NuBlaccSoul Aug 20

19/03/2017. 8:59 pm. Port Elizabeth.

My sister's guests enter to leave -                                                                ­  
front door open.                                                            ­                                  
Knowing a thing or two about allowing things through, as i heave          
the other front-door opens, we ‘re hopin'                                                           ­         

we shake off the trembles.                                                        ­                      
  Brakes fail as we pass, past                                                             ­           
  the road that’s running down the street, it resembles                                      
the holy mortal spirit of Shembe, shackled-free, free at last.                                

  But if these wounds would wind-wide up talking, they would whisper
  in drowned out mumble-rap rhymes, reason
  lost in transmit, a bear trap.
From screeching screams that broke
the voice box, vocal chords caught
in zipper lips, the sewing stripped.                                                        ­                                                                
                                                                ­                                                          

Freedom is restriction, control, the non-liberties niceties                              
   When wooshy winds trespass tree's tired arms,  
      we will be home, where we come to die.

written by Phila Dyasi
published by NuBlaccSoul

(C) 2017. Copyrighted  31 August
2017. NuBlaccSoul™. All rights reserved. Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.
NuBlaccSoul Aug 18

And my father's little brother
stood tall, with his bean bowed,
feet floating like faulty heaven.
If I continued with that B.Com degree
I would have been him. A host for his ghost.
Unlike you all, I drove myself here, to this hell.

No Ma' can be blamed for dropping me off.
This is free-will, formulated by fate.
Each feeding into the other in an endless loop -
an interchangeable cause and effect.
What caused the effect, and who was affected by this cause.
Emaciated frames of Hanged Men do not wear any joy.

18 August 2017. (C) NuBlaccSoul
NuBlaccSoul Jul 30

The only rama we know spreads thinly
on our ant-size bits of crumbs of crust
last slice.
Margarine doesn’t butter both sides.
Left too long in the sun, melted into oil.
Slides down so saliva-smooth on tongues
to shush talking tummies.
This is the daily gauze to clean out
Daily hunger’s puss seeping sore,
a gaping hole in the middle of an ashy face.

Above the dead.
Below the living.
A relief not release
is needed, but
anything is better than fokol.

- nublaccsoul

Breaking bread: written by Phila Dyasi
published by NuBlaccSoul

(C) 2017. Copyrighted  30 July
2017 NuBlaccSoul™. All rights reserved. Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.
NuBlaccSoul Jul 30

Frozen in time,
sun is amber lantern,
phantom of she who has risen,
out of resin's
suspension-of-an-infinity-loop prison.
Her lips read like rum readiness,
of beachy nights, bare
body, sumptuous mistress.

- nublaccsoul

Practising Stillness: written by Phila Dyasi
published by NuBlaccSoul

(C) 2017. Copyrighted  31 August
2017. NuBlaccSoul™. All rights reserved. Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.
NuBlaccSoul Aug 23

My Name is Phila Dyasi.
I can’t remember who,
but some person
used to address me by my full name
and I took a liking to that.

My Name Is My Name.

My first name is life
Phila, to live, not simply to be alive.
Breathed into existence by uKhulu,
Phila badane abagxeki.
And yes, it’s my only one. No middle Christian name – thank Gran'

My Name is My Name.

Dyasi, my mother’s last name,
my grandmother’s maiden name,
my late great-grandfather’s last name,
uEzra Makhwenkhwe Dyasi. He preferred Ezra.
Dyasi, his father’s father’s fani, his great-grandpa’s only name – uDyasi.

Makhwenkhwe is a boyhood reference, an insult to a proud Xhosa man,
from eGcuwa nase Dutya. A man. Not a boy as these afrikaner assholes would say.
A man. A man of God. A devout man of God, Christian by faith. His name is Ezra.
Methodist by denomination, Ezra Dyasi was. In the name of the father, his is Ezra.
Married to Cecilia Nomaza Dyasi. Married to Nomaza Dyasi, uMaSobuwa, her name.

My Name is My Name.

