Ramadhan

I decided to join Muslims in their annual fast, Ramadhan (01 September til 30 September). I made my mind up when I realised that I have been given so much by the divine, and I hardly gave anything back except the occasion visit to church. So I decided that although I am Methodist, I would join the Muslims for their month of fasting. I hope that besides the weight loss I come out a better person who is more disciplined in many aspects of life. I also hope that He grants me what I have been praying for for a while. So I'm sort of bargaining with him.
The first day wasn't as bad as I expected it to be, and with an allowance of a few days off (for my late Grandmother's funeral - I can't imagine another catastrophe than my parents hearing that I'm fasting) I will be full on the before sunrise and after sunset meals.
I'm also looking forward to fusing some traditional Ramadhan meals with some traditional African aspects. As per usual, I will share this bounty with the nation, it is after all the Nation's Bounty.

What was it about that night?

Dylan Thomas prompts us
'Do not go gentle into that good night'
The teacher you were
knew to rage, rage against the dying of the light

But what was it about that good night
Six before the end of Sextilis,
three hours before midnight
that made you decide to give in?

And now your date is set
five nights after spring day
will be ashes to ashes
and dust to dust.

My heart still wonders
how do you fall in a ditch
when you know its there?

How do you go into
that good night
when you are living in the light?

My favourite sorry song

I never really thought someone would be able to pen down the right sorry words which I still feel are owed to me by those who do me wrong, but alas there are the Jazeil Brothers. They must have done something really wrong to their other halves to come up with this song. It is brilliant. Now they just need to come up with a song that explains that there is no excuse for cheating...

"Ngeke ngiphinde ngikumoshele - ngiya thembisa soze kubenje" - Ngeke ndiphinde

Sharing something perfect

Sometimes I run out of inspiration and I feel blank
this is the song which gives me back
my choc in chocolate
my zam in zamlek
my chip in chipnaks
when such events strike
I wonder if it will be same though when the stork drops by my little muffin (02/06/08)
(In case you are wondering I have known man now I am in negotiations with the stork. We have however resolved that the offspring should be a female.)

SHARING SOMETHING SPECIAL BETWEEN OURSELVES

Thanks Felipe, I didn't think there would be anyone who loves this song more than me.
[Also thanks to Muffin & Danny Boi for suggesting the geocities/google pages - but they took too long, that is why I borrowed the link from Felipe.]

Dear Child

Dear Child lost to the streets

How can one find you amongst this traffic?
How can your heart reclaim its beat?
How can we reclaim you from the fanatic
Who removed what wasn't his?


Stolen on a quiet morning to school
clad in a blue uniform your body lies
undisturbed by the noise that gathers around you
you lie helpless under the sky.


How can I bring you back?
because at least then I can get rid
of all this guilt that feel
when I continue to go back
to the taxi which took your breath.

Yours truly,
the mother to be

In me she sees

In me she sees an engineer
although arithmetic is not my subject

In me she sees a writer of many books
although I hardly read any

In me she sees a philosopher
although I hardly shift my paradigms

In me this woman sees what I can't see
She rejoices in the things which I cannot find joy in
She listens to the sorrows which my life brings
She characterises our relationship with hugs and kisses

Yet I am taken back by how
a few years ago I thought she was out to get me
a wolf in sheep's clothing

But now as I am to become something she is,
a mother...
I wonder...
How could I have missed that the basis
of all the groundings and fights was love?

Bound in sighs

Bound in sighs should I not show emotion?
The devil's child have once again given birth to grief
Should I on the other hand should be reduced to a fraction
by your poisonous spews for the sake of respect?

Silence in its golden shine cannot contain,
but because the eyes can always maintain
what the heart says of such situation,
I resort to the reduce my life to audio-visual frames of stares,
and slowly what respect has of me is the broadcast station
...which my face glares

Clever as you are devil's child,
your tendency to disregard the other's sense
one can call dumb,
but because you cam laude,
one can only be certain that the notion that
although education can afford us of knowledge,
ones use of it beyond that is up to us

Alas, this transcript has to end
one cannot afford to let you win this mind game
for this day you have made me bend
but for such a day will come when you will do the same
and one can only wonder how used you will be
to the same action which you saw with glee

I once but not once

I once managed to say I am leaving
without looking back

I once managed to remember a lie I had said in grade 3
with a little nudge to my noodles

But not once have I managed to get you out of my mind
I wonder if you have eaten
forgetting that we share the same mouth

I wonder if you’ve taken a bath or had time to put your feet up
forgetting that I bath you and make you relax

I wonder what is worse,
worrying about you whilst you are still attached to me
or worrying about you when you are 990 kilometres away from me

How can I make you part of me for longer?

On the same day time took the full moon and brought rain

What can one call you?
For the worst you have been convicted as responsible,
Yet for life’s bests you play a role
One can only wonder, whose side are you on?

