"onself" poems
'n lewe in konstruksie...
dis tog die mees logiese manier om dit te beskryf...
ons bou en bou en bou,
en toets dan die produk.
Maar aan die einde, as ons klaar gebou het...
wat is dan daarvan te kom.
'n Lee huis...
'n stil pad...
en wat het ons van onself geleer?
En wat leer ons van die wereld en mense om ons
, vasgevang in die stryd teen tyd...
niks nie.
Ons het net voor onself uitgekyk
na die vaal stene
en die slukkerige sement.
Watter vreugde het dit vir ons gebring.
Niks nie.
Nee,
ek weier.
Ons is tog hier geplaas met vrye wil.
En iewers langs die pad,
raak almal die pad duister...
en word dan deur die samelewing verdoem.
Die mensdom besluit dan wat van hulle sal word...
In daardie oomblikke is God meer vergete
deur die skares wat saamdrom op die rand van die pad...
die wat lag en vinger wys...
die wat klippe gooi,
as deur die wat die prentjie aanskou.
Soms kort ons 'n perspektief van uit die donker,
om die lig rerig te verstaan...
Soms moet ons eers die genadelose aanraking van die koue voel,
voordat ons die sagte streel van die son oor ons gesigte kan waardeur.
Daar le wysheid in die donker,
want dit is in die donker waar jy aleen is,
met niemand om in jou oor te fluister wat reg of verkeerd is nie.
Net die wind om jou siel te sus,
die stilte om jou uit te rus...
en niemand wat jou god kan wees
of sy woorde
en planne
vir jou kan uitmessel nie.
Die pad het die gevaar geraak.
Dis koud en korrupt.
En ons is dankbaar,
dat ons die kans gekry het om dit te sien,
terwyl ons stadig verswelg word deur die skadu's
en wegsmelt in die donker...
want nou weet ons dat ons pyn maar net 'n gedeelte van die werklike hartseer was...
ons is die gelukkiges...
en hulle loop op die pad na verdoemtenis
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
Out of the blue, she blurted out,
"Peculiar stuff, I want to assert"
I had no guess what was her find.
(More like many a times one sees onself
in turns of life, unexpected, I presumed)
"Oh! is it? tell me all about it " I enthused,
And woke up at the very same moment
in to a dream, of different kind, half progressed,
There was no trace of a 'her' in this dream I wormed in!
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 8:34 AM UTC
Whispers are voices of solemn eyes,
They express the deepest thoughts,
Whether to onself or to another,
They express everything we are inside.
Whispers are what we feel within,
They are malicious, alarming, and suicide,
Also, they hold want, desire, and dreams,
And especially what lies therein.
Whispers themselves are secrets
Told in confidence to none,
Secrets are a paradox,
For their label, a helix of lies.
To whisper a love is to hope they hear,
However it may be heard,
Through grapevine or messenger,
Or a mutual friend’s word to steer.
To whisper your hate under muttered breath
Is to wish upon malevolence
To find the target yet soon,
And to finally quell your stifled chest.
To whisper of sadness
Is the vain thought of peace,
The endless cycle of solipsism,
Until your life does cease.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
too much thinking
work
no time for onself
fun? what does that mean
depression
you should see a counselor
too long
waste of time
expensive
shut up
and get it
done
emotions
too many
shut them
out
do what you are
told
no
questioning
anything
look where that
got us
don't dwell on the
past
or the
present
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 4:41 PM UTC
It's that time of the year where "a prophet isn't welcome in his own land".
Why do we feel alienated in the midst of known faces yet carve out a niche for ourselves in a stranger's land?
Why do the urge to run away always cross our mind as we tend to grow older, leaving all behind?
Was it the scar that hasn't healed yet or the demon to face as soon as you enter the hell.
It's that time of the year again to wear a mask, to prepare onself; face the wrath with a stoical heart, only to die everyday in a confined ivory tower.
The Mask we wear,
The Pain we bear,
Surviving everyday in a world where no one hardly cares.
#RitzWrites ♕
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 1:33 PM UTC