Thunder and lightning strike inside mine eyes. Those red clouds above are inside my eyes, and the searing flames are in my shoulder holster. Curst be it, curst be him, who receives the sharp end of my spear tonight. Curst be him, who hears of my song tonight, and curst be he too, who sees my shadow crawl into the evening. The walls are breaking; oh the river is breaking her banks. Run and hide behind thy dykes. Take thy wives and children and shield them with vanity, for the water is coming in, fast and full of fury. I have served enough time in thy prison, and I have lost enough time behind the walls. So let it be cursed, the day we met. Let it go down in history, the day our paths crossed, as the day my world came to an end. Let it go up in flames, the memories we forged. Let misfortunes land upon that day, and like a swarm of ravenous locusts, let it consume the day as it was, eat it whole and the tatters too. Let it tear apart and float in desecrated wind like a forgot

Yardsticks Thy yardstick, long and wide, and once I saw it I knew I could not measure. I took thy shoes and stuck my legs in, and they slid into a sea of nothingness. Yet I gave up not. I chased after thee, my own tail. I played your game and laughed at your words, till they lost their taste. I was in love with thy virgin self, dripping with innocence and naivety, and I was of the crave, to pierce all corners none had ever seen, to be the first to conquer lands yet known. I laughed at your mistakes till they became a bane. I loved your curves, but sadly every passing day they became creases, and time was catching up with you. So I was in love with flesh, but with time they became bones, and my patience ebbed out till it was no more, and I was of the question whether to have and hold or to have and let loose. It took too little a time for your words to become empty sayings. I had seen every corner and touched every curve, and sadly you no longer were sweet of taste. You became a regula

If thou must judge If one day you wake up, and thy hands are of the feel to pick a stone and cast, take a look within thyself, and search deep inside your soul. If thou art without sin, then cast the first. If ever you itch to point your finger at one accused, and pronounce them guilty in front of the mob, look into your closet and pick out the bones. Sweep thy doorstep before you call another’s backyard filthy. If your tongue scorches with words harsh to say, and your lips overflow with sayings to scathe, then look deep within yourself and find the bubbling pot, and put out the fire that makes it simmer. Be not of hurry to curse, for it is better to bless than to rebuke. It is better to give that to purge, to offer than to grab. Look inside the deep fog that makes its nest inside your heart, and the darkness that lurks where light cannot arrive, and know not to condemn others. So if thou must judge, look within thyself and pluck the log you harbour within thee, and then condemn the s

I loved a girl When I first saw her she had daffodils in one hand, skipping after a butterfly and urging it to go drink, of the nectar in her hands. She saw my eyes staring so she came to where I stood, waiting to say. I told her that she was an angel. She laughed but said not a word. I pushed further, and called her a queen, and she asked, of whose kingdom? I told her that she was a goddess, but she believed not in deities. I said she was an enigma, and she shook her head, scorching me with her bewitching laughter. She ran off and I skipped after her, my lips itching with good words to say. I convinced myself that if I gave her my all she would allow me perchance an inch of her heart, but her lock knew no key. I scratched her back, but when it was my turn, she stuck a dagger inside me. My curse she was; and the beginning of my end. The day I showed her my ring, she told me that love was just a game, and one had to lose, another to win, and so she left me on my knees, begging for her

The bottle Cursed I was, the day I became friends with the fountain of false comfort, and the avenue of false mirth, the bottle. One shot for my pain, and one shot for my sorrow. I lost my consciousness but my problems still stayed, to mock me every time I tried to feel alive. I lost my cool, and lost my way home. Oh sunset at the bar, drowning in dream and confused talks, of a smattering of saliva from drunken women with morals so loose. I loved the bottle, for it made me alive every night, but every morning, I wake up dead. Hark, I can hear her calling from over the bottle and I wheeze back in my stupor, telling her to wait for I already was on my way. Two more for my blues and indeed I see blue when my head meets the table, and overnight I sleep, covered with the warmth of my vomit, comforted by what I loved and lost. I yell into the night, that oh my soul is willing but the flesh it weak, and when the door closes, I leave my heart behind and stagger on home to an empty house. And