We had beautiful names before the white men with the black book came.
We had beautiful names before they told us to name ourselves in translation.
Our names were powerful, rich with meaning before they invited themselves here.
Our forefathers’ names that told tales of our glory and beauty were discarded for theirs.
We chucked away our good names, in favour of meek ones.

Rolihlahla became Nelson.
Bantu became Stephen.
Mangalisa became Robert.
Thembisile became Chris’, short for Christopher.
Kalushi became Solomon.

Call me Phila Dyasi for short.
My nickname is Phila Dyasi.
“Ph-“ is not “F” you fuck.
Please capitalise the ‘P’ and ‘D’.
I do not answer to “P.D.” any more.

Uncle Phil’.
Phillip.
Dr. Phil.
Pills-Philzit.
I could be Phila Dyasi, but my name is not my name.

My Name is My Name.

Phila-ni is not my name, that’s the other black guy
Joshua Mark, I only have one name but you cannot
bother remembering it right, my classmate of 5 years.
Phila-sande is not my name, the suffix is suffocating.
Fila is a sports brand, I am Phila Dyasi. Dyasi, Phila Dyasi.

My Name is My Name.

Ma’s name is Thembisa, Theodora is just a 1970s-safety-net.
Mama’s ma’s name is Nompumelelo. Mavis is political accommodation.
And well, Maxwell the headmaster is better than Thandabantu, uThisha oMkhulu.
My parents unlearning their old names, displacement navigating home, steadily so.
Transkei is Eastern Cape now. Ciskei is Eastern Cape now. What is in a name?

My Name is My Name.

I am not faith, grace, hope, joy
prayer, prudence, patience;
gratitude and forgiveness
is not my namesake.
I am not a product of translation, no.

My Name is My Name.

Mbali as in flower? – No, sir.
Mbali as in Mbali.
Can I call you “Q”? – Wait, a line or the letter?
Mama said, Qiqa, uQaphele, uQaqambe nto ka Qunta, qanda lam’
Lokugqibela. My existence to be reduced to a line or the latter?

My hoerskool boere buddy James,
we naturalised him Jabulani,
uMahluleli, uMbhele and myself,
gave him his BEE scorecard.
His mother a subtle, Christian racist.

Aah! iBhele elihle lase Lenge.
Khuboni, Qunta, Langa lokulunga.
noNtanda kuphakanyiswa.
Ndabezitha. Sonani singoni m’ntu.
Clan names. I am Phila of House Dyasi. The first of my name.

It’s not globalization, it’s colonisation in your colon,
the annals of white history are shit, call they by name.
The eagle saved the fish from drowning with its claws,
Call it by its name; Uncle News, Father Propaganda.
Where can we be Black, Becky?

I am not monkey, coon, kaffir, nigger, negro.
I am not boy, spook, barbarian, uncivilised.
I am not primitive, predatory, sinful and stupid.
I am not native, tribe, village, jungle, bush.
And you, you are not chosen nor superior.

I am the Original Man.
Human. Hue Man.
I am the we I speak of in the book of beginnings.
My Name is the Name of Names, I am Phila Dyasi.

Born, 7th of Mahogany May. Made Man in Jet July. Black, Nubian consciousness.
The son of the sun, child of the soil, mothered by Lady Liberty, the original.
One with the earth. The warm people: the red, orange and yellow of the rainbow.
Africans fighting to be African in Africa. My black skin is on fire, a blue flame ablaze.
I am still Phila Dyasi.

My Name Is My Name: written by Phila Dyasi
published by NuBlaccSoul

(C) 2017. Copyrighted 23 August
2017 NuBlaccSoul™. All rights reserved. Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.
NuBlaccSoul Jul 27

Ending it before it started.
Like a cruel joke, some stillborn love.
A hanging relationship, suspended by an umbilical cord.
What a shame - tragic.

Write about it,
one day.
When you’re over it.
I love you.

It’s me, I am the one.
The one you’ve been searching for in all of them.
The one you’ve been pretending you’ve found.
The one who will travel and make love in every country with you.

