Finding the Lighthouse

To A Child

2012-02-13T15:20:00.000-08:00

This poem is a letter from a mother to her child. It's what I imagine I would say to my child, if and when I have one. Enjoy. xxx

Before you were born

Whilst you were but the size of a pea

Growing inside of me

And your entire being consisted of

Nothing more than a hundred cells

Reaching out like roots

Linking to my blood supply

And I became like photosynthetic light on green leaves

Nourishing the seed . that was you forming in me

Before brain and skin, eyes and ears

Had yet to form

Whilst lungs, heart, blood and bones

Muscle and tissue

Were merely layers of cell

You were a miracle

By the time I even conceived the thought that you might exist

You were the size of an apple

And my whole world had radically shift

At seven weeks

You were a bulge for heart

And a bump for head

10mm long

And still growing strong

Before you took your first breathe

And my womb became an empty shell you so recently left

I promised you . that all I would ever want was for you to do your best

So that you’ll remain strong . no matter life’s test

Long after all the congratulations came

Not with “It’s healthy”

But rather . already preconceived ideas of how your gender

Will define who you’ll be

But I knew then that . your sex wouldn’t determine how you’ll thrive

I was only thankful you were alive

That you had ten fingers and ten toes

Eyes for seeing

Ears for hearing

And a cute little nose

As I looked at you

Marvelling at your tiny perfection

The worries of whether I was truly ready

Equipped to raise you

Seemed to momentarily suffocate me

What if I couldn’t protect you

From monsters in the dark

Or the bogeyman in the closet?

What if I wasn’t there to turn on the light?

Or guide your path

Would I forget to tell you to follow your dreams?

As hard as they might seem

To remind you that the only thing greater than you

Was the universe and whatever entity had created it

Holding it in place like transcendental glue

Then I remembered . when you were but the size of an apple

And I made a promise to always love you

Because that was the only thing I had of infinite value

Unconditional love.

Karma Doesn't Work!

2012-02-13T14:08:00.000-08:00

It's funny, all my life I have tried to be a good person, to understand where others are coming from, and most importantly to treat others how I would want to be treated. Karma is something that I haven't quite gotten the hang of. Mostly, what I have observed are people doing fucked up things to others without repercussions. Has anyone ever done something really bad to you, and you think to yourself, well at least one day the universe will punish them for it; and they will remember how they treated you. The universe has fallen short on this front for me.

I always try to remember that I can never know what someone else is going through, that makes them act the way they do. That’s not satisfactory anymore. I wish I was 14 years old again and I could just punch whoever is mean to me, and the only trouble I would get in was detention from the teacher. Apparently, now it is not ‘lady-like’ to punch a motherfucker in the face or to shout and cuss them. Now, I try to talk to the person I have a problem with, or if that’s not possible, I consolidate myself with the idea that what goes around comes around. However, what really happens is I internalise that anger, and push it deep down.

It’s time I wake up, get angry and do something. Karma doesn’t work. What goes around, doesn’t always come back around. Contrary to popular beliefs Karma is not a bitch; it’s merely a way for people to feel better when someone treats them like shit.

2012-02-03T11:00:00.001-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWyI77Yh1Gg&feature=youtu.be

RIOT IN TOTTENHAM

2011-08-10T08:49:00.000-07:00

There’s a riot in Tottenham

And they’re saying on the news it’s big

People burning down shops and houses

Stealing, looting TVs, carpets even fridge

On the news, they’re calling the rioter’s thugs

Funny I saw some Jewish men throwing bricks at the police

And I thought they don’t steal or sell drugs

The buildings are blazing, scotching red hot fire

Smokes rising up, trying to get higher

It’s covered the sky in soot

And despair is falling on London’s head

Churning out anger and dread

‘London’s burning’

Burning down

Down

And flames are

Enveloping all whether saint or sinner

And they’re shouting

Chanting

‘Fuck the police’

Yet not a flame on the police’s institution

Instead local business and livelihoods

Are getting caught up in this uncalculated retribution.

There’s a riot in Tottenham

And it’s spreading everywhere...

IN HEAT

2011-08-10T08:45:00.000-07:00

Watching the Sky News footage of the Riot in Tottenham on Sunday, I felt a glimmer of something akin to despair; whilst the crowd that formed a line against the police were multi-cultural, but I was horrified that the majority were young, male and black. In a country where black is the minority, it seems we’ve been pushed forward in the Nation’s headlines, and not for a positive reason.

