You live in this wonderful city.....
This prestigious city....
This cultural mecca.
Oh,
But the cost of living is so high.
So,
What do you do?
Deny yourself.
Deny yourself the privilege of
Actually enjoying and appreciating anything.
You're just part of this great mission....
To make Denver a great city
Just like Donald Trump's Crusade
To make America great.
Meanwhile,
Some of the greatest,
Most profound,
Most interesting people
Are living out on the Streets.
Pyrrha 3d
I often ask myself why I spend so much time learning another language
Why do I obsess and stress over something by my own will?
What do I have to gain, why do I want to teach and translate this foreign tongue?

Yet every night I force new words into my mind
And it makes me feel so calm and distracted
All my fears and concerns fade away as I take this information into my brain

What is it I really want?
A way off this continent or a way into another world that was closed off before?
My biggest fear is when I learn all I can, what will be there to meet me in the end?
Will I lose my greatest distraction and return to the way I am?

I see nothing but beauty in every character I write so much so that I often write in the wrong alphabet
To me it's the most perfect and beautiful script
It's like riding a bike for the first time everytime I translate in my mind
The culture and language has found its way into my heart

I've fallen in love with the language like you do a person
Slowly, then all at once
Without understanding at first but slowly uncoiling the wonderful beauty before my eyes
I've found my passion and my saviour all at once
There is power in words which spawn from language
Every new term I learn makes me feel just that much stronger
Enough to feel invincible
I've been self teaching Korean for a year and plan to become a translator and/or an english teacher in South Korea. Once I master Korean I plan to learn Japanese. Learning languages comes so naturally to me that it only took one day for me to memorise Hangul and from then on out I knew where my calling was. I'm also fluent in french and ASL.
Silence exists, it exists in gatherings
of essence that form an absolute, salvation
exists elsewhere for most, higher power
inside, own gods and self produced
wisdom, definities do settles in terms of
people, today cannot always yearn of
yesterday wants, for no crystal ball for the
future, truth is a matter for death and personal
identity belongs inside, in various ways and
conflicting wars, torn apart, yet in poetry
culture is where I comfort, until by chance I
find a lover. Than everything I want just becomes
a drench of romance and their attention.
(Checkout some current publications on Amazon, search 'Darcy Prince')
Who fears to own up to a mistake
Much worse mistakes will go on to make;
Until such time as fears are allayed
Mistakes shall continue to be made.
If mistakes all are afraid to name
Then who is at fault, who is to blame?
Sitting in a large room
with a few people
around - 2 friends,
20 acquaintance,
One frenemy, and
50 sloggers with a frown.
Every time I look at their filthy face
I tend to rub down
the pain the sarcasm
They use to bring me down.
I often
fail to understand
the purpose why
these fucktards are still
running around
For, I find this place
to be ideal for dressing down.
Everyone here looks stuck,
behind the thick walls
of the glorious fraternity
with hidden brawls
trying to solve unworthy affairs
when all they can do is a conference call.
They are highly judgemental and fail to express
the agony behind their not-so-happy face.
Broken and shattered,
Cause they never really mattered.
with their morality scaling down
laughing while facing a nervous breakdown
these losers are nothing but a big pile of
something in the colour
"Yellowish brown."
For those who are stuck in the rat race to prove themselves, let me tell you, this won't matter after a point of time.
To be free again, without a fear of a society, where they work hard to be normal under a cloak of a narrative, my heart is the center of the landscape of my inner world metropolis. Before, in a prior life wish no to repeat, it felt like a twinkling formed blackness figure, wonder in no direction. Now it’s a growing silence as time moves forward at the same pace of my conscious effort to move along with it. Still remember as motivation but forbid it now in existence. Comfort in poetry not in search of an ounce of sympathy or pity attention, to help the aura of magic. Where my own Muse that was not assigned but found one another by accident, eases all my private pains, holds my hand and at times, carries my body when I dare think about quitting, my Muse takes me to the other side at shows the illumination where the brave went to. Still I cannot look upon the world and see it’s sickness only. Rather than reasons to create my own ideology and solitude culture.
Nomkhumbulwa Aug 8
He could have walked away,
For there were many a reason to do so;
But he never did;
He was there through the highs and lows.

I gave him many a reason
To walk away for good;
And yet he stayed beside me
While I was in his neighbourhood.

There were panic attacks, crying,
Semi madness, paranoia;
All the usual consequences of
Being assaulted a year earlier.

There were so many times
I expected him to be gone;
I warned him in fact that -
I’m not worthy – my people are gone!

There is no need to put up with me,
Its not good for your health;
I’m used to people disappearing,
I’ll deal with things myself.

For I am being punished,
It’s how its meant to be;
At least for those of us assaulted
....in the middle of the sea.

But of course he didnt understand,
He’s from a different culture;
He wasn’t afraid to hold my hand
And protect me from the torture.

He has probably never met anyone
As mad and unstable as me;
Coming to stay in Soweto
And feeling so totally free.

He saw my love of Soweto,
For the children, the people, and more;
He spent so much time exploring his home with me –
He’d learnt which combi to get door to door!

When I had to get to clinics,
Not just one, two, three, or four (!)
He spent two days right there with me
As we waited hours to reach the door.

He didnt have to do that,
He has work to do back home;
Yet even when I shouted at him –
He never left me alone.

Of course I apologised later,
Tried to help him understand;
That my brain does its own thing,
Yet he was still there to hold my hand.

He never once walked away,
And thats when it occurred to me;
What a complete cultural contrast
....to our “people of the sea”...

My “family” are now Sowetans,
Although i’ve known that for a while;
When the clinics registered me as an “African”
All I did was smile.

Of all the times I thought i’d given
A reason for him to abandon me,
There was one in particular –
Where he’d be fully justified to flee.

To protect yourself i’d understand,
You may need to walk away;
And yet he didnt – he put himself at risk
...to protect me, I have to say....

It’s not an easy place to live,
He could have walked away;
I’m forever grateful for his bravery
And that he didnt walk away.

For a place where for so long,
Segregation was the norm,
It has come such a very long way –
Since the day I was born.

My culture, mixed as it is
Has not suffered in this way;
Instead it shuns and alienates people
....if they “dont obey”....

Well done South Africa,
Though the problems you face are not gone;
You could teach a lot to “my people”..
..a culture that needs to be re- born.
Written on Mandela Day 2018; an account of the total contrast I found in a society so different to the one in which everyone I know...walked away.
Ekuu Aug 8
Here's a story of fading Art.
Women weave it with their own hands.
Stronger is thread & the bond.
A heritage comes alive,
A culture starts to breathe.
Making it isn't a child's play,
This takes many days.

Art is immortal, Art is priceless.
Skillful people never say,
That they're been hardly paid.
Time has time n so has the outfits,
We prefer any trend that hits.
Not giving a thought of vanishing Art,
Totally breaks my heart.

With all this blend Bandhani is made,
Hindu makes & Muslim wears...
Diversity stays.
This rich Art might fade away,
I request each of you...
Do not let it happen this way.
I was requested by a friend to write few lines on "Bandhani" fabric for her documentary.  This fabric is popular n made in Rajasthan. How's it's special and difficult to make n is also vanishing with time. This was an attempt by me. It was quite difficult to write about it...but somehow came up with this.
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