Your one, I am He.
I am going to make you forget all those that will come after me.
Remember Me.
Your nipples feel at home in my mouth baby.

I will tear your hymen.
I will deflower you.
I will penetrate your purity.
My dick in your walls, so tightly hugged.


Vibrations, a lifetime of pleasure.
Reciting our love for each other.
It feels like I’ve done you before.
You sucked me like I was a lolly.

It was on the floor.
I tore your ripped jeans off you.
You were my greatest fantasy.
My whole load in your mouth, you swallow.

Short and loud.
Wide hips.
Big eyes.
Cynical.

Let me have a bath
Save water. Think of me.
I won’t think of you, I’ll be immersed in you.
You are dripping off my scrotum.
I am drying you off my rod.
Tiny droplet kisses of you all over my face.
So messy you, I cannot hold you…you beach.
The power of you, the ocean. Place it on me.
Engulf me in your fake deep pools of puddles.
I know your waves are tired of the sands,
I know they want to shelter my pearls now.
I will be home soon.

We’ll melt the ice. Make huts and hearts of igloos.
Winter is here, but
Summer is coming.
We are the maze not the mice.

No pull-out. Stay inside you as long as I can.
Slow strokes giving you every inch, steadily so.
My palms grip your hips till you recite psalms in reverse,
Cowgirl Taurian riding a raging Bull.

Your breath rushed.
Your adrenaline betrayed you, even as we sat in silence.
Your passion unable to be hushed.
Sin and lust seen to last, skin to skin fast.

Bare as we were in Eden.
Freed from the cotton plantation.
In you,
And you still feen for me.

We are in the matrix.
The matrix is not in us.
A story of hope.
Paradora’s box, with Jumping Jack’s intestines.

Watching the boondocks with your ass rubbing me up.
Magic.
George Michael ft Mary – As
You are ethereal.

Some doughnuts and wine.
My fake laugh.
Your fake smile.
An Arsenal t-shirt for your blues, a Chelsea one for compromise. Sacrifice. Meeting each other halfway.

Watching you getting dressed
And listening to your stupid gossip
While I eat oats.
You are different. Dangerous. You make me feel good.

Angry sex.
Rough sex.
Fuck you, you know I’m right.
Until your stubbornness gave way.

I looked at you like something I know
And love, but couldn’t do something about it.
In my room,
You jumping on me.
Your tiny, hot ass against my fridge.
With you moaning as music.
I’m slapping you time, and time again,
Punishment for pretending this whole time.
You wet whore
Dick hard in, your senses rising.
Fucking you harder and harder.
Shivers slide south down your spine.

Love is not always love.
Balance is not always harmonious -
Hot during the day. Cold in the deep of the night.
This is confusion.
We havent even touched but the energy is intense. Dangerous.

Some spooning.
Neck kisses and random fondles.
My bed is cold but you exist – how.

I am not sure if I want your soaked panties slid to the side, or
If I want them down by your knees, or
At your ankles, or maybe
As a makeshift gag in your mouth.
Perhaps, as a DO NOT DISTURB sign outside,
Hanging on the doorknob…well,
If any were worn at all to begin with.


In Mars, we are already making love
to your weird music.
That bone song by gallant, I think.
It’s our one-year anniversary.

Ka go rata.

She does not want to be the other woman.
Middle-child with last born feelings, she does not want to share.
She does not want to be a freaky phase, a fun frenzy, a fucking funk-house.
Caught off-guard, overflowingly overwhelmed.

Opening yourself
up to me,
opening up yourself
for me, to enter, you.
Arousal shall be shared,
and care caressed too.
Soaked lace panties,
wetness from your two lips,
your tulips southerly flower,
to quench my thirsts
with its nectar, those va-jayjay juices.
Take all of me MyPerson,
every inch babe,
every drop of cum my love,
leaking litres in lines
down your long legs,
leave the towels, let it drip my little slut.
Feel my passion
with every pound,
my hardness is
your loud pleasure.
Your bulging, bright eyes
when your soul
escapes your body
gives more blood to my
penal veins, my tip touching
the farthest parts of interior.
I came to paint your walls with cum.