All must surely die I saw a giant lion running after a tiny buck, pawed the panting animal down to the ground, devoured her in two swipes of his gleaming canines, a victor he was. I saw an elegant reindeer, his antlers made of rainbows, high to heaven and shinier than the archangel. And he stood magnificent, scanning the plains, seeking for a challenge to his pride. He bellowed into the night and cocked his ears, eager to answer to an unfortunate challenger. What vanity, to invest in grit and in wild beauty, for in the end, all must surely die. I saw the edges of the crescent moon, sharp and gleaming in the dark, waiting to stab and hoping to impale, but come morning, when the bright embers of the night died, I looked up and saw her cower amongst sterile clouds that bear nothing but bad tidings. I saw a cat, sitting still, plotting murder, and the helpless mouse tried a way out, looked and begged to be let go off, to fend for her baby vermin, but the molly looked on unbothered, for sh

What freedom? Eagles are kings, for they have fully conquered the skies, but when they die, they fall down to the ground. Sharks tower over the blue oceans with their fists of iron, but when they die, they float up on the sea. Love is freedom, we say, but a man in love is a slave to fear, the fear of having their heart broken and that of tomorrow. We say freedom is in the wind, but when it comes in too strong, does it not dismember trees and wreak havoc? Freedom is in the leaves, we say, but do they not fall off when winter whispers from the south? We call every day that freedom is that which lives in our hearts, but if freedom is in our hearts, why then do they break and we cannot stop them? Why do our hearts drag us by our necks in and out of holes, through thick and sharp, scathe us, scald us then end up broken and irreparable? We say we have in us freedom, what freedom? If we could find freedom in songs, why then do they rip us apart sometimes when we seek consolation in them? Wh

By chance If today by chance, I was given the chance to start over again, to revisit the footsteps I have walked, what folly would it be to say no? I would gladly stand up and make a list, of what I have done and what not, then I would leave, without even daring to look back, lest I get to find out that it all was a dream, and I still belong to the grave. If today by chance, karma revisited and told me, that my sins are forgiven, and that my fate has been reset, I would gladly cease to be human, and turn into an animal. I would bray in the wilderness, with beasts that own the sand. I would care less for a house, for I would dwell right in the bush and in the sand, with muskrats and the jojobas. I would go up the mountains, and pluck the hermits from their lives of loneliness and show them how to truly be alive. I would tone down on my crying and spend life laughing at anything and everything. I would climb up tall trees and ravage of their large fruits. I would feast on the hard, whit

An angel falls Look up and stand aghast, people of the universe. Hark, the sound of trumpets and running feet. Listen to the sounds of horses and swords clashing. Listen and hear; the groans of the dying and the dead. Look up and see; thunder and lightning strike at each other and darkness is quickly running in, to fill the space abandoned by light. Alas, a war is being fought. The stars have fled the sky, and the clouds have folded within themselves. Listen to the sounds of war, of gods fighting against each other, of angels running their spears through each other’s ribs. Cower in terror, fellow men for today, an angel falls. Someone sound the alarm, and tell the living and the dead that today another angel falls, shrouded in misery and shame. The end has come for another star that once shone. Let the moon turn red and the sun dark, for an angel will be fallen, desecrated and abandoned. We shall cry for him when he hits the ground, the beloved is no more loved. Lucifer, beloved of Go

In the sea of her blue eyes On the door of her heart I found a mat full of mud, a path well trodden and boundaries long broken, but my shoes carried not much mud, and my legs had not walked long, so I took it upon myself, to bring salvation upon her soul. I wiped her mat with tears from my eyes and I drew out the poison, cleaned her wounds. I found all the spots, that had been broken and bruised, and I embalmed her fissures and bandaged her soul. I gave her a shoulder, and an ear. I gave her my knees and lent her my all, oh I gave her my heart, with hope that when she finally got well, she would remember my open arms, and she would open hers to me too. Oh I was a fool, to convince myself that I was a hero, to scoop sand into my porous fingers, to grasp at smoke and hang on for my dear life. In a whole field full of trees, I chose to clasp at a single straw. I watched her day and night, till slowly her lips started moving and the long lost beauty found its way home. She gave up her bo