I lived in Tottenham from I was seven to sixteen. Surrounded by people who lived just above the poverty line, I grew accustomed to the grimness that veiled people’s faces. But it was home, a place I didn’t have to think twice about the colour of my skin, which marked me an alien in other parts of London and England as a whole. I could enjoy a range of nationalities and fit into the diverse communities.

Since these riots started; the blame seems to slide around in circles. In the midst of the finger pointing, I felt sad that few have questioned why people have felt the need to destroy their own communities. Is it enough to theorise that a carefully built up case of systematic anger and hatred of law enforcements which are meant to protect its community; a community surrounded daily by discrimination, lack of positivity of influence and role models, lack of education only pent up frustration and hopelessness; sparked the violence. Built up and constrained like hot lava in an active Volcano, which sooner or later has to erupt, spewing ashes of chaos and violence on the streets. I keep wondering what if the elements of these volcanic riots were different. What if the elements that built up the people of a community were not hate, fear, distrust and anger?

How does the community move on from this and build itself up again. It would be recklessly stupid for them to do so with the same bricks of anger and distrust that formed it, in the first place. The conditions of the people within themselves, has to be changed before we can attempt to change the physical conditions. We have to try healing the pain and anger in people’s hearts before attempting the physical construction.

But who will help? After all, if you’re not a part of the solution, then you must be...

CARRY ON

2011-07-11T05:28:00.000-07:00

What's a person to do when Hope

Ignited by a flame

Is blown out . shaking feebly in the wind

And before you know it you're covered in darkness again.

And then someone said -

- Told me -

‘Hold on to your light’

I protested loudly -

But how do I hold on to a light that's no longer there?

How do I remember hope

When it's retreated the same way it came

Do I give up or wait for it to reappear again.

And this ledge is slippery

Not strong enough to bare me,

And I have been holding on for so long

But I'm losing my grip

And I'm scared to move in case I slip

And there is no one there to catch me before I hit (the rocks).

What if I've been holding on for 21 years

And still can't find a safe way across

A middle ground

Or hear the sound of a bell telling me it’s over

Only a gunshot

Signalling this race has barely begun.

And I can't see any light over yonder

From that Lighthouse

Only false hope

Moments

Stolen

Taken away

Discarded

Never to be returned for another day

But kept for someone else

Some poor girl

Who's better than me

Prettier than me

Whose heart is perhaps purer than mine.

No-

Still there must be a way

And I've too much pride to ask him to stay . (with me).

But it's time to get in line now

Time to bend my knees now

Time to straighten my back

Try to keep to the track

After all I'm only human

And don't have wings to fly me from here

And those temporary stitches are becoming undone

And my hands are itching to pull the trigger

But I have no gun.

WAKE UP BLACK WOMAN!

2011-07-11T05:06:00.000-07:00

I was reading through a subscribed blog and came upon a reference to 'The Hottentot Venus'. It sounded vaguely familiar although I was sure I had never heard the name before. So I decided to do a bit of research. I came upon a YouTube poem about and dedicated to Sarah Baartman. The video deeply saddened me but also informed me, and I just had to share it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQ7mmMe4klQ&feature=player_embedded#at=36

MEMOIRS OF A CHURCH GIRL

2011-06-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

I wrote this one quite a few years ago, back in 2008. I performed it once at my friend’s Open-Mic night, but just re-discovered again it a couple weeks ago. It was written at a period when I was finally trying to put my loss of faith into words for the first time. So it has a tinge of nostalgia but also a quiet, if not sad, finality of expectance. Enjoy. Please comment. xxx

I remember Sunday mornings

Grandma coming up the stairs singing church songs

Of how much she loves Jesus Christ

I never understood why she had to get up so early

Make so much noise in the house

Doing things she could have done when she got back from church

Leaving church

Then had to rush home

Cook the chicken already seasoned from the night before

Getting shouted at to watch the pot while it simmer

And somehow there was always enough for aunts and uncles who would come for dinner

There was always noisy little cousins running around

Uncles drinking rum in the living room

Even though it was only 4 o’clock in the afternoon

I remember my first Sunday without Christ

No need to get up early

Put on Sundays best

Comb my hair properly

And wear a nice pretty dress

That I always use to press

The night before

And hang it up by the door

Now I spend Sundays in a quiet empty flat

Recovering from raving till four

See I had considered myself enlightened

From the generations of lies presented to me as facts

Carefully built walls

Around imprisoned souls of my mother before me

And my grandmother before her

But life had shattered

The truths of my existence were now falsify

Searching wherein for other truths

Trying to discern the lies

For I had rejected the Bible as truth

But still looked to the omnipresent to explain my roots

See . since the very moment of consciousness

Man have been searching for where we come from

Desperately trying to find somewhere to belong

Have looked at the stars

Wonder what made the universe exist.

