Poetry

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TUESDAY

It’s another Tuesday
Another week in, another one is on its way out
Another day feeling like the day before
I wear tiredness like an oversized coat;
heavy but somehow keeps the cold out
but the truth is, the cold is not on my skin
It lives in my bones, runs through my veins
I breathe it out
my feet drag, and my eyes burn
sleep is not my friend
It’s another day, much of the same as the days before
They tend to run into one another,
tripping over one another
clumsy and flimsy
Like me
No day is the same
Just as I am not the same
but yet,
It is and I am
It’s another day
Just another Tuesday

Motherless, child, Grief

A MOTHERLESS CHILD

I used to sit on my mother’s lap

Out on the balcony

Watching cars go by

Talking about nothing and everything

She used to stroke my hair

With her aging hands

Or clean my ears with a bobby pin

I could have sat there for hours

I miss being her child

Her youngest daughter

My sisters would tease me, saying I’m spoilt

And her favourite

I would frown, scrunch my nose at them but

Really,

It brought me pure joy

Now I am a motherless daughter

With a daughter of my own

Needing my mother

more than I ever could have ever known

I miss her

I miss my mother every day

I swallow tears and try to ignore the lump

In my throat

Sitting there like a constant reminder of what I lost

I guess it is true what they say

Grief never leaves you

You don’t outgrow it

You simply grow around it.

comfort room, hospitals, life

THE COMFORT ROOM

Sitting in what they call a comfort room after 8 in the morning

I’m watching the door to the theatre

Watching the clock

The comfort room brings little comfort

It’s cold and a lone window is before me covered in blinds

The wall covered in words such as

Harmonious

Healed

Natural

Marvellous

Free

Safe

Happy

Peaceful

Healing

Aware

Conscious

Healthy

comfort room, words, hospitals

All words meant to bring comfort but the irony

Does not miss me

It’s quiet sitting here

Save for the sounds of the machines somewhere in the hospital

And the wheels on the cold tile floors

I feel far away from him

Not knowing what is happening behind that closed theatre door

It holds my heart

And I am locked out of it

I don’t have the access or the authorisation

I watch the door like a predator stalking its prey

Waiting to pounce the minute I see him being wheeled out that room

To take his hands in mine

Kiss his lips

To see his eyes see mine

door, comfort room, hospitals

The only comfort this empty room brings

Is the chance to be with my own thoughts

To allow my inner turmoil to run free and

Keep me company during this time

I fear looking away from the door

I fear I might miss him and never see him again.

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WHAT MADE YOU SO ANGRY?

Was my skin too dark for you?

Was my hair too coarse for you?

Was my voice too loud for you?

Could you not handle the dip in my hips

or the valleys of my bosom?

Were you angry because you couldn’t dance to the beat

of our African drums or

click to the song we sang so effortlessly?

What was it about us that made you so angry that you decided to

land on our shores and claim what was not yours? 

Was it that we could grow food by simply laying our hands on the ground?

Was it that we grew corn and wheat and fed families without any hindrance?

Was it that we took skin and made clothes?

Tell me, what was it?

Was it our diverse nature and beauty that offended you?

Or was it our resilience?

Was it the strength of our mothers and the power of our fathers

which made you fear?

Was it the look of determination in our eyes as we stared you down

which made you quiver and quake and then take a gun and shove it down our throats?

Was it that we were born of the sun and the earth, a people so natural?

Was it that you couldn’t control us that made you decide to kill us?

Tell me, what was it?

Was it that no matter how hard you tried to make us a

speck in the history books, every page is still filled with the

cries of our ancestors and the stories are still being written to this day?

Go on, tell me.

What made you so angry?

