Soot and teeth

How we search
for happiness in the rubbles of despair
maybe a bid to distract ourselves
from the soot that gracefully
camps on our face.

These teeth glow in the contrast
of who I now am.

“My dear son”, I mutter to the wind,
“There is no harm in climbing high walls.
Beyond them, sometimes,
lie forests, with trees as tall as our gods
and rivers as long as the hairs on our angels.
The birds beyond these walls sing in a language called beautiful
and their breath is the string on which life is balanced.
I do not judge you for climbing this high wall.
with slippery shoes, weak limbs,
and a desire for dimples.
But you will fall like me.
And hurt your back.
and your hip.
and your arm.
and your heart.
and your other arm.
And the rumbling wall will look down at you
And bathe you in its laughter. One that chars the trees around you.
Here is the birth of the soot. Lie in it till your teeth glow”.

Do these teeth glow in the contrast
of who you are now?

“Climb again I must say.
This time, with an aching back
and an aching hip
and an aching arm
and a heart
and another aching arm”.


Good morning.
Two days before yesterday,
innocence killed a man
at breakfast and was distraught.
Nightmares filled its daylight
and tears it’s pillowcase.

Good afternoon.
Today, innocence
killed two more people.
The red flowing spread evenly
over the rage-textured earth. Tomorrow
will be stained for good.

Good evening.
Two days past tomorrow,
innocence served a genocide
before supper. “This trigger seemed rusty”,
it said, “and the sunset came too early”.
Innocence doesn’t like missing the sunset.

Cold and warm

He made
two cups of coffee.
One stayed up all night.

He made
two cups of coffee.
One lost its steam.

He made
one cup of coffee.
One heart sank.

“I love
that you think of me
when you make my cup of coffee”.

He made
two cups of coffee.
Two hearts were filled.


She leaned in
and held tight for
seven seconds that
spelt eternity. Blood, calm,
flowed to shut-eyed face
as her beaming heart
welcomed back
life with a

The two-legged wolf

He didn’t like the jungle.
He loved the speed
A two-legged wolf flying
– from vine to vine
– from swing to prance
His locks trail in the night light
Sprinkled with blue moonlight drops.
Above a pack of growls and blood-filled gaze

These feet,
Planted on moss-stained branches,
stride across these rocks,
– water, splashing from beneath
These drizzles of light have
fallen around…
… him.
That is a smile you see

Wolves don’t fly
men don’t fly

He is a two-legged wolf flying

In our (own) image II

Facebook post
“We have made God
in our own image”.

My thoughts go out to him
and his family.
May he not weep for his blown-up
Or suffer under the privilege
of racism.

“We’ve made God
in our own image”

Bear with me
while I ask.

What colour is he?
Does she eat bacon?
What are his dietary requirements?
Does she dab?

Walking fear

Then my fears found breath
and walked through the night.
Its wings burst through my shoulder blades,
stretching back to cling on to the low hanging moon.
It talons clawed out of my knees
and planted their roots in mud-stained roads.
Its hands held my breasts and pulled,
hoping to expose my heart.

I buckled and offered it
my gentle pacing blue heart.
There was no blood here tonight.
Not even a lake of tears.
There was only this spent knee,
ruptured shoulder blades
and vulnerable heart
wondering the dark street
of hope deferred.

Little love

She is five years old.
What does she know about Love?

She is five years old.
What doesn’t she know about love

She has innocence.
Beautiful as the first laugh.
Pleasing like the tears found in birth.

Her heart has found warmth,
a tickle in her belly. It rises
in the language of chuckles
and is planted as hugs and cuddles.
She watches me from her step.
From in-between a laugh, she
recognises the concoction of feelings
that have grown within her world.

This she defines as Love.
“”I love you too”.

the after night

In the wake of here presence
the night air sang,
the evening breeze cuddled,
the moon whispered her name,
the streets spelt her words,
the sun called out to her,
my footstep drummed her heartbeat,
the night air smelt of her,
the roaring cars called for her,
the sleeping birds dreamt of her,
the empty streets waited for her,
the crowded pubs praised her.

And the random man,
standing under the singing light
of the dancing bus stop,
paying no particular attention
to the colour in the wind,
the spring in my step,
the dance in my voice,
or the glitter that littered my steps,
worshipped her.


My anticipation fills me,
brim spilling over, with impatience.
Time had not been our bond, my dear.
I am drowned in Joy.
In excitement.
In elation
as you walk with your smile
littering the streets.

You are very beautiful
and blessed
my dear friend