Births and deaths
Break ups and make ups
Riches and poors

In mine is seems as though you specialise in the greatest and worst:
Births and deaths.

Four years ago on the same day you took away
The one who in me saw a full moon,
Round and orange in splendour,
For them I would control the tides whilst dancing around with the clouds
I could be seen from many corners although my ray would be shining for only one.

This year on the same day you promise to give me
The one who I hope will bring rain to my desert heart
Wet and heavy like thunderstorms yet gentle and warm like a drizzle
For you I will do the rain dance if it helps bring the rain you want
And sing “rain rain go away” if it takes away the precipitation from your sight

I will, as time allows be your fullness and joy
Although I cannot promise that he will forever on my side be.

I think that I have lost my mind

Amongst the squirmishes going down in my tummy
I think I might have lost my mind.
...the kicks
...the pulls
And the grovelling
Of the little one inside me
I think I might have lost my mind

Could it be that
The little one is taking
Piece by piece what I thought
I had in the place of a brain?

As the clouds subside

CHAPTER 1:
In a yellow African grassland the wind slowly blows, increasing in momentum the clouds follow suit. My yellow paradise with a blue cap has disappeared and all I'm left with is rain. The first drop hits my forehead gently but too late to save the chill I feel down my spine. I realise that soon I am to be part of the storm.
I am alone, yet I feel that I should be looking for something. And I do. So as they drops start to penetrate my summer halter neck dress, I start looking for that something. Because I am not sure what it is, I duck, just in case it is below me and jump, just in case it is taller than me. Nothing.
I hear a slight noise and I am tempted to start running. But I don't run as I remind myself that 21-year-olds don't get frightened. I hear it again, but this time it starts to sound familiar than its first shriek. I look around again as its noise is becoming constant, more high pitched.
To me it feels as if this is the voice of victory. I imagine myself running closer and closer to the finish line, and the crowd is chanting my name louder and louder as I near crossing it. But then again I realise that I am still in the now wet grassland and the familiar noise which I have been hearing is the sound of a baby crying. I wonder whose baby it could be. Mine perhaps?
Was I so lost in day dreaming that I forgot that I had a baby. As I try to retrace my steps on how I landed in the grassy paradise I am met with visualisations of a man. Not the typical hunk, but good looking. Not short yet not tall. At some stage I come to understand that I might have been with that man sometime earlier. I smile as I remember how a friend of mine would say "I have known man". I ponder about how I could have landed there, as the baby's cries intensify. I look down and the most adorable baby lies, covered in a white sheet. The crying seizes as she glances at me. The clouds subside.

What shall I call you dear child?

The months have totaled seven already
But I still haven’t found a name for you to follow
What shall I call you dear child?

Phumzile, (after Mlambo-Ngcuka), Mzantsi’s first woman to come close to being president,
But somehow lost the plot in between her trips to Dubai and her stance on the land reforms in Zimbabwe. Maybe not...

Victoria, (after Mxenge), a victorious woman who did not just sit and grieve her husband's assassination in the hands of the aparthied government, but continued what he set out to achieve even if it would cost her, her life. Maybe...

Cecilia, (after Makiwane), the first black nurse who diligently carried out her duties in the toughest circumstances, even if it meant a toll to her physical and emotional well being. Maybe...

Brenda, (after Fassie), the woman became the Madonna for the townships by giving a voice to marginalised South African natives who needed to 'Vulindlela' - open the way for a revolution because they were getting 'Too late for Mama'. Maybe...

Nontsizi, (after Mqgwetho), the Xhosa poet who dedicated her life even before her time to speak about women's standing in society through the mouthpiece, Umthetheleli Wabantu - the voice of the people. Maybe...

But how dear child,
How do I give you a name that will be carved in society as legendary and not perverse?
How do I give you a name which will leave footprints such as those the woman above have?
How do I make sure that you will not follow the unknown citizen route that life has led me to?
How do I make sure that you will live to greatness?

Composed upon Mandela Bridge, March 19, 2008

This was inspired by William Wordworth's 1802 poem, "Composed upon Westminister Bridge, September 3, 1902". Passing through Braamfontien, one wonders how many realise that Johannesburg is such a good city to live in.

Composed upon Mandela Bridge, March 19, 2008

The world would agree that there isn’t anything more majestic
Even critics’ ramblings wouldn’t go far
A view so pure even in the polluted air,
Jozi, like a queen this beauty completes you
Even in the mornings traffic swells, hoots and echoes become your music
Where the Ponte, Sentech, and Hillbrow towers lie
Open these to the world as 2010 we approach
Show that your perfection is not only limited to Africa but to the world
Never before has a teenager of 14 years been so mature
Graced with an abundance of history, charm and culture
Jozi, you are so pleasant in the curves and meanders of your glory
Though a tear of crime and abuse runs down your cheek
You manage to hold this and not totally weep
Jozi, ooh so mighty in economy and potential
Show them that of wealth and wisdom you posses