An elegy When it arrived, the news of bereavement, I was home. When the bearer arrived, and told me that the gun had gone silent, and the recoil had claimed the shooter, I did not hung my head or dab at my eyes. When I heard that he had finally let go, I did not see sorrow but relief. I did not see an end, I saw a beginning. When the news arrived I knew that the battle had been won, and the victory was his. Oh I knew that the wings had come of age and the bird had finally taken to the skies. But who are we kidding? You have left us with a weight heavy and uncalled for, but we refuse to lament its press. You have left us with shadows, but we refuse to say that we are shaken. Fear has become our second name and we worry about who would be next, but mind us not. Send a light when you get to the top, so we too can see the ladder, for sometimes we do crave to clamber on to the top, just to be with you, to taste from the cup of victory. Oh I shall lie not. I have become a man sad and miser

Golgotha On the side of the great hills she stands, Golgotha, astute and proud, basking in the glory of her betrayal and smarting in the afterglow of murder most foul. Glowing in the dark, her breasts heaving up and down with the afternoon wind, a woman in labour, giving birth to a burden of grief. Golgotha, your time has come, for the basket craves its sheaves. You brought it upon yourselves, when you lusted after his cloak and claimed the crown on his head. You called it all upon thee and thy children, when you claimed a kingdom that was not yours. Deep down you knew that you were nothing without love but you still chose to pick hatred. From a basket of ripe fruits you chose one full of worms and served it up for your children. You washed your faces with the blood of the slain lamb. Why did you become deaf to the cries of the man, and blind to the tears of he that bore the tree? Curse upon thee, land on the hill, curse upon thee. Let the shame follow you every day, and haunt you in

I am calling you It is late, I know it is late, for the sun has gone down and the moon is too shy to peek out. I am calling you, for I can wait not till morning. The night is too long, and my tongue is scorching to say. Open the door and listen to the little I have, for today I must say. Where art thou? Where have you nested? Oh lady, I fear not thy knife, and I do not at all tremble before thy whip. I fear not the sword that slays all around. Oh your field of love is the field of war, where scores you settled and got even with the hearts of men, that you smote and scattered like ash to the wind. My heart craves to be the last that stands when you have thrown the rest to the ground, for I have brought upon myself this affliction. Let me bear the pain of your lashes, for I answered to the call, I am not too stiff to bow, neither is my tongue too heavy to call out loud, and my heart is not too tattered to gather all the last bits and stitch them together. Allow me to be the man in the

I dreamed a dream I dreamed a dream, some night when I was asleep, of castles of gold and towers of bronze. I saw trees that never lost their fruit and hills whose ice never yielded to the heat. I dreamed of a sun that never went down and playtime that never came to an end, stories that did not stop flowing. When I woke up, I found myself in my tower of desolation, with crumbling walls and a disintegrated future. Outside the window I saw trees rendered barren by the overnight storm and hills stripped bare by the merciless sun. When I was young I dreamed a dream that I would never die, but that was before my nightmares grew teeth and started biting. I knew of the tree of love that grew at the centre of the universe but that was before my heart was shattered and blown away a million times. When I was young, I wished to live forever but now, caskets conjure my demons and funeral wails raise my hair. I had a dream, oh I had one, but when I started growing up, and begun seeing the differe

Tonight I fall in love Beware, lady. Beware of the bend of the day, the last seconds before the last embers of light go out. Beware of the sound, of shutters closing, and the deep sigh of a sun breathing its last. Brace yourself, you that caught my sight. Stand steady, you that conquered my heart. Whoever comes home tonight is not a man but a beast, starved and depraved. Whatever comes in tonight is not a gentleman but a freak of nature, locked and caged, kept away from all he wanted and forced to drink from the cup of solitude. Tonight comes a breathless soul, one that does not know how to land softly but to fall in hard and strong. Oh lover, stay steady, for I already am on my way. Oil yourself and perfume your hair. Wear the most beautiful of dresses and put on your dancing shoes, for tonight I give my heart and all. Tonight I wear my armour and walk into the battlefield. Get your gloves ready, and I shall get mine for a start, till we have to fight with bare knuckles. I am not co

