Why do we need to buy graves and coffins
Funeral expenses
Ironic ain't it? broke but paying for misery
And weddings too
Who told you that shaft is yours?
Beware the mail man cometh
And your best friend
Your wife will come too
Maybe you won't make her
She might not want to
If life is a *****
Who is pimping her?
If you decide to take your misery to church the pastor will eat your misery, money and daughter in your bedroom
And you will pay for your sin
One thing I like about University is daughters get ******
Yes, ****** hard
Sons and daughters graduate with AIDS
AIDS graduates too
And we ululate
Funny ain't it? Investing in misery
Poetry is formless
Enjoyable too
My cannabis

She was confused about life
But not the beauty it held

I.

there’s a boy with shaggy brown hair and bright eyes who runs after speeding trains and rubs my back when I’m scared and always helps me find the moon.

I can still feel his hand tracing circles down my spine.

he is not entirely unprecedented, he is not entirely polished and confident. sometimes both of us are too nervous to look each other in the eye,

but this is forgiven.

this is a boy with black-framed glasses who has suddenly grown strong and steady, whose arm around me is an anchor, who hasn’t missed a day in telling me that I’m beautiful. this is a boy who is causing a small earthquake in the heart of a girl who thought the fault lines shooting across its surface had settled

long ago.

it’s no secret that I’m still figuring out who I am,

how all of my fingers and elbows and teeth fit together, and that makes me nervous. I don’t want the boy to become

the latest casualty in my misguided journey of self-discovery.

on the knife-point between nineteen and twenty, teenager and adult, this is where we stand: the boy makes my heart flutter, and that’s all I know.

tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m way ahead of you, and I’ll probably pay a price for it,

but just think about the way he ran after that train. the way he got distracted by the moon, the way he whispered to me in his car,

and tell me I’m wrong. go on, tell me.

Actions speak louder than words but words cut deeper than actions...just like an arrow which leaves the bow or a bullet that leaves the gun cannot be summoned back...it is the same with words..so just be a little careful as to what you say..words are such that they can uplift a person and as well as shatter a person.

We reach a time in our lives
Shuffling along our own dusty highways
In the warmth of a whisky stained dusk
Watching the honeyed heat of our future seep along the horizon
Into bruised sky of overburdened past
We each meet the same crossroad of decision
The two sides of our soul extending welcoming arms
As we stand, a prize in the feud between mind and heart
Practicality and passion
Security and sensuality

Who am I to choose which gravelled path to follow
Whether to take the wrinkled hand of prudence
And crunch the stones of wisdom and logic with each familiar step
Does my future lay ahead
At that point where the sun kneels to kiss the ground
And throws its glowing arms across the earth in a blanket of safety
Not in passion, but affection
In the comfort of routine
The reliability and purity of what is, and what has always been

Or does it sit within the flicker of a fiery heart
In the sigh of breath that creeps along with the breeze
That trickles down my spine
And dares me to turn my head, to look down roads of impenetrable darkness
To embrace the possibility of the unknown
And the leaping tongues of flame that might lie where those paths end
To be engulfed, and to know myself within that destruction.
Is it the voice that whispers inside my veins
"should there be more than this?"

I stay static
Leaderless
A spectator to the conflict of the soul
Stuck fast in a deadlock of inertia and indecision
Awaiting that moment
When the last glimmer of sun has bled through the cracked earth
And I open my blurred eyes to icy silence, shapeless and pure in its clarity
To see, without obstruction
That the decision is clear.
My future transparent.
That there was only ever one road I could take.

If only he'd called last orders
Even though the sun still threw its summer blanket over my lazy shoulders
And burned my reflection into the black screen of your glasses
A reflection of who I was
No premonition of who I would become
While the last cigarette still lingered on my tongue
Leaving the taste of nostalgia and bitter familiarity in my breath
And daring excitement and rebellion on yours
As your words twinkled and danced around an undeniable truth
And I
In innocence half feigned
Half in hope
Half in dream
Took one step forward
Edging towards your tango of inevitable wounds and tears.
If only they'd rung the bell
And we'd knocked down the last of that lukewarm wine
From watermarked glasses that threw distorted shadows on the table before us
As the dusk swept in like a curtain
Smothering our small talk
Leaving only an enduring flame built of history and kindled with confessions
Around which we huddled, as night fell,
Singing songs no strangers have a place to sing.
If only we'd walked our separate ways
Instead of throwing our liquored words along the train tracks
Loud enough for only us to hear
But a deafening scream in our heads
As they hurtled over an invisible line
And plummeted down a cliff face of caged emotion from which there was no return.
If only I'd never let you into my head
With nothing left to do but flush you out
With the same sickly wine that put you there
To drown the hole i feel growing in my stomach
Gnawing at my inside
Before I lose myself to anger or to pain.
Before I admit I miss you.
Before he calls last orders.