We have found a new way to think of ourselves.

From sitting at the centre of a universe of unknowable size

We now find ourselves orbiting an average-sized sun

Just one of millions of stars in our own Milky Way

Itself . just one of billions of galaxies

In a universe of gaping uncertainties.

And then Marx came along and declared

Religion to be like opium

Not the disease, but merely a symptom.

An expression of the material realities of the economically oppressed

Used by oppressors to make the exploited poor feel better about their distress

They hang salvation in your face

Making you sing to the heavens ‘free at last’

Not knowing redemption comes at a cost

They come to tired ears and use a soothing whisper:

You want more of that ‘Jesus’ you got to have to come to church

And if you don’t mind make sure you bring your purse

What do you think is going to pay for that scripture?

Like drug dealers dangle crack to a mother

The authority offer Jesus on a platter

So long gone are the days of Sunday best

Tell God this Sunday is MY day of rest

UNTITLED

2011-06-09T11:14:00.000-07:00

I wrote this poem in the summer of 2010. It is untitled because when I first wrote it, I did not think of a title. I literally just typed it out, so it feels weird giving it a title now, so many months after I wrote it, especially because that would be so objective, and the poem is literally a subject of the time in which it was written. It’s one of the few poems which I haven’t edited extensively; simply because I want to keep its essence and keep it in that moment when I wrote it. Enjoy. xxx

You came into my life

Like a bright sun beam

A sparkling ray of light

Shone on darkness so beauty can be seen

The dark stormy clouds that had clutched my weakened heart

Loosened their tight grip

Allowed your light to pierce through

To plant a new seed into the broken

Dry roots

Of my soul

I hungrily soaked it in

As it feed and nourished me

Constant . growing

Hope

You took my bruised soul

In the palm of your hand

It fluttered weakly trying to resist

Your fingertips

And the soft touch of your lips

Gently . you told me not to fear

Broken doesn’t mean lost

And goodbyes don’t mean you won’t be there.

Like a cool drink of water

On a hot summer’s day

You flowed into my soul

To remind me of goodness, honour and love.

See they had . had me convinced

That there were only a few good men left in the world.

Yet you rose into my bleak horizon

Penetrated the gloomy melody of my life

Pushed my world into ordered chaos

Where fantasy and logic shared the same bed

Where desire and control openly embraced

And love was a blessing adorned by God’s grace.

HELLO

2011-06-09T10:53:00.000-07:00

I have been absolutely terrible and have not updated in a while, the usual excuses; essays etc, but now I have more or less officially finished first year (woop woop!!). So I shall spend more time writing!! It has been quite a busy week. It started last Wednesday after I finished with essays; I took part in Caravanserai, a poetry night /festival at a local campsite, which I headlined. The experience was absolutely amazing! Literally one of the best experiences I have had in my life. The view was wonderful; the site overlooked the beach, everyone was really nice, there were loads of performance, which were all great, especially by the children, who did a little drama and told poems, which was so adorable. Here are a couple pictures, with links to more. Also a link below; which goes to the Treloan Costal Holiday website.

http://good-times.webshots.com/album/580284911OJBfjY

http://www.caravanserai.info/whats-on

CANNES FEVER

2011-05-16T22:17:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I was just doing my usual browse through Vogue UK and was particularly excited by their feature on the Cannes Film Festival. And whilst I am no fashion expert I have to say that Karl Lagerfeld grabbed my attention per usual with his swag! He is always so polished from head to toe. That’s what I love about his style it’s simple, but unbelievably chic. Oh and he’s kinda hot for an old dude! Here’s Mr Lagerfeld showing his Cruise Collection for Chanel along with some of my favourite Gossip Girlies Blake Lively and Clemence Poesy.

MORNING

2011-05-16T17:59:00.000-07:00

On the horizon

Spectres of light

Try to mediate a clear path

Through thick . solid

Remainders of the Night

Grappling . fighting

To stay anew

In the same fixed state.

But eventually . Night . must

As all thing do

Obey the laws of nature

Retreat

And allow Sun to have its turn

IS LONELINESS

2011-05-16T17:57:00.001-07:00

Hard-on’s and back street alleys

A pack of Durex

Torn panties and ripped bras

Morning after pills

And burning piss

Why do you forget:

Company doesn’t exist in places

Between stained bed sheets

And cracked slits . ready and open

For a moment of escape

Between thoughts

Of remembrance of things lost

Is loneliness

NEW STUFF!!