The story of my life Does anyone know life, more than he who dwells at the bottom of the mountain? Does anyone know life more than he who lives by the graveyard? What does the eagle have to tell the chick? What has a lion to tell a gazelle? Oh the story of my life, it is not told by fireworks and explosions but with whispers and faint strokes of the brush. It is not told by wails in the night but with whispers in the day, drowned by birds and animals. The story of my life is not a legend or an epic. Just a simple story, yarns spun from the strings of love nourished by simple brooks. It is the tale of muffled speech told by the tongues of the dumb and tears of the unemotional. It is just a simple web, spun by the dying fires of the evening and told over the sinking sun. I am he that they talk about in hushed tones. In my story, the night hungers to come in as soon as day slips away and the struggle begins; the struggle to outlive the dark but it always gives its best to rip me apart. I

Land of the free Oh land of the free, where trumpets sing all day and flutes play all night, why is your maiden tune laden with this much sadness? Oh land of the free, why is there a chain on the feet of your little ones? Why are there muzzles on the mouth of your offspring? You have turned your children into servants, to toil for survival and fight for their lives. Oh land of the free, why does your freedom come at so heavy a cost? Oh land of dreams, why are the nights of your children full of nightmares? Your story is that of tragic ending, and your comedy is that of satire and self-sacrifice. I want to know why the dogs eat to their satisfaction while your own children starve into the cold night. I am humbled oh I am, by the amount of love that pours forth from thy table. Oh I am overwhelmed by the sweet crumbs that fall out of your mouth. Oh lovely nation, thank you for the great feast, but it is your children that hunger. Thank you for the inspiring words, but it is your kindlin

Oh Rebeka I knew that woman, the free spirit that lived up and yonder. I knew her back then, when gods stopped short of drooling and men just short of death. I knew a beautiful woman, back then when heaven was her middle name. Oh Rebeka, wild flower of the west, that sweet fruit from the loins of the blessed, where is the beauty that once was your hair? Where is that disciple that used to flow behind you as you ran? Where is your pride that which once was your jewel? Oh I want to know the man who broke the mare. I would like to see the farmer who picked from the forbidden orchard. I would like to know the axe that brought the mighty oak down to the ground. When I last saw you, men were turning heads. You were the story of the day and the topic of the night. So high you were we had to stare from down under. We mauled you Rebeka, with our deprived eyes.  We hoped for you but then it was not a fairytale where all things were possible. Oh Rebeka, who is it that finally managed to bring y

Oh mighty Athena Thou hast fallen. City of the sun, thou hast turned into ruin, a pile of dust to be scattered in all four corners of the earth. I saw you last night, in the crystal ball in my house. I saw you crashing down from the night sky. I saw you, stripped of your pride and robbed of your grace. I saw your downfall, tower of pride. I saw you fall. Let sorrow become your second name and let grief be the fruit of your loins. Gather the best that still live, to write your dirge and goodbye song. Summon your prophets and soothsayers and watch them beat their chests and tear off their hair. Your children wail with a hunger that cannot be satisfied and the men spend their whole day worrying and hoping. Oh mighty tower of hope; you have now become the chamber of desolation. Forgive us mother, for anchoring our ships in your port. Forgive us, for we got intoxicated with the mangoes in your trees and coconuts in your beaches. Forgive us, for we truly loved the wine you brewed and the be

The parable of the fruit-full one Come no further, you dirty pariah, stay off my couch, you filthy tramp. God loves you. Young woman, your sins are forgiven. Hey you, dip not your fingers into my sacrament bowl. Stand right there, and the lord shall attend to your needs. Close the manhole on your face. Your breath shall ferment my wine. Ah, I see. You need a miracle? What have you got for the Lord? Did the burden of Egypt finally tire you? Did the yoke of sin finally tire your neck? Ah, talk well, and I shall see to it that the road to Canaan squeezes itself for one more soul. You understand? Oh yes Bishop, I do understand that thou must have seen Canaan, but did you see the wilderness in the middle too? You must have seen the other side, but have you seen the wild sea just before that? Oh messenger of the lord, how hungry is he up there? How needy is he that he pities not the echoes in our pockets and the growling in our tummies? Can you tell him to wait till at least he gives us r

