Archives for November 9, 2011


So many people walk through life, with the idea in their heads,
that someone else is responsible for their success and daily breads.
They praise his name and blank their thoughts, on occasions when they win
and when they lose, it’s not their fault, “it must be worldly sin”.

No doubt, it must be comforting, to have him control your life;
he picks you up, when you are down and carries you through strife.
Late at night, all alone, someone knows your thoughts.
Believe enough, you’ll have your way, on healing, peace, all-sorts!

“But, is he there,” we people ask, “bestowing on us glory?”
“Or, have they just filled in the blanks, with nothing but a story?”
To us, it seems, minds applied, there’s simply not enough,
to suggest that the universe comprises more than stuff.

We live our lives, in our own minds and earn our daily bread,
and when we don’t, we do not blame a holy page, unread.
Our failure’s ours, but, then again, so is our success.
We never need relinquish it to some ‘being’ who did bless.

When you see that it’s you, who steers your worldly path,
then you’re the judge, the man in charge, the one who hands down wrath.
For, in your dreams, you will be judged by your subconscious mind
and it’s this alter-ego, who knows of your unkind.

And so, you see, it’s not the struggle to sit on a cloud,
but, rather, to reach end of days, looking back, feeling proud.
We need not search through books about divine morality,
when we can be the persons, with whom friends we’d want to be.

In the end, should we find that we wooled-over our own eyes,
we’ve had an answer for some time, it may come as surprise.
For, if, one day, we find we’re asked why we disbelieved,
we’ll tell Bertie’s God, “non-evidence is what had us all deceived!”

If, as many thinkers think, we all cease to exist,
as a fairly decent way to go, it cannot be dismissed.
In not existing, even though good times will not be had,
we will not be experiencing it, so, it cannot be that bad.

Don’t you cry girl

Don’t cry girl, don’t cry
Life is beautiful for those
Who choose to smile all the times
It hurts, I know
But please don’t cry
Wasted tears are wasted times
Time you can choose to be happy
Happiness is all around you; just listen to the song of birds, falling rain and blooming flower they all are singing for you
You are too precious to waste your tears for the things not in your hand my girl, so please stop crying..
Life is beautiful for those who choose to be happy
Time is tough, life is mess, I know but still I will say don’t you cry girl don’t you cry.
Life is too short to waste with tears.
Noting is worth for your tears so save them my girl, and please don’t cry..
Don’t you cry girl, please don’t cry.

I gona be my own sunshine

Tunnel is calling me again, tunnel of sorrow and pain,
I don’t wana go down that line again, there is nothing but sorrow and pain
I am not going in that deep dark tunnel again
Tunnel is too dark and deep
Each time when I go there I am lost
I can’t hear my own heart beat
Tunnel kills me each time but I keep falling there
I am not going down in the tunnel again
I heard people saying there is light at the end
My tunnel is too deep and dark
I see no light there
My legs are sour and my eyes hurt with the pain
I am not going there again
That tunnel lives in me for so long that it hard to let it go
But it’s time to leave and be my own sunshine
So I am not going there again
I am leaving my tunnel and all the sorrow and pain behind
My legs are aching and my heart is crying
I am no way going in the tunnel again
I gona be my own sunshine
I am leaving my tunnel behind

Would You Mind?

I may be kind but not blind,
Through thick and thin, I’ve been there,
Now, would you care to share to be fair?
Love,Trust together with honesty- I dare…
Woul you mind?

If I could, I would…

If I could have all the money,
I would feed all the hungry,
Make life easier for the needy,
Replace all the shacks and RDPs

If I could have all the power,
I would make every CEO work every hour,
to reduce the office drama-
within the taxpayers towers.

If I could have all the will,
I would assist my wife with the chicken grill,
for her heart needs to heal
…and to show my goodwill

If I could have all the love,
I would be proud and patient with every all the kids,
Unconditionally appreciate with every heart beat
If I could, I would Passionately give all of the above.

what liver

So, I am is’febe. At least I have been called that.
Once, dear reader, when we were much younger, a cousin of mine used that word: is’febe. Part of what it is to be as young as we were is learning to use language. Many times you get the structure right only to stumble over the particulars.
Having just slaughtered a goat or something else equally slaughterable, the men gave the older boys the intestines and the liver. Modeled on the existing dominant structures, white male dominance, the older boys’ responsibilities over the resources automatically extended over the younger boys. The older boys, perhaps testing their power, perhaps just salivating over the prospect of braai liver, dangled the meat in front of the younger boys. They, perhaps responding to that power, perhaps excited in their own right, extended their hands to touch the treasures of intestines and liver. My cousin, impressed by the weight and texture of the liver (and by how far it had travelled down the power structure to get to him?) said, “yho, sis’febe!”
Our mastery of language has since then progressed. That description is not, given a choice, one he would use to capture that moment. Nor, if it is at all up to him, would he now utter that word as loud as he did then. Then, caught in a moment that is eternal, the piece of liver suffered the indignity of being described as is’febe.
Perhaps I deceive myself, but I had not thought that there is anything substantially similar between a piece of liver and myself. If, then, I have been described as is’febe, and the piece of liver has also been described as is’febe, exactly what makes both the liver and I fit the description?
We could, of course, draw out an implicit assumption. We could argue that the word has been used incorrectly in either or both above cases. If incorrect in one of the cases, and we favor my young cousin with the error, then we could withhold this favor from the shadows. They, we could argue, understood and used the word as it was meant to. In this case I, but not the liver, come out is’febe.
If incorrect in both cases, both the liver and I are misfits to the description. In this case, more starkly than the first, we are left wondering who or what fits the description is’febe?

after midnight

in the heart of the night
whilst the world is in repose
and sleep shuns me
i play

leering through the seams
of this nocturnal occurrence
i am witness to a different realm
i play write

my soul dances to this nightly purgatory
channeling visions to those lost in slumber

i playwright dreams

by ayob vania ©