San rock art, writing on the wall, history

THE WRITING ON THE WALL

The writing’s on the wall;

stones and sticks and clay and bricks

tell the stories of our history

written in blood and sweat and thousands of tears

I sit in the quiet of the memory hall,

feeling my throat close up and tears start to flow;

how could it be that a people like me

were treated like less than dirt under my feet

I read about how they painted in song

and wrote stories on stone walls, making their

voices known as only they could

dreams shared by entire generations

almost wiped out by white skinned men

who came from afar on a ship with flags

and guns and bibles and a foreign tongue

We watched you from the shore, we

greeted you and welcomed you with

smiles and meals

You smiled back, the greed showing on your gnashing teeth

On our sacred land, where we were born free

they came and beat us, chained us and took what was ours

made us pay for what we farmed and what we sowed

Our mothers and fathers watered the soil with their blood

from it grew the bones of ancestors

the bones we used to make bows and arrows and

found ourselves fighting for land that was ours to begin with

I am an African! I can hear the screams

I am of this earth, and of this sky and of this land

I am an African!

From the earth we were born

sold as slaves as a child

We are also human they say

while they tie us to a donkey, a horse

the heartbeat of the earth beating beneath our bare feet

The only sign we are still alive

You struck us, you tried to belittle us

you put a price on our humanity

but we rose up ; we marched and we fought back

And now we are here

Telling the stories you tried to make us forget

But we have not forgotten and

we will beat the drums

and sing the songs and

write the stories of our heritage

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THIS TOO SHALL PASS

To the woman sitting alone in her empty house
Full of memories and mementos, wondering where it all went wrong,
I was you.
To the young girl crying her eyes out in the office bathroom, staring at herself
In the mirror, not recognizing the person staring back at her
With bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks,
I understand.
To the tired mother, using her last strength to dress and feed and play with her kids
When she hasn’t eaten or had a decent shower in days,
I have been there.
To the friend that needs comforting and can’t control the tears from flowing,
Feeling as if everything is falling apart,
You will be okay.
It doesn’t matter how strong you feel you need to be or how tired you are and
How many times you need to start over, I want you to know that
This too shall pass.

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ON WRITING

Writing is a release for me. Almost like therapy but without the talking.

When I write down my feelings and thoughts that have kept me hostage or that have made me feel sad or heartbroken or angry and I stare at it on the page before me, I feel a sense of freedom. Almost as if I let go of something. I feel as if I can breath easier, as if I’ve made space in my heart and my spirit for better and more beautiful things.

It’s a healing process. I never want to stop experiencing this when I write. I never want to stop writing.

Even if I never become a best-selling author and no one ever reads anything I write, I’d like to know I’ve left a trail of breadcrumbs to feed someone’s soul.

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PIECES OF ME

we are shaped by our experiences but we can choose how to live out those experiences. We choose how to live, we choose whether we give up or go on. We choose to forgive.

life demands of you to be intentional; intentional about your actions, your energy, your focus, your thoughts and emotions.

It hasn’t been easy but it has been fulfilling

love is one of the most if not the most powerful source of hope we have on this earth

Its not just okay to live as your authentic self, its absolutely necessary.

do not fear.
do not tremble.
do not question or second guess

These hard, tiring and busy days won’t last.

Your ability to nurture, love, care and encourage is God-given.

break out of the mould you created for yourself with all the things you thought you knew

I hope you relinquish all expectations
you had of yourself for this next season and simply enjoy being alive.

Even if it fails, at least you know that you tried.

We all have a place in our minds where we wish to go, things we want to do and places we want to see but if I’ve learned anything, these last few years, is that you won’t get there if you don’t get moving.

It’s a beautiful day. The dog dreams. I breathe

Better to have a moment of awkwardness than to have a lifetime of regret.

But I see how you carry on.

I see how you carry others.

I see how you love,

I see how you pray.

I see you and I love what I see.

It’s a road not travelled at all.
A sad and painful place where the rivers
are made out of tears.
Very lonely. Very heartbreaking.

Very beautiful indeed.

My faith saved me.
It saves me still.

regret always comes too late.

You are more valuable than you know and you have so much more power than you realise

One hurt does not fix another

I want to be that brave person again

I’m a weary wife.

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MARRIED TO DEPRESSION

He sits with me, hollow and heavy

I can’t breath

I hide in the shadows

Hoping he won’t find me

Forgetting that he commands the shadows

My own ball and chain

I found myself myself married to depression

I climbed into his embrace and

found a home in the darkness

Not better, just worse

In sickness and sadness
Till death, will we part?