For every moan,
and your buried nails
in my back, I am a happier man.
Looking at you gaze at me,
I-you contact through optical stems,
windows of the souls,
enjoying each other’s unmentionable mentionables.
Hands fondling with breasts
Fingers tickle the nipples,
With a pinch of a pinch.
I LOVE MAKING LOVE WITH YOU.
To please you, to provide your
sweet release. Give your temple it’s sticky needs.
Selflessness is the name of the game,
purple reign of explosive showers for two,
simultaneous climax – OOOOOOH GAAAHD!
Finding a gap between inner summer thighs
with a tiny keyhole between.
This melanin skin, it shines, it glows
I feel the energy you emit
it absorbs the sunlight.
Your warmth, is umpteen electric blankets
folded in double-fold, on level 3, you killed the cold.
No holding back.
Licking it till it drip,
eating your coochie
cause it’s organic.
Our finger interlocked,
mine pressed against yours,
yours gripping firmly,

Both against the sheets,
the exquisite intensity
of enormous build-up.
Splendid super strokes,
in-out-in-inner-in-in-in.IN.
My first thought,
my last thought,
And every other in-between
is about being in between
Your raised legs,
above the blankets
because-its-hot.
Legs up, opened wide. Thinking about you.
You between my legs
blowing a job,
Coming out to take a breather
before submarining to undercovers
and filling up your tiny mouth.
Grabbing your head while you give head,
we both lose our heads when we head down.
Coitus lane.
Visiting me with your miniskirt
and no panties on, for some dicking down
before you go home for the weekend.
Sorry not sorry my quickie a marathon.
Sorry not sorry you felt me still the next day.
I FUCKEN LOVE FUCKING YOU.
One leg to stand on, one leg on the desk,
Pantie to the side, Senior sliding into
That’s the name of your honey jar

We all deserve love, in its entirety.
Love that can overcome everything.
Love that makes us happy, shimi-shimi dancing type of love.
Love that makes us question why we were so afraid
to fall in love in the first place.
Love that overflows the depths of our hearts
to near busting candy floss and wakaberry sweet stuffs.
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love rejoices with the truth.
Love always protects.
Love always trusts.
Love always hopes.
Love always perseveres.
Love is humble.
Love never fails.
Faith, hope, and love;
the greatest of these is love.
Follow the way of love.
Uthando lunomonde.
Uthando lunobubele.
Uthando alunamona,
alugwagwisi, lungakhukhumali.
Uthando alugezi, alufuni okukokwalo,
alunachuku, alunanzondo.
Uthando aluvuyiswa
bububi, luvuyiswa yinyaniso.
Love is eating a meal with you.
Love is watching you sleep, beautiful and
peaceful you look in slumber.
Beautiful and peaceful you are, when you wake.
My heart leaps with a bouncy joy in company with your heart.
Skipping along in an everlasting newness
that is many months old ‘n young.

HOT, SWEATY, WET,
SENSUAL SEX.
SPOILING YOU WITH KISSES.
KISS ON YOUR NECK.
KISS ON YOUR EAR LOBE.
KISSES DOWN YOUR SPINE.
UNCONTROLLABLE KISSES
WITH YOU, TONGUE WARS.
I WANT TO DRINK FROM YOU.
LICK YOUR LIPS DRY TILL MINE ARE DRY.
HAVE MY FINGERS PLAY IN THE HONEY JAR.
TOUCH THE LAND OF MILK.
FLICK YOU.
DIP INSIDE YOUR INSIDES.
AND TASTE MORE…MORE
WHEN YOU TREMBLE
AND MUMBLE
MY NAME.
MY TONGUE INVADES YOUR PUSSY.
MOVING PAST YOUR OUTTER LIPS
INTO THE CUNT’S WETNESS I INCITED.
YOUR MIND AND THOUGHTS IN CLOUD NINE.
THE FEEL OF YOUR BUTTER SKIN,
THAT SWEET SCENT OF YOUR WOMXNHOOD,
OUR NASTY LIPS LOCKED IN KISSES.
MY ARMS BRUSHING YOUR ASS.
AROUND THE CURVE OF YOUR CURVES.
BENDING YOU OVER, FINGERS AT YOUR NAPE.
WANDERING DOWN, I MUST PLUNGE DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
ALL OF ME IN ALL OF YOU. FUSED INTO EACH OTHER, NOT KNOWING WHERE
I END, AND WHERE YOU BEGIN. MY BROWN AND PINKISH INTO YOUR PINK.

