THIS PILGRIMS PEN

THIS PILGRIM'S PEN

Powerful words
worded with waves
that crashed on the shore of creativity
covering the shorelines of our existence
coloring the grays of our ancient anatomy
with the beauty of the note that carried the first melody
and mothered music
tracing the tracks of our tragic testimony
the blindness that blinds us from our blindness
the knowing that gnaws at the knowing of unknowns
Painted by the abstract captions carved from the precious
marvel that liquefies into the poetry in This Pilgrim's Pen 
A rose reddened by a ruby like remembrance
That echoes beyond mounting moments
That spans beyond the space of spaces

A spoken soul, A striking spear
A seeker of peace
In our world of war

Between the lines drawn 

by her saffron ink
May you begin to think 

of Allah's Majestic Roar

(Inspired after reading a poem by Sukina Pilgrim of Poetic Pilgrimage)

http://www.facebook.com/notes/poetic-pilgrimage/a-lovers-tongue-poem-by-sukina-pilgrim/10152716797555650

HOW USELESS

HOW USELESS

These breaths of mine become heartbeats
Heartbeats that provide my organs with life blood
These organs that bestow life upon bones and flesh 
This Life that lifts the motions of my limbs
These limbs that breath out stillness

How useless indeed
If it be 
That between the two breaths
All I see is me

For if so
I have certainly existed
but I did not live
For what is life if not the song of my breath
the drumming in my heart
the ocean in my veins
the love that lifts my limbs
and the silence that speaks stillness with the tongue of motion

But if not
I mute time
And space becomes my scent
For only life can see life

ETHEKWINI

eThekwini

Inspiring landscape
Inked in green
humbling hills
Ocean blue
This Vibrant View

Her Sun baked beauty
Feels like a delightful breeze
Caressing my being
Her breaths drum-beating
On the hide of my concrete layered Skin.

Calling me to sing of:

The mysteries
that shaped her nourishing breasts,

The sacred sculptors
Time carved from her salty tears,

The silver clouds that carry the courage of her reign,
The golden crystals of ebony Soil,
Her enchanting Soul.

The tragic testimonies twinkling
in her eyes like the morning star
singing in the sky.

Testimonies of:

Mankind's Melancholic Mind,

Her Guests Gobbling Greed
For the Jewel Starved Crown,

Their Fragrant Fantasies
That fill Their Hearts with
Dunes of Desire
For a Leg-less
Thorny Throne

As they barter
The Better Kingdom
For a Bitter Kingdom

The waves of Her Anger Roar from Afar
Crashing upon the numb shores of their barren be-ing.

And yet this heavy hearted host
Cushions her guests in love's delicacies.

Show yourself to me 

You Flower whose petals
massaged the skin of my ancestors

You Great Shade
that housed the timeless conversations of my ancestors.

You Heavenly Horizon
in which the days,nights and cosmic gifts 
of ancient ancestors and ancient descendants.

You River whose waters
carried the kisses of love to parched lips.

You Fire whose phenomenal flames
Shone in the hearts of sailors from afar
and memorised the magic of the Nguni Tribal dance.

You Rainbow
Whose music called the colorful fabric from the Indus
and greeted Sompisi's sight with dancing light.

Show yourself to me!

STARVING ARTIST

My cry is the hardest

My laugh the loudest

I am the black and white keys

With a variation of melodies

Inspiration is my pianist

And soul is his vocalist

She hits high and low notes

As I make her heart of hope my life line

On which I write my next rhyme

I suspend your thoughts over the edge 

of adventure I compose in prose.

With pen and ink I turn this page into a fragrant rose

And that page into a current of clamouring courage.

I am a book whose cover has never been known

And yet in whose pages endless faces and ages are shown,

Fragments of mysteries are thrown

That turn into puddles in which masses drown.

I am the voice that flies from an ocean of potent emotions  

Though not just a writer

I opt to write over being an average Nine-to-fiver

Underpaid, overworked depression wrecked

I evolve on the escarpment of endless expression,

I pay dearly for my transgression of social deformity

I am a starving artist

My love is the brightest and fullest moon

My depressions are dark and empty

Like the spaces between the stars

I am the hide stretched over the hollow bark.

Drama drums delightfully on my chest
as her emotions burst and overwhelm me,

Flooding every inch of my skin with music 
and yet I am dying of thirst for another vibrant verse, 

these sounds bounce inside the walls of my life

And so into the wilderness of melody my soul carries my feet.

All is brought to life by the beats that I breathe.

Hungry eyes devour my delicious dance with romance...

I am the droplets from the divine music of the abstract

Though not a dancer I opt to dance

Over being a puppet of idiotic -isms and deceptive constructs

I pay dearly for my transcendence of social conformity

I am a starving artist

My sight cuts through layers and sees 
acres upon acres inside that wrinkled mind.

I float between the messages that are sung to my senses

I am struck off from the world wide web Of I want - type of thoughts.

The sky is in my heart, my heart in the sky

Now you know my reason to smile.

Along many paths I walked,

Along the miles with many souls I spake:

The children told of Magical dreams that flow like silver streams
What beautiful dreams

The King told of the burdens that burnt his sleep 
and made his heart weep, shackles that even a slave would not keep

The playful youth immersed in the beauty of the beloved, 
explained how at the sight of love

The world turned him into a sculptor of poetry.

The Princess explained the piercing pain she felt 
as the ageless mirror stole her royal charm.

The mother spoke of how the pain of birth showers an ocean 
of love for her child a language of sacred conversations by the constellations.