I curl on the bed

Knees to my chest

Keeping myself together

As he watches me fall apart

A spouse of sorrow

I’m a weary wife

A marriage of inconvenience

Based on loneliness and lies.

Son, day of the girl child

TO MY SON ON THE DAY OF THE GIRL CHILD

Throughout your life you will probably hear phrases such as,

A woman brought you into this world and she can take out of it

You don’t lay your hands on a woman

Be respectful toward women

I can give you a whole list of things that you will hear but I will let you be surprised and experience it as you grow up.

All those things are correct, you never ever touch a woman in a way that makes her feel uncomfortable.

You never cross a line that has clearly been set out for you.

You do not hunger after a woman’s body as if she is something to eat.

You do not say things that will kill a woman’s confidence or shatter her character.

You never do.

Do not intentionally break hearts or lead a woman on.

There is no pride or glory in breaking a woman’s heart.

It only brings you shame.

If you do not love her, tell her.

Leave her with the truth rather than loving her with a lie.

Never assume that you are always right and never make a woman feel ashamed for what she is feeling or thinking.

Make her feel comfortable enough to express herself to you and make an effort to understand her instead of admonishing her.

You need integrity and compassion and the ability to love unconditionally and you need to have respect for everyone around you.

In order to respect anyone else, man or woman, you first need to have respect for yourself.

If you don’t have a certain standard to which you hold yourself then how you treat others will be a clear reflection of that and then that would mean that I have failed you as a mother,

And I, my dear boy, am not planning on failing.

I want you to be a man that loves woman but loves them in a pure manner.

Love how they are nurturing and caring.

Love how versatile they are.

Love and respect their intellect and be a man that provides a safe space for them to unearth their potential.

Love how they make you feel on the inside, how they make you fall in love.

Be a student of women and find out what makes them tick without ticking them off.

Pray for women and pray that you gain the knowledge and wisdom on how to treat them as a good man should.

Love your sister unconditionally and protect her with your life.
Son, sister, day of the girl child
Mason and his sister, Morgan.

Fight for the causes of women and always be available when one needs you but never let any woman take advantage of your heart or your kindness.

Your heart will most likely be broken by a few girls in your lifetime and that cannot be stopped but never use that as an excuse to hurt another woman in return.

One hurt does not fix another.

Love is all there is and love is all that matters.

A woman is not your possession, you do not own the person you love.

A woman is a free spirit that will come into your life to teach and to be taught.

She will make you fall in love with life and she will enhance your vision for your own life.

She will make you want to succeed and she will push you until you do.

You cannot be a man without having had a woman touch your life.

My son,

Please remember, women brought you up,

Me,

Your grandmothers,

Your great-grandmothers,

Your aunts,

Your school teachers,

Your sister.

You have been surrounded by beautiful women all your life and you will continue to be for the rest of it.

Be sure to treat every girl or woman you ever come across with the highest level of esteem and admiration because at the end of the day if it wasn’t for the fighting and equally loving spirit of all the women in your life, you would not be who you are today.

Be an example to the many men who will follow you throughout your life and be part of a generation of men that will never again take a woman by force, break her spirit or leave her blue-eyed and crying.

Son, father and son, day of the girl child
Mason and his dad.

I beg of you baby, be different.

Be strong.

Be secure in your faith.

Be humble.

Be dependable.

Be honest.

Be brave.

Be loving and compassionate.

But most importantly, be forgiving.

Do not let the hardships in life stop you from finding the beauty and romance that there surely is and sharing it with everyone you meet.

I hold you to these standards because I know and I believe you have it in you.

Female nurses healed you back to health when you were too weak to stand on your own two feet.

A female pastor dedicated you to the church.

Female doctors delivered you from my womb.

You are not above a woman.

She stands next to you, not under your feet.

I can only give you these guidelines but it is up to you to decide what kind of man you are going to be and maybe someday, what kind of man you are going to raise.

I know you are young now but someday you will understand this.

And if you don’t understand,

Ask a woman.

Son, mother and son, day of the girl child
Mason and I.