a withered husband,
failed by life
tells me the story
that keeps him
up at night-

thrown in jail
for showing his face
in a white neighbourhood
after light

while he was being
waterboarded for
his tardiness, his
wife was being
sodemised by
men in uniforms,
trashing their shack
and leaving her with a
child with blue eyes

-he was left with
ptsd and an infant
that was birthed
out of a crime

he now awaits for an
apocalyptic flood
to take him out of his
grief knowing that the
love of his life went
through hell knowing
he could’ve protected
her from such demise

he now screams to
the sky asking his
cancer-freed rib and
his adopted son
who left him in this
prison - where is
his rope or knife.

-t.m

a sluggish but proud zulu man
stopped me in my trek to no-
where as my fingers searched
for a grip in the dehydrated sou-
thern sand. he held a leather-bound
book with the words “the holy bible”
struggling to stay embedded. befitting
resemblance of the seminar he gave me;
scuffling through testimonies and biblical
verses that lead into various explanations
which were suspected. i asked him if he
believed anything he had just said. he
confessed, he’d been questioning
everything he had memorised and read.
he guided me into a tangent about
his distain for the greedy and the
need for the restoration of his ancestors
land. i asked why black people get
massacred when we articulate our
desire for economic empowerment and grass.
he listed to me everything which he was
taught was wrong with the indigenous
people, which, supposedly, justified the past.
i stopped him in his own trek through self-hate,
anguish and pity and i said this to him,
“if you change the way black people think,
you change the way white people get money...”

-t.m

I SIT HERE DRENCHED IN THE
BLOOD OF ONE OF THE NATIVES.
WE CAPTURED THE LAND AND
HIS MIND WITH OUR ALTERED
EDUCATION, IT WORKED LIKE
AN ANAESTHETIC, OR BETTER,
A SEDATIVE. HE PONDERED ON
WHETHER OR NOT HE IS HUMAN
WHILE WE BEGAN PLOUGHING
HIS SOIL. HE AWOKE FROM HIS
DAYDREAM, TO OUR AMAZEMENT,
WE THOUGHT WE HAD HIM FOILED.
HE RALLIED HIS MEN, THEY DID NOT
HESITATE. I WILL GIVE IT TO THEM,
THEY ARE ARMOURED WITH THE BRAVERY
AND THE STRENGTH OF A THOUSAND APES.
BUT IT WAS TOO LATE, WE SLAUGHTERED
THEM FROM A DISTANCE, AND TOOK CONTROL
OF THEIR CHILDREN, WIVES AND MAIDS.
SPEAKING OF CHILDREN, HOW GOES OUR
SWEET DAUGHTER ROSE? I MISS HER
DEARLY AND I LOOK FORWARD TO
EMBRACING HER WITH FATHERLY
LOVE WHEN THIS WAR COMES TO A CLOSE.

UNTIL WE MEET,
__

- t.m

an ice cold stare, old denim jeans
suede and cotton tops - they all
feel like los angeles, another
guitar naps where she sleeps,
santana seems to pluck the strings
in her dreams; speaking of dreams,
a sweet man and pup named clyde
are the cast members in her
opening scenes, acts in her play
she would burn the whole script
for just to see

-t.m

frightening ways to end up in a coffin,
unexpected visits from the grim
reaper, holds you and i in
limbo, with the idea
that we take life for
granted too often

too pre occupied
moaping about the
past and sobbing about
what is to come. too afraid
to act on our dreams, only to regret
what was not said until our days are done


- t.m

“why do you give him those angel wings”
“well, he promised me joy and roses to smell”
“hell, did you receive any of those things”
“i can’t tell behind my cerebral prison cell”

“what’s letting go to pain”
“what’s with the spot test“
“why do you still keep him entertained”
“why don’t you just rip my heart out of my chest”

“maybe these questions are foolish”
“you don’t know how...”
“you seem to hold onto something ghoulish,
but maybe it’s not my place to frown”

“maybe it’s true; you can’t choose who you love
you can’t choose how the stars align
you can follow what your heart is in search of
i just hope there are roses along the line...”


- t.m