The drunkard soberly spoke of the sorrows that stained his soul, 
He mentioned that no matter how much he drank 
the emotions he bottled kept his cup full.

The wise woman explained how futile the tree of wisdom was

If it did not flower with good actions and did not bear sincere fruit.

The Imaam put into perspective the consequences

Of this action and that action

And yet confessed that Allah knows best.

The Fool lamented that his regret caused him to regress and wished

That he had followed the direction of deeper reflection...

And so you see from the kaleidoscope of my conversations,

Much colour has been brought to my attention.

Carefully crushed and mixed with the water from my being,

I project these pastel perceptions of self 
and flashes of the universe on the face of the earth

Though not just a painter I choose to paint over

Being a dusty portrait of self pity

I pay dearly for my animated sketches of speechless sights.  

I am a starving artist.

And though my stomach is empty

I make the belly of your soul heavy

Though my attire is tattered

The garb of my soul is golden

My wealth will not wrinkle

I am the poet's powerful pulse

The Sufi's sacred scent

The Lantern's luminous light

The single soul

That is known

In the breath of countless cultures

The abstract that is never absent

My poverty is a thick veil

That stands between

You and a marvellous universe

I am an artist

It is you that starves.

OUTER SPACE

Her roar left me raw
As her words waged war
Against the images she imagined, loved then tore
into pieces that crystallized in her core.

Nonetheless she kissed comfort with the lips she wore.
Her self esteem would soon soar
and multiply with every set of eyes her flowering femininity would draw

His ego would knock on an open door
She has seen this before
though it is she that he claims to adore
before spring he will remember that open door

Her self esteem will plummet and crash on the floor
The emotions will gather her broken heart beats and her soul will pour

she slips back into the moment and thinks: don't be such a bore

And now it's nearly spring
She's lost a beautified thing

Her eyes blossom into tears
 love has become a painful spear
that settled in the flesh of her soul.

All the world's hype and lustful lies solidify in her hand
And now once more she felt safe behind her shield

Every time I hear her roar
My existence shatters into pieces of her:

Sharp edges of pain
without comfort

A bare bitterness
waiting to be clothed by that...... sweet lovin

Drama dripping from her eyes

That might be why she'd rather have them thinking of her thighs

She always wore a different face
But always wore the same dress

Always sinking into the same space

Sometimes I wish some one would write
across the blue sky

for this lioness

a place that might catch her gentle eyes

YOU ARE YOUR SAFEST SPACE!
NOT THE STARS IN OUTER SPACE!

TODAY

Time towers over us
As we interpret this moment to be hours

Minutes molded into a maze
sliced from seconds that become fast cementing pathways
we walk on encircled in bubbles of new born days
mornings mapped with mourning and a couple of sun rays

As curiosity or lack thereof leads us to our inseparable ways
that grow into mushrooming midday's
We merge melody and music into our ancestors yesterday's and buried ways

Well at least till we fumble upon our own way or the prescribed way

Or till  lazy afternoon naps give us away
When we dream of that hypnotizing perfume of our full potential
that our daily chores did not care to mention

Perhaps when self pity sets
we will erase regret in sets

And begin to remember the sound spoken by the seed
that silently sprouts into an awesome sight

Between the palms of the earth, beneath a skin as dark as night 
it resolves within itself to take the form of light
With all its being it searches for what is warm and bright
With all it's might 

And never ceases to seek it even in the cold rain
till it reaches the certainty of the silencing night 


What is best to praise
of our encounter with this ever present today?

That throws what we think to be ours
in a dungeon so far away
that nothing remains of it's shadow
other than the mind's futile play
or the heart's abstract contracting pain

Do we praise Today?

How does one explain 
That today was made plain
If one cannot comprehend 
that today was marvelously made?

DEF POET'S INK

Def Poet's Ink

Africa fills her beautiful eyes with tears in agony
that has mastered her children and overwhelms her turbulent emotions, 
yes she is a Queen for she gave birth to nations of royalty and warriors, 
her crown so beautiful a bright light came from it
that blinds the eyes of those who wish to be led by the spiritually dead.

her crown had colorful gems and precious minerals
a masterpiece crafted by mother nature’s green hands

this amongst many wonders made
her planet earth's beauty spot.

I pity her as devilish dictators roamed her kingdom like killer locust
flying over her golden crop that left her children starring
into the face of famine and her five fearsome curses. 

The greedy man swallows her multi carrot wealth and
feeds her leaders the apple of poisoned politics, 
these leaders married their women to brutality
and clothed them in thick garments of pain.

These leaders stole the wholesome future
from their infants mouths and filled their tiny soft innocent hands
with man's greatest invention 

THE MACHINE GUN!

To harden their hearts and ensure that her fertile soil 
is washed in their priceless blood!
But still her foot soldiers cannot rub their eyes and clear their vision 
blurred by a concoction of pretty propaganda, empty pride, falsehood and toxic morals
this mixture is labeled “to make a civilized citizen with a strong sense of culture”.

These intoxicated soldiers march away from the front line
in the rhythm of late night bashes as they indulged in a bottled joy 
these troops will mock a virgin’s flower,
to these troops AIDS is no foe but a legendary myth and death an illusion,
they conscience is no means of staying cool.
By he who holds my breath!
By he who put upon this earth the glorious book 
they will meet the hour.

PUNCH your fist in the air!
Speak in colorful tongues! 
And lift your courage to the heavens!

FIGHT to free Mama Africa!

Let us FIGHT with our minds, our swords, our hearts and our spears.
For the power of their demise lies in what they wish to destroy.
Fight for a def poet’s ink can bring sight to blind mind

c2005