Mufunwa wanga, My Lover,
Mufunwa. Lover.
Ndi a ni funa, I love you,
Ndi a ni funesa. I love you a lot.
Ndi ni funa no he. I love you with all of me.
Ndi ni funa nga mbilu yanga yo he. I love you with all of my heart.
Mufumakadzi wanga ndi a mu funa. I love you my Wife.
Ndi lufunoni. I am in madly in love with you.
Ndi lufu fhedzi lune lwa o ri fhambanya. It’s only death that that will do us apart.
Mufunwa wa mbilu yanga. Lover of my heart.
Dzuvha a mbilu yanga. Red, white and pink rose of my heart.
Inga a mbulu yanga. Rubble of my heart.
Tombo a mbilu yanga. Rock of my heart.
Ni tshedza tshanga. You’re my light.
Ni nga aledzi swiswini. Light of my life, the bright stars in the deep of the night.
No nakesa. Apple of my brown eyes, gorgeously beautiful. You are so very sexy.
Ndi o ni funa uya hoya. I will love you forever, into eternity’s infinity and beyond.
Ndo ni uvha, ndi vha vhuluduni ni siho, vhuyani. I miss you dearly. Soon come.
Ni ziwothe zwanga.
Ahuna tshine tsha ngari fhandekana.
Mme wa vhana vhanu – all four.
Kha nyimelo yavhudi, na ivhavhaho,
ndi khou toda inwi ni tshidivha hezwo
I will forever be yours,
Ahuna tshine tsha nga shandukisa hezwo –
Nkholweni.
Ndo uvha muthu wanga.
Ni wanga nga misi.
Lufuno wanga na inwi lu nga sa mulambo.
Come closer, I want to whisper sweet nothings to see your sunny smile shine.

Fuck you with intention.
You want it faster,
you get it faster.
Methodically,
Rhythmically.
Your steady heavy breath,
Panting my name.
The sounds of flesh on flesh,
Music of wetness.
We switch position.
You riding me reverse cowgirl now,
Riding me hard.
Riding me slow and deep.
Riding me till it hurts you.
Riding me feeling all of me.
One inch at a time, and it all slips in.
Leaving a white trail of you,
Creamy-pie.
You moan.
You ride.
Moving back to missionary,
Your legs wrapped around my back.
I lean in, my bare chest meets yours
your melons, those big tatas.
Our pores gossip with each other,
Speaking synergy and sensuality.
Good mornings you should feel inside of you,
Not five alarm clocks.
My hard shaft’s morning glory melting right into you.
Eagerly so, love making in the morning is life. The best breakfast, that even you feast

Lifting your hips
So as to meet
Each and every stroke
Of these back-shots.
Swallowing my hardness till it softens
And hardens again.
Moans all round.
The light rays percolate
your coffeed body
bring your brown bean baby,
with its warm waters,
my 2 a.m. cup,
I nearer my tongue to the fountain,
licking your puddles like a dog,
with humanity only in my eyes.
What feels like you’ll pee is probab..ly
Squirt.
Till you can’t walk
Till you are sore,
Yet still smiling
From the thrilling experience,
Till you are sweating pleasure
From every pore
Till your breath murmurs
My first name with every inhale
Till my voice is the only sound
Your ears need to hear.
I will rest my head on your breast
And listen:

