Archives for June 3, 2013


Creeping darkness fills a space
There’s nothing there to hold its place
Nothing, it feels of nothing

Seeping emptiness
A vacuum of black
There’s nothing to hold it back
Sinking to an abyss

Listless being
There’s nothing in this existence

Hold me now

Hold me now
I’m begging
I need to feel some warmth
To be real

Hold me now
I’m falling
Catch me please
I cannot stand

Hold me now
I’m crying
Keep me safe in your arms
My tears keep flowing

Hold me now
I need this
To be in this moment
To make it to the next
Hold me now, I’m failing

Beautiful Creatures

I was recently paging through one of my favourite photography books. Every page is filled with a masterpiece of line, form, colour, light and many of the other properties that are deemed to make a photograph spectacular. One section, however, made me pause a while longer and that was the section on photographing the human body.

One photograph particularly captured my attention. It was of a young woman. In the photograph she is nude but draped discretely with an earth-coloured scarf. Although her body isn’t perfect, she is beautiful. It made me consider the breath-taking natural beauty humans have.

Every human being is amazingly unique. It is easy to lose sight of one zebra in a herd or one fish in a school but every human has the power to stand out in a crowd. Our hair comes in every shade and texture from elegant red gold waves to fanning ‘afros’. Our eyebrows are perfectly tinted to suit our faces and come in every shape from bushy to a fine pencil line.

The human face is another tribute to beauty. It is so perfectly aligned that the distances between our features are mathematical wonders. Our eyes are perfectly curved and the iris that floats in the centre is not only a unique colour but is unique in the tiny specks or rings that decorate it. The vivid blue of some eyes rivals the ice-blue skies or Caribbean seas. It is said tat all blue-eyed people are descended from one man who lived many thousand years ago. That the blue is still so strong and not at all diluted is a wonder to me.

I have always considered the figure of a pregnant woman the most beautiful. Her stomach is a perfect curve that encompasses all the live-giving organs inside. She is the ultimate image of health and fertility. Ancient goddess-like sculptures echo the figure of a woman with swollen breasts and a rounding belly. It is tragic that many women today resent pregnancy for its effects on the body.

The newborn child that enters the world through such a mother is yet another beautiful wonder. The soft down that lines an infant’s head is as beautiful and natural as a ripened peach’s fuzz. A baby’s hands are perfect with unique prints stamped on each perfect digit. Each tiny finger is adorned with one perfectly formed nail. The feet that will soon be eager to explore are covered with a network of tiny creases that spell out the path this new human will walk.

Even the aged are beautiful. It is a miracle how hair turns to the purest snowy white. The wrinkles that adorn an elderly face seem to accentuate the frailty of the human body on its final stretch. Although the body starts to fail there is a beauty that comes with the years of wisdom an old man or woman possesses.

What is wonderful is that across every culture in the world our bodies follow some heaven-made, ancient blueprint. Every body in the world passes from that of a babe to that of an old person. It doesn’t matter whether our skin is porcelain white, peachy cream, mocha-coffee, olive or ebony. We are beautiful.

It is time that the world stops trying to achieve some unattainable ideal. We are beautiful. We are unique. And how magical would it be if every human would pause a moment and consider that?

We are beautiful creatures.

The Caged Bird Sings

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

Walking bare feet through the warm mud,
worms of slush squeezing between toes,
spring breezes quickening the blood,
forgiving and forgetting woes.
Stretching out like a promised land,
aspiration gloriously beams.
Running through the fingers like sand,
time we had studiously planned.
The privileged heritage streams,
but a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

Freedom is but a dream perceived,
not appreciate’ when in grasp.
Accolades our right when received,
the sweat of our brow and breaths rasp.
Of injustices a defender,
a tome wasting many a ream.
Respect, honor should engender,
but to enmity surrender.
Life lived to the very extreme,
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

Opportunity’s there for all;
talents are bestowed on many.
Listen to the instinctive call.
Regrets? We did not hear any.
Pioneering endeavors offered,
but through ignorance let it slide
Optimize chances proffered:
careful analysis ordered.
One wrong decision, woe betide,
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

Hamstrung by accident of birth,
but blessed with inner resolve
and an occasion for mirth:
laughter all melancholy solve.

Glimpsing freedom from oppression,
idyllic occasion rising.
His music, only obsession.
Talent, his only possession.
Much pleasure in lives it did bring,
so he opens his throat to sing.

INSPIRED BY: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou


Listen to me give ear
read my lips if you donot hear.
From your brother and sister,
and you’ll know better.

Listen and give ear
and promise you’ll not fear
your husband or your wife
and respect eacch other all your life.

There’s daylight throughout the year
my daughter and sons of age.
Nev’r fight another,control your rage.
Respect each other ,distribute yor heritage
and pass it to young generation.


I wish i could sing
you a song.
Record its melodies and rhythms
into your heart.

I wish i could write
you a poem.
Type its phrases and paragraphs
into your mind.
So you will cherish them,
and never to forget me.
And remember my words of wisdom
the poems and songs of freedom
written with love not boredom.

To love you

What a thing it is to love you
Every little
Its burning flames
On my skin
But baby it feels so
love your every
beginning and end
bad and so sad

I see that charred skin
I am crying out, oh baby, what a thing it is to love you!
And when I love you, the way a woman loves a man
Only one thing can
Be born

My body calling your divinity toward
Narrowed Eyes pitched to your full
Lips that must, must reach mine
I crave your fullness
Smother you in mine
Begging for just
Momentary freedom
between thighs soft, more than yellow

What a thing it is to love you
To wish for release
from you in me
or away to go

I cannot have you
Be my love
And I cannot
Let you go
Oh but baby, what a thing it is to love you

I am

Fear is my first memory
I couldn’t tell you when it started
Falling to the floor,
Tears broke free when they knew better
I couldn’t tell you why

Perfection was my aim,
I couldn’t tell you how often
Sickly sweet cereal poured over my black satin strands
I couldn’t tell you why

Protection was not a concern
I couldn’t tell you how that hurt
Gun aimed, my vomit brimming
But it wasn’t the end
I couldn’t tell you why

Love was not on offer
I couldn’t tell you how I searched
Called ugly, useless, slut, f*!@# piece of shit!
I couldn’t tell you why

Dreams were on hold
I couldn’t tell you how they are forgotten
Deep punches, left breathless
I couldn’t tell you why

Life was unbearable
I couldn’t tell you why I’m here
Head pounded on a wall
I couldn’t tell you why

What I could tell you is everytime though,
I’d hear a ringing thought
“I am Ravona Naidoo”