Spit in my Left Eye

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'

He who defies fear, awakens love. Common sense and fear moaned its objection. But it was no challenge for the brilliant light that shone from the charcoal eyes laughing up at him. Blake's heart creaked, its hinges rusty and misused. Her laughter drew him in and caused his soul to dance like an avalanche. Sounds of thunder in his ears.  His fingers toyed the softness of her cheek as he bent to kiss her cleopatra styled hair. Its that look he found remarkably attractive about her. His own little Cleopatra.  He couldnt understand how he had not noticed her   much sooner.  She appeared in his life as if sent.  He needed this.  She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. The moon sketched their shadowy silhouette like silks that fluttered and floated upon a cloud of long awaited fulfilment. Their lips clung in whispered promises of sundrenched storms. This time Blake dared to embrace this promise; this laughter, this passion, Love. Francesca Hunter felt his heart

He was physically and emotionally drained. The long illustrious walk had somehow enveloped him in its air of evergreen mystery.  He had forgotten the magic of the Drakenberg mountains.  He was however filled with anticipation and maybe if he was to admit, some excitement. But the history of disappointment and unrequited love cautioned him. He shook the anxiety that teased from the lapels of his memory.  An Insecurity born from the constant want for a love that seemed to reject him;  a craving that haunted him and had him tossing in his sleep. Shadows of past ghosts and accusation.  Knots tied by arrangement - if only canyons could speak. The fresh breeze cooled his flushed face. Squirrels scurried and the soft hush of the canyons wings carried curses long forgotten.  Marine drive did little to assuage his wariness but the future called to him like a young heart. His eyes were fixed ahead as he neared the end of the stretch. Cascading Hair over slim shoulders, talle

"I see that every white man is an enemy to the black, and every black man an enemy to the white, they do not love each other and never will." King Dingane to Richard Hulley, February 1838 Can it be that when Van Riebeeck erected the Almond Hedge and starved Autshumato and his people, that like Cain and Abel, their blood boils inside the veins of the generations; the cursed hedge that remains firmly rooted in the heart of a tainted people. The Verwoerd stamp. On 27 February 2006 the body of 11-year-old Dane Darries was found stabbed 14 times in the toilet of his primary school in Cape Town. 2012 Marikana Massacre was the greatest political atrocity next to the Sharpville Massacre. In October 2016 Lekita Moore had been savaged. She was stabbed 98 times.  Her nipples and genitals had been cut off, a bottle was shoved up her vagina and her face was badly slashed. She had been stabbed several times in her throat and stomach.  Her mutilated body was found the next day.