Enjoying the sweet tunes composed by
every noted word you harmonize
Tales of your life stories before they
Became entwined with mine
Narratives about your dreams
About who breaks your glassy heart
and what tickles your eyes
into opening a flood of tears
An inner world of wishes
You deserve beautiful things,
My Nubian Queen,
My Sunflower Child.
You make me feel better
about life, look forward to
our days together.
You are a magic
from this world, but
so out of this world.
I am proud to call you mine,
my lover and best friend.
Our freedom, friendship,
trust, honesty,
communication and understanding,
our care for each other, support
and motivation, we make a mean
team MyPerson.
AS WE GROW…
I LOVE YOU
I LOVE YOU
I LOVE YOU

Everything carries me to you,
a reminder of you.
Your rhythm and light.
I have been hungry for your supper laugh.
Your voice in the morning. Your voice at night.
Hair, hands, mouth, your back, your arms,
CRAVING THEM ALL.
You are perfection.
You are magnificence.
You are God, manifested physically.
The eternal, good spirit wrapped in flesh.
You are all power.
You are all wisdom.
You are all intelligence.
The pursuit of belonging
seized a precious day we committed
to be one with each other.
Each other for all the tea parties, wine tasting, Imicimbi
Each other for the light, sunny days and stormy, dark nights.
Each other with personal truths and realities witnessed and laid bare unjudged.
Cheerleaders of one another, unconventionally, unrestricted and unorthodox.
You are a thousand galaxies, a banquet of universes, a unicorn that is very real.
This prose or poem or piece of babbling is my feeble attempt at making words
out of the fuzzy feeling of love. A transcript of the words and actions. This is
merely that babe
I want to penetrate your ears, and trace my tongue to your brain with JUST THE
TIP.
I want to fuck you very much with my big eyes, till undressing comes as
naturally as the breath that I’’ll take away from you when I enter you. Lala
mntwana ndikwenze.
I want to show you why you could have died many crossroads ago but you were
spared so you could savour the wholesome, all-sense-engaging experience of
this moment.

You are a goddess.
You are worthy.
And one day, all my words became words of love,
and all my love for you.
Basorexia – a powerful desire to kiss.
My person is the person you go to for everything.
My person is the person you do not want to live without.
My person is the person who cannot stay mad at.
My person is the person who supports you.
My person is You My Love.

AMBITIONS TO:
Take care of you wholly –
Encourage you emotionally
Lead you spiritually
Challenge you intellectually
Protect you physically.
I woke up wanting to make love with you.
It’s only been a week…I am weak.
I woke up to Senior standing to attention,
craving your opening up of yourself, to you inner.
Craving your touch.
Pulsating, throbbing, bulging veins,
wanting to be taken in to the warm refuge.
The warmth and pleasure only you can provide
Is wanted, needed, wanted to be needed.
The natural desire to place my tip within your midst.
When our senses are heightened, when pores are weeping sweat,
in bucket loads. When bolts of fire run around the body, ORGASMIC.
Your windpipe in collaboration with your voicebox roaring my name,
And my name is your name, my pleasure is your pleasure, we are one

Oceans of bursting waters spring from one to the other, never exposed
to the outside, fluids flowing freely from one body to the other.
Love always.
Love everywhere.
Love in the morning when I first speak to you.
Love in the afternoon when I see you.
Love in the night when I am inside you, on top of you,
Beneath you, beside you, behind you.
I want to give you pleasure in the morning.
Breakfast you with cum inside your mouth.
Cum on your face.
Cum on your chest.
Cum inside you, as you prefer.
Please eat something in the morning before you leave.
Start your day with love.
I want a day of a never-ending cycle
of love, passion, passionate love and appreciation.
For us to be kissing and slip into sexing and fold into spooning cuddles.
Kissing to touching to making love to fucking to hugging and holding.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.
Four hours to tick away unaware – damn it’s already 23:30 p.m.
A rollercoaster of sexual heaven.
A mixture of kisses and laughs.
Endless bliss.
Forgetting about anything and everything else.
No speaking, just feeling.
No thinking, just feeling.
Embed these memories in your mind forever.
Crazy how are spirits have connected with each other.
My spirit spiralled into a helix with yours, intertwined into yours.