To she that leaves tonight Little fighter, warrior and hero, conqueror of hearts and thrower of flaming arrows, where is the fight in you? They called you to rise to the occasion, but why did you not show? The only chance you had was a fighting chance, but you chose to instead sink like a log. Argh child, why did they cultivate the lamb among the wolves? Why did they grow you, tiny plant among the weeds? You were a fool, a fool for love but it did not return the favour. You gave your all, but you fed a bottomless abyss that took but never had enough, and never returned. You gave it meat and it spewed out the bones. You gave it an apple and it handed back the core. If they had told you, you would have known. If they had cared to teach you, then you would have learnt, but there you are, broken and defiled, chewed and spat by the temple of freedom you sought. Why did you not look before you got to leap? You made them great and holy when you placed them upon your altar. You baptised all o

To a sorrowful one I have known and seen a woman, one who hangs at the precipice of grief. I have experienced the agony of she who has been deprived of all she had, the light of the day. At her closed mouth waits gallons of water, for the door on her clenched teeth to open and the guests to flow in, to sear her tongue and cool her burning lungs. She can taste them all, the nails, blades and cans. They celebrated her birth with wreaths, and when she died, they brought roses to her own yard. She wants to bow, but her knees refuse to give way. She wants to lie on the ground in remorse but sir, her waist refuses to bend. Oh she breaks my heart, every day when she hugs the headstone and mumbles the epitaph to herself. I see her by the grave every day, mumbling to her past daughter, weaving the grasses like she did her hair. She pampers the headstone just as she did her little one’s bony structure. She lies by the cold marble just like she did when her little one went to her room to escape

You who never got to weep They left you there, old thorn bush. The ravenous beasts ate all the grass and wiped all the leaves, but they left you there, up and astute. The elephants trampled the grass in the entire savannah, but they left you there beaming with pride and self worth. I envy you, one who never got to weep, for you have never known the searing burn of the cold. You have never known what it is to break down when you should be strong and to carry the cross. It is of you I think, the only one that the wave left behind, for you never got to stick your head into the fangs of death. You never got to be sucked into the chasm of despair. It is you that I sing in praise of, one with a perennial smile. You have no scars to heal of, and no wounds to tend to. You have no grief to suck the life out of you, and you have no mountain to climb with bleeding fingers. When I ask you about pain, you say “what pain?” when I ask you about sorrow, you ask me, “which cup?” Argh, how lucky you ar

If we must die If we must die, let it not be like cows in the slaughter, walking willingly into the bloodbaths, too meek to resist and too trusting to argue. Let us die like buffaloes in a lion chase or ants in a midday march. Let us die like termites in search of freedom in a hostile world. If we must die, let it not be like birds caught in storm or a deer by a hunter’s spear. Let it not be like foxes caught in traps or flies landing on fire. If we must die, let our death not be told to those with faint hearts and loud wails. Let it not be known by those women who know not to keep their mouth shut. Let it not be told to those frail and on the brink lest they tilt over. If we must die, let the news be hushed and kept silent. Let everyone be told that we refused to be vanquished, that the flame refused to be extinguished. Let them be told that it is not graves but a mound full of seeds and flowers. Lord, if we must die, let us waft out into your presence like sacred incense. Send a ch

If I were a lovebird If I were a lovebird, I would write you songs and sing for you up in the trees. I would live for you, wake up every morning to see your face and hear your voice. If I were a lovebird, I would have brought you flowers for your anniversary and chocolate on your birthday. I would have showered you with gifts money could buy and smother you with kisses my mouth could afford. I would wake up one morning and take you places you never imagined or even thought. I would show you the world with its tall mountains and deep seas. I would have dragged you from your little rock and put you right in the middle of my fantasy. If I was a lovebird I would let you come with me to distant mountains away from everybody and everything. What would you lack? What more would you ask for? If I were a lovebird I would never have broken your heart and left you weeping all night. I would not have left you drenching in the rain full of longings and needs. I would have kissed your lips, not bru