2011-05-16T17:56:00.000-07:00

Gosh I am really bad at updating, so here are a couple poems for you'all. The first was done as a kind of re-writing of a poem by Maya Angelou. Enjoy. xxx

2011-05-09T04:42:00.000-07:00

This is one of my favourite poems from Def Jam Poetry. Her flow is amazing.! Comments..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7piev1A77gQ

WOMEN OF GAZA

2011-05-09T04:38:00.000-07:00

In an abandoned building

Cuddling infant child

Trying to quiet its heartbreaking cries

Hungry

Hasn’t eaten for days

No more milk in breast to be squeeze out as nourishment

A few drops of dirty water

She pulls the child closer

Wrapping her head scarf tighter

BOOOOM

Another bomb goes off

Shaking the foundation

Shouts and screams outside

Barking

Orders in foreign

English tongue

She doesn’t understand

She . the forgotten mother of her motherland

No longer a motherland but a stranger’s land

Bombed, destroyed and tarnished by a foreign hand

Strange soldiers who destroyed

All visage of her home

Her broken home . her home broken

Till she was forced to run from home

As her husband lay . blood-shot . open eyed

Dead . next to the body of her eldest child

Why are lies easier than the truth?

Because the truth involves our bearing of self

Makes us vulnerable

The truth . it cost too much

Of our time . emotion . interest . money . self

METROPOLITAN

2011-05-09T04:21:00.000-07:00

We touch

Shoulder’s bumping timidly

On crowded platforms

And packed subway carts

In day to day

Travels

Going the distance

But never quite connecting

Like perpendicular lines

Aligned, but separate

Never quite looking at each other

Yes we look at the shoes

The boobs

Of the woman sitting across the carriage

But never really seeing

The smiles behind the frowns

Never quite hearing

The laughter behind the groans

The tears behind the angry glares

A polite smile

Expressions fixed

Ahead in identical mask

Of expressive nothingness

We dare a few ‘excuse me’

And (polite) ‘thank you’s’

Never daring to look pass the outer surfacal

Blemished

Embellishments

An accidental touch, hands reaching

Reacting, in attempt to stop

The jostle of an uncontrollable jerking machine

Forcing strangers together

In random

Clusters of chaotic commuters

As if we could reach through

Underneath gloved fingers

Underneath the metaphysical flesh

To the metaphorical soul

Living in a population of 7 million

Makes it kinda easy

To overlook the random strangers we see daily

Thinking that if we ignore the pain

Reflecting in our eyes

We can somehow suppress their silent cries

But by doing nothing, we’ve done something

In a universe governed by cause and effect

The consequence of each action

Or lack there of

Effected by and effect a

Billion outcome

Each entwined in a cosmological

Entanglement of fate

WOMAN

2011-05-09T04:18:00.001-07:00

Here I stand

Searching in the eyes of handsome strangers

For acceptance

Hoping their presence

Would mask the absence

Of a life without balance

Believing that they would look pass my faults

Piece though the outer bodily shell and penetrate right to the heart

Love me

Intrinsically

For me

Strangers .

Who want not nor know not that:

Love is eternal

Strangers . who cared not for how fragile I was

Whose hungry eyes had grown accustomed to readily

Seeing me as a feast

Always to be known as a piece of meat

To be groped and plucked

By dirty . unwashed hands

Made to sit on slimy plates

As he sunk in . cutting deep

Each cut damaging

The very fibres of my soul

Shattering pieces of what was once whole

Baked and boiled and made to sit and simmer

Consuming the heat

The heat of his compressing body

Sweating a lifetime of insecurities

From his pores into my skin

Unto my bare breast

Mingled with tears

That glided down my face

As he entered my flesh

Without rhyme or reason

Grunted moans

Blocked my silent cries

His ecstasy

My pain

‘I- I love you’ . a whispered lie

From between sharp teeth’s

Sunken . biting into my neck

Drawing not blood

But pieces of my girlhood

Already stolen and ravaged by boyfriends

Who came, before

Eager for their attention

Needing their affection

I relished in being called their girl

And the sex was just a part of it

As insignificant - constant

As a kiss on the lips

Not because I loved them

But because I wanted to be loved by them.

And the physical deed

Was just a way to receive it.

Till one day I said no more

I am not just a wet hole to plant your future seeds

And humbly be subjugated to fulfilling your feeble needs

I am, Woman

Ndi Mukazi

Tuli Bakazi

I am, Woman

A paradox of truth

Borne out a lifetime of lies