In the late night, when loneliness sets in
I realise sleeping alone is cruel and childish.
I miss touching you.
Us kissing.
Caressing, fucking and licking you when I eat you out.
Your warm body next to mine.
The scent of your sweet skin.
I miss hearing you breathe as you rest your body on mine.
Our passionate sex.
Tongue-tacked by Senior.
Late nights with deep cravings.
Passionate memories.
Unexplainable urges.
I want to hold you close always,
Protect your soul, spirit and heart.
I want to tame your fears, roll-back your tears.
I will love you endlessly.
I will breathe you in until
Everything that is you is me.
I will always leave you wild.
To give a pea for a bean when we 69,
Your front on my end, my beginning on your close.
Lecherous much. Debauched duo. Adulterine beings.
I made wind chimes out of your laughter, and hung them
on the front-porch inside my big heart.
Our sex is healing, communication and love,
first and foremost, that above all else.
Power and bustin’ a nut will always follow.
Sexual energy is creative energy.
Every time we fuck we create something.

The creamy wetness between your thighs.
Winter is coming, a warmth in the cold.
The vacancy that once sat in my icebox,
in now a warm hearty spot that you now occupy.
My favourite part of loving you is being with you.
To give me the greatest gift of time, time and time again means a lot.
Smothered in kisses, held in hugs.
Moments where all bad dies and good lives.
No one understands the misunderstood-me more than you do.
No one knows me, ‘gets’ me the way you do.
My lover and best-friend.
My every flaw.
My every desire.
My fears.
My dreams and aspirations.
Our bond is bound by ties that cannot be broken.
Our love layers stratified and fortified never to allow any destroyer in.
I WANT TO ALWAYS BE YOUR EVERYTHING IN EVERYTHING.
Your two-finger inspection every morning.
The air that touches you every morning.
The sheets that bid you good night.
They, unlike me, get to wake and sleep and wake beside you.
When our skins collide again roughly, sweaty and passionately,
xa undityisa iNice Tingz zakho.
You are constantly on my mind.
Cannot seem to stop thinking of you.
My salacious desires.
When I am turned on by the sight of you.
Your existence is a turn on.
I want you against my fridge.
The juxtaposition of warmth against cold.
Beautiful, beautiful sweet skin.
Sex is the language of our bodies becoming one.
Vibrational energies recalibrated from lust to love.

Thirstday
NuBlaccSoul Jul 13

Pursuit of Happyness

I have spent countless hours
At church,
Pubs
And strip clubs.
With pastors,
Prostitutes
And drunkards.
In pursuit of happynes,
The truth
And fleshy desires.
Sang happy songs with Hedonists
Travelled with Nomads,
Got high with Rastas
And broke bread with Pariahs.
Camped on bended knees around
hell-like fires
To listen attentively to grown men
liars.

Slaughtered sheep,
Goats
And cows
For this little bit of sanity
And crowded peace of mind,
But my hands are smeared with
blood
And the dark cloud still looms
closely behind
Where the hell is this love?
I only know hearts for pumping
blood.
Not as an asylum for
Said feeling you people cannot
even describe.

And do you remember
When god said “let there be light!”?
I was unfortunate
And cast out
To write this poem
With my tongue in this grim dark
I am convinced collecting empty
beer bottles
and picking bread crumbs is my
birth right.
I am still in hot pursuit
And the journey now leads me
To a mad house.