If ever I take to the stand... I would talk about the crown of thorns and the nails on his wrists. I would talk about the tree they brought down, the vinegar they gave him and the cries that rent the air that day. If I take to the stand I shall talk about the blood, that red blood that gave us peace and life. I would talk about the sorrow and the beatings that gave us respite. I will talk about a persecution that got us forgiven, torture that got us healed and ropes that got us freed. I would talk of the son of a carpenter, the son of a humble woman who became the lord of nations. If ever I take to the stands, I would defend a man, arrested and persecuted for giving the truth to a nation that refused to believe. I would give my testimony to all and sundry, a witness that chanted the soldiers on, a witness that spat at he who bore the tree on his back. I would stand at the witness box and I would speak, a witness whose words drip guilt and his lips beg for remorse. I will stand guilty

I met a racist He abused me for my colour and I called him out for his lack of colour. He said I was a coloured, a man painted in the colours of inferiority, vigour and violence, and I said he was whiter than dying summer leaves, white, drained, plain and pallid. I met a racist, with his wildly flayed nose trying to sniff out mediocrity from our woollen hair and brains. The sharp stab that is a racist’s tongue, and I felt his burn. He had with him bars of soap, various bleaches and remedies to bleach the dark out of us. I met a racist in the corners of the village. He called us all out and gave us doses of the light, a remedy to pull us out of the dark. He gave women weaves to cover their ‘sisal’ hair and the young men music to dance to. He gave light to the old women, those who still drunk their potted beer and chewed tobacco. He gave them alcohol in bottles and cigarettes that fit the status of people deep in the warm thighs of civilization. I met a racist in town. He was dressed in

The archer I met an archer someday. He was walking with a quiver on his back, a quiver without arrows and a bow without a string. He had cracks, nay, rifts on his feet, the product of years of valour and bravery, of slips and mishaps. His voice was like the rasp of a machete against the file, rough, hoarse and lost. He was a man who basked in the glory of his past and existed on the denial of his present. He was a man stuck in his heydays, a man who refused to move on from those moments of grandeur and fervour; the days when he hunted them all, the eagles and the guinea fowls. He was a man who refused to acknowledge that the sun did set and time ran away from him. The look in his eyes I still remember, long and deeply etched in a past gone and forgotten. His hand were calloused, skin hard and rigid. He was a hunter then, an archer that shot them down, but now then he was just an archer, an archer with broken arrows. I met an archer, a hero in his own eyes. He sang his own song and dan

Oh refuse Oh sorrow, my comfort in the cold times and dark days, I refuse to let go of your cold hug. I refuse to let go of your limp hand and your sagging flesh. Refuse to leave, oh refuse. I love the silver; not the glow of the light but that of the shining mist. I love the dew, not out of the flowers but the one in my eyes, splashing down on the cold, hard ground. What a comfortable feel when the grip tightens around my neck, what a comfortable feeling when the force of the water crushes my chest. Oh beautiful clouds of sorrow, let your fumes block my nostrils and lungs. Let them bind my hands and legs till I drown. I will stand with you and by you, caterpillar, till you become a butterfly. I will stand with you, little wave till you make a tsunami. I will guard you, little breeze till you become a whirlwind. I am happy on my path, this path crawling with snakes, scorpions and spiders, free of bees and dead of flowers, free of sparrows and hummingbirds, yet full of vultures and rav

Why hast thou forsaken me? The long fall to the hole with no end and no edge, the long drop into the dark deep where the sun never arrived, nor rain drops ever penetrated. Why hast thou forsaken me? Knives and shards of glass, steel wires and neglected nails will break my fall. It was bad out there, but it will be worse down here. I shall be a carcase soon, left to rot like all those who fell before me. You won the game, you won the battle, take your trophy and go on home. Take the trophy and walk home. Take the accolades, beat your chest and gloat to all those who care to listen. I tried battling you, angel of death, but how could I win when it is you who made me feel alive when dead? You taught me to find you in the noise; little did I know that you lurked behind every silent whisper, not in the whirlwind but deep in the heart of the breeze. For a moment I thought I had a reason to believe but nobody was really there to tell me that I was being stupid. Nobody was there to tell me th

