Spit in my Left Eye

Image by Mohammed Metri The sun stretched lethargically then ricocheted off the red streaks of her hair and mirrored itself in the green pools of her eyes. King Duncan McAlpine gazed infinitely at her soft mouth.  Their eyes spoke of an unquenchable fire. Soul to soul. Their passions narrated intent and dangerous games - a courtship of swans. The residents of the Isle of Rhe were restless, hankering after their bone for the day. A King who was found guilty of the abduction and murder of the French Queen Gabrielle Delon was indeed the type of parade that would bring hundreds to the town square.  Their voices a welter of discordant sounds. "Murder”? shouted the village baker, his pound of belly glaring beneath the flour coated beige apron. His voice straining above the din, "Blah blah blah. No such thing. The King is a decent fella. This is the work of his one-eyed monster of a step-brother,  it is Lord Blanchard’s doing I tell ya". The crowd roared with laughter

   "Rebecca the child will be a freak.  Give it up or do away with it.  It's not even human yet. I never wanted a child, I told you to take precautions so that we would never end in this kind of mess.  Honey, you know I love you.......but I can't do this".  I can't have a "Downs Baby”.  Think about it, he will be made fun of and bullied.  How will he cope? It will drive you mad"!  He seemed to have the future all worked out.   5 Years of love had ended as if it had no value........and perhaps it didn't.    "It not even human yet".  Tears rushed to her soul and spilled onto nervous hands trying to convince her to end the life she carried.  Guitar hands.  Her  baby was no freak.  Nothing was going to change her mind about him.  They would find their way back home.  He was all human.   They connected in the most incredible ways.  She felt him. He was her baby.  He felt, He spoke. He sensed and knew.  Ah yes, the world and science would d

Humans are unforgiving, ungracious to the one who falls, merciless even when he rises  The same human will cast a casual glance at teacher's whose lives deny; at Politicians who wave big dreams; Preachers who preach lies and sport fraudulent hashtags, fake healings and scams. The human indulges scandal that divides churches and corporations; The Human advocates gossip that tears families apart; persecutes the smoker, the cannabis grower but drinks till drunk; raps nonsensicals in his stupor; The same stones the adulterer but eats till stuffed and rotund a Lady Chatterley's lover, or is it blubber - take your pick. Deception jails the swindler  but buys Mercs and Bentleys from the widows fund. Pride refuses the street child  but from the pulpit pleads for his ministries - like a cunning skunk. Oh ye hypocrites Brood of vipers Soothsayers and cheaters When will your ay and nay be as it should. Pluck out your eye Cutoff your limbs Snip your tongues Don sackclot

Am I the consequence of poverty or perhaps a prank gone too far? A plaything to appease a sick mind; 5 thousand rand for a mother's blossoming burden, where drugs speak louder than love. I am locked away banished to hell. Branded and burn't then led to a fold in the hills, like roaches in a darkened hole, Alone Days months maybe years? acid to my face has sealed my fate. That's how they do it - how they hold us here I no longer fight, and my attempts at flight become a whimsical notion Oh how I miss the golden shores of the Cape; the lonely windy hills of Macassar. What language is that I hear - Where am I, Uganda, Bangladesh, Pakistan? I live in a cage, I breathe air and see the sky only at night. I am lost Gone sold I am the dead breathing forgotten Unidentified - untraceable Perhaps hope will someday deliver me from this hell of a denatured face displayed behind a glass cage. A high priced collectors item. Laugh you foolhardy pharisees.

not bound by chasms, racism, fascism I am the stream trickling from the peyote cactus in the dry dead of the Sahara, The sand storm that sanitizes every stained spot in its wake. I rise from the South, East, North and West. Under the camels hump I am shadowed from the sweltering sun at noon and clothed for the damp dead of night. I shake the dust from burdens dragged through the evening heat. The hiss of the desert monitor stills not my focus. Like the hooves of a rhim gaselle are my feet - sure yet soft. Caves and burrows shield my dignity in drought. and the waking croc smiles at my courage as the rains wash away my dried tears. I am a Woman I stand tall and fall, My exploits are as the twist in every tornado and when morning comes I rise to meet the scorpion dead on. I rise - from the desert sun - from the dry savanna scapes I am the wisdom of the rock hyrax that moves with my sisters while we forage for the hungry world around us. When t

Thula was 6 years old but already mother and sister to her 2 siblings, 3 year old twins, Paco and Ponine.  Boys were hard work but she tried her best since their mother died of aids 6 months ago - their father worked the mines far away.  That's all she knew.  Adults had a way of telling children nothing.  The village of Mbizana had many women and all pitched in to help raise the 3 children. Thula however was their big sister and mother. That's just how it was. The 3 were always hungry.  Thula often wondered why mines didn't pay her father a wage because no money was ever sent home. Neither did her father return after her mother's death. They survived on the cabbage and carrots that Mr Abujan dropped off each Friday. The twins were malnourished and often cried in their sleep. The hut creaked and the holes were illuminated in the moonlight that hovered overhead. The African plains  - the big 5 and safaris that brought giggles to children were a far cry from Thula'