Review

We journey with the speaker through multiple contexts, tracing for a seemingly fleeting and insatiable feeling of contentment through discovery, trial-and-error and experimentation. In the many cultural and social spaces, we are introduced to: “Church / Pubs/…strip clubs” for which are institutions to cater to human needs in varying ways. A sense of seeking a ‘home’, the longing of a person wanting to belong in a set society could be interpreted as the message of this poem. A place of refuge, whether physical or otherwise, is sought and is never found. The unattainable asylum has been searched for within the confines of organized religion and in areas of ‘profanity’, and neither house the happiness the speaker wants. It appears that the search is for inner peace is pursued outwardly, and it is because of this that it is never attained. Furthermore, want can understand the subject not to be an individual but the personification of a place, that is ‘home’ to churches, pubs and strip clubs, but still has citizens who are not happy, a place where poverty exists even in the presence of church, pubs and strip clubs, institutions were money is found in abundance.
In wanting to make sense of the world, find comfort, balance and peace, and meeting the demands of life, all the while having faith and hope that a connection to the world will be made somehow. Church offers to fill the spiritual void of humans, pubs hope to pump gallons of socialisation down the throats of its regulars, a ‘holed-liver’ of fun, while strip clubs seek to fulfil the “fleshly desires” of our Hedonist core as humans, all contributing to the wholesome human experience.  With pubs being a platform for the social activity of drinking alcohol, we see this as an escape from the negative feelings, the chemical-imbalance causing beverage tends to remove the anxiety and stress. Also, in South Africa, drinking is a social norm, if fact one of the leading nations in consuming alcohol, furthermore if we examine the black community, particularly, this is customary. It is a behavioural expectation to as the speaker attempts to be one ‘fit in’ with his contemporaries, and not be relegated to the margins as nomads are, as gypsies are, as Rastafarians are, all minorities made ‘pariahs’ of society.
We get an idea that the state of mind of the speaker is deeply troubled and unsettled, perpetually anxious and stressed from his unending quest for ‘the truth’, that alludes him, and he cannot even receive it from the elders as they are deceptive – “grown men liars” in the first stanza. “For this little bit of sanity /And crowded peace of mind” of stanza 2 continues this image of mental instability. An “asylum” is mentioned in this stanza as well, an institution that provides care and protection to needy individuals, such as the infirm and destitute. It is a sanctuary, away from profanation and violation. Both physically and psychologically. It is a homely setting. Here one enjoys liberty from what is required by society and law for and from most people. It would appear that not even the feeling of love, “what the hell is this love”, can save the speaker from feeling like an outsider. He dismisses ‘love’ as “said feelings people cannot even describe”, an abstract concept that people do not comprehend therefore cannot practise. Stanza 3 sees the speaker reaching his destination, “And the journey now leads me/ To a mad house”. He has resigned his fate to insanity. Here he can find serenity. Ironically, he can feel a sense of connection to the world once removed from it. His spiritual transcendence, like prayer or meditation is his soloism. Isolation from the madness of life, and its many demands.
The intertextuality is rife herein, borrowing a number of images from the ‘Holy Bible’ to fit his spiritually rich poem and references. The first stanza’s chaos and the sliding scale from extreme holiness to extreme profanity, the polar opposites that are presented in closeness show how samey we are in our differences. We are united in our separateness. “Let there be light” from the Book of Genesis, Chapter 1, verse 3, represents the void, the darkness ceasing, the birth of something from nothing. The light here is not literal. The light of the world is man, as in ‘human being’. Human being who has dominion on all that happens on earth. The abject poverty presented in “picking up bread crumbs”, is a human construct, the great ill of neo-liberal capitalism, a zero-sum game that sees individuals with billions while some go without bread each day. As some would collect “empty beer bottles” to sell as to make money, to buy basics like bread, for example. This could also be a critique of the movie, “The Pursuit of Happyness”, the title of this poem, where the protagonist seeks for fulfilment in the material world. We can deduce that the speaker establishes his pursuit of happiness in the world outside of worldly things is of higher moral ground, or, that the for any community, more than money, we need to find spiritual fulfilment, or risk something of the most high value, our peace of mind – sanity.

| by NuBlaccSoul
[New-Black-Soul]

A poem review. Comment on the review, not the poem.
NuBlaccSoul Jun 21

It's not the dead ones
you should worry about,
it's the live ones.

(C) 2017.  Phila Dyasi.
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