If I was a thought I would choose to sail –
On the shallow seas of young minds that loose and fail,
Confined by confinement; in a prisoner’s shoes in jail.
Minds accused to ail as patients of eternal sickness in abuse’s tale.

If I was a thought I would choose to be planted –
Root-deep and fertilized in the mentally – bruised and demented
And refuse to leave centered the power of a foreign enemy
Exchanging blows with false reality close to falling sanity

If I was a thought I would build sacred temples –
Within souls where hatred settles as the devil’s naked samples.
In your grey thinking matter I’d give rise to vagrant rebels.

If I was a thought in blindness’ mind I’d cry for support
To rearrange the purpose of chaos in the life that we have got.

If I was a thought I’d fill holes in empty places –
Where colds roam through broken windows to kill souls of angry faces.

If I was a thought I’d be no accidental idea-
Built on luck and co incidence, harassed and strangled by fear
But a self- mental pioneer;
A thought of revolution’s emotions in motion to settle right here.
(Pointing to the head)

13 Days

She walked through the wide open double doors,
With her problem of 13 days
The problem she would now finally leave here for good.
13 days ago her shamed had been exposed,
In the back room of her Nkgono’s house,
With her mother as the midwife and lots of warm water and towels.
For 5 months she’d managed to walk without anyone knowing,
But the last four months it all became evident.
She’d laboured for 2 days unable to cry aloud.
13 days ago she’d first seen the little white, bald, Boer baby girl,
Whose skin hid Sesotho blood.
Who weighed 3.5kg and only had her brown eyes as proof,
Who gave one loud scream before gently suckling her brown breast.
Now she walked slowly to the reception desk,
Her problem wrapped in a thick pink baby blanket, wearing a blue Crawler
Her birth certificate, dummy and socks in a Shoprite Checkers packet,
Her little problem now fast asleep in a Moses basket.
She wasn’t supposed to love her because she didn’t at first
She wanted to keep her,
But white babies don’t belong with black unmarried maids,
She hung her head, ignoring the call of nurse,
Walking fast as her tears dropped and her heart broke,
13 days of love and her name was all she would be left with now.

She holds the basket steadily on her head,
Her moon face completely covered,
with only her eyes lighting her way,
Her long beautiful black locks,
Her straight Cleopatra nose and delicate elongated neck and prominent cheekbones,
Hidden behind a veil
meant to keep her safe, pure and sacred.
The veil that prevents her from learning anything besides the holy book,
The veil that says she cannot finish school and dream like her brothers,
The veil that forces her to get married to someone she doesn’t love and
Have children her body can no longer carry,
The veil that makes her wish she wasn’t a girl,
didn’t have breast and had the right to say no,
This veil that covers her beautiful moon face daily and can only be seen at midnight,
When she daringly takes it off and dreams

The mild Cape Town winter weather
triggers blooming of the Heather.
The Erica shines their lanterns
among the Foxtail Ferns.
The white clouds overhead feather.

The Silver Trees create a foil
against which the flora toil.
The King Proteas are gearing up
to supply a feast for birds to sup.
The Cape Cobras in slumber coil.

The Aloes have many a use
and can withstand much abuse.
The fiery red Cape Honeysuckle
led the cultivated hedges to buckle.
Mountain fires lit by the obtuse.

Our proud heritage was in full bloom –
a rambling pathway the only room.
Scorched earth, naked and black;
sustenance of the soil now sadly lack.
The canon on Signal Hill boom.

Official New 7 Wonders Inauguration of Table Mountain in Cape Town: 2 December 2012

Once upon a time, I saw a shooting star…

When last was I so lucky, last time I went to Kentucky
The man with the wink in the eye, gave me a wish upon the sky

I grabbed a shining star, that exploded on the tar
Hell has closed it’s doors, as I’ve found a brand new shore

Deep in the ocean I find, the treasure I left behind
Diamonds and gold, are never to be sol – or so i’m told

Three wise men came from the East, and showed me to the beast
Greedy for my loot, the scale tipped on my foot

The crib was in my site, the called him “Jesus Christ”
How could I be such a fool, to think the Devil’s eyes were blue?

The beholder of our future, whereupon you find a broken picture
I see a dark moon rising, as the shattered glass surrounds me

I’m just another tiny star, shining down on you so far
To protect you from the evil, from the darkness of the devil

You hold the key to my destiny, I shall wait for thee – eternity
For the path that I have taken, was a martini stirred, not shaken

A can of worms left unopened, when the Titanic hit the ocean
How can you mend a broken heart, just follow a brand new path

You will find the land of milk and honey, where there’s lots and lots of money
For the wisdom of the owl, cannot re-direct my soul

Oh Lord, don’t let him win, for my soul’s not worth the sin
The train has finally stopped, as the devil made his gruesome shot.