When you left I remember that day, the day you left and your stomach took over. We did not say anything or lash out at anyone. We became busy working to feed the bottomless abyss and the overinflated ego. We forgot your name and place in society. We died the day you left and your stomach took over. We buried laughter and humour and in its place grew sadness and despondency. We lost our lives and our hearts were full to the brim with death. When you left the children felt the space and the adults felt the gap. Our fear grew by the mile and there was no one to calm us down when we became unsettled. We had to fear being alive more than we did being dead. Some of us lost their lives but all of us lost our hopes. Though we did not thin on the outside, our will, our strength and our ambitions starved, for when you left and your stomach took over, we could no longer move, for it had cast on us a shadow long and dark that terrified the sleeping and the awake. It left fingers of nightmares tha

When the bird got uncaged They always told her tales of life in the trees, night spent staring at the sun setting and the mornings when they all woke to chase the glow. They never told her of the nights out in the cold, lonely and alone, the nightmares of the night and the anxiety as they awaited the sun to rise. They told her of how they swam in the meadows and partook of grubs and dew. The other birds told her of how they bathed in the dust, raced around, sang and danced. They never told her about the bald eagle that chased them around and the hawks that took their children away. They told her of their colourful nests with colourful eggs. They never told her about the snakes that fed on them, the jealousy among the barren birds and the squabbles over territories. The macaw told her about the nuts and the hummingbird told her of nectar, but they never got to tell her about how tough their shells were or how frail the flowers were. The honey bird told her about the honey, but she did

The portrait of a woman One day when running across the jungle of hopelessness, taking in the sun of despair and listening to the whispers of the bitter past, I came across a gathering, of men and women, children and adults. They were all staring up at a figure, a goddess on a pedestal. Their eyes were full of tears, tears of hope in the midst of despair, their hands clasped in silent supplication. I went near and as soon as I got into the midst and trained my eyes, I heard a roar, a lusty cry sodden with passion and liberation. I saw fireworks and shooting stars. When I stood there that day and her fist went up the whole crowd went wild and I knew that a lioness had been born. That moment frozen by cameras and newspaper will never leave my mind. That moment will never be drawn on canvas with brush and written in ink but it will be permanent in our hearts, for that day we saw a true portrait, the portrait of a woman. That day when I went to see I didn’t hear the soft breath and gasp o

When you did it You planted a garden, the garden of hatred and grew around it a hedge of jealousy and envy. You cultivated it all, watered and dug around, gave it the attention of a farmer to his tender crops. They did not disappoint you. They grew to become full plants and your hedge finally got to mature. You always wished for a way to get to them, a way to attack their inner core, and insatiable desire for destruction and revenge.  You wanted barbs to throw; why now don’t you pick them off your hedge? You wanted to have all their dreams, why now are you complaining when their nightmares float outside your house? Every night you plotted in your bed, how you would overthrow the amateur kingdom, wishing to take it all and condemn them to hell. Where is your happiness now? You envied their red lips and their full tummies, the way they walked and the way they talked. You wished you were them, that you would swim in all they had and play in all they wanted. Why now do you complain when t

That long shining cloak I know that cloak, that long shiny cloak that birthed hope in me, that long white cloak that gave me purpose and a reason to live again. I know of that cloak that wiped away my afflictions and invited in hope and salvation. If I could a chance, I would hold on and not let go. If you called me out tonight, I would answer and follow the light, that light coming from the mighty shining cloak, up the steps and down into the deep. Show me tomorrow; carry me away in your sweeping grace. Someday my journey shall come to an end and I shall know that I never travelled in vain. We shall all know that the barefoot journey on a pebble-filled road was not in vain. I shall follow that long shining cloak through the valley of darkness and death. I shall walk alongside my refuge and tuck in when the night is too dark. I shall cling to it when I feel like the end has come and I shall be made new. I believe in the long shining cloak and someday I shall get to bridge the gap betw