Friday, May 25, 2012

Ode to my a-political self

My poetry springs out of
my  ignorance of politics
my words are not militant,
they lose their steam and sting
in composition.
I am writing
into history,
a part of
apolitical me.

My words, pregnant with
the tangible meaning
of my then and now,
My thoughts gloss over

the tales of fifty-two
gores of political vengeance,
My poetry forgives
the murderers and
leaves them scott-free,
my complacency
mutes her anger over
price rise, and
mouths "corruption"
in a nonchalant way.

When I rub my
muzzle on the restraint,
I feel the coldness of
a Christian grooming
looming over
nodes of forgiving,
an act that became a
habit and then, a performance

A performance that
tames my political self
into an apolitical being
By conjuring words into
the world that constantly
repairs my political memory,
 I perform my self
into irrelevance
to nestle my self

into a sense of apolitical

Monday, May 07, 2012

Bird Watching with my Brother

A trek into
the wild,
slippery boulders
flash floods
and wild bees,

My brother's lens
hunted for
a bird, he tracked
down a whistling thrush;
in the fatigue
of middle-age
I sat on a boulder
watching him
snipe the dark
for a gentle bird-song
or the ruffle of a wing.

Cain watching Abel,
with  the fond
nostalgic eyes
of a  murderer,
In the wild there
was a peace that
did not break our bond.

As the day set in
leaves streamed in
patches of warmth,
lit up the darkness,
I climbed up
the Jacob's ladder,
tenable strands
of sun light
spiralled up
like our DNA;

He saw the flight
of a hornbill,
sun rays
lured by the green,
with a maniac
spring, he clicked
away to perfection.

Our differences often
signalled skywards
to seek out our sameness.

Tuesday, May 01, 2012

I want to thank my dreams

I want to thank
my dreams who visit
me every night
some, I remember
for a while in the early
hours of waking,
many flee from
memory like cuckolds

Some dreams linger
as nightmares
their ebb and flow
haunting the day;
every slice of life
becomes a déjà vu
enacted once again

Some dreams don’t stay
they fade like jilted lovers
in the dark, never leaving
imprints of love behind,
stealing precious
strands of memory
along with their flight.

Some dreams bring in
dead relatives in
my lonely patch;
lovers, with their illusion
of light, fireflies
to my darkness;
friends who act as foes
and foes who caress.

Even those persistent
dreams of my vertigo,
my fall and my
exam angst,
my failures projected 
in the most surreal,
my desires decently
dressed and sometimes,
naked and lame.
My parricides, nakedness
and shame concealed in them,
they shape my
composure for the next
streak of dawn.

I want to thank all my
dreams who come
visiting me by night
like guardian angels,
with their fancy wings
transporting my sanity
into insanity and 
my reality into  just
a straying mongrel-thought.


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