Be Careful of Writers

Look my friend, this guy, your guy, is a poet. With a slick tongue and skilful usage of words he can romanticize and colour up any given situation with a rainbow, and you’ll be awed. No wonder he swept you up so quickly and you became his girl. I’m sure many a times he has paralysed you with a fluid of words and his make-believe emotions. Isn’t it so? Very quixotic, this guy of yours. He writes fiction and tells gripping tales. Fiction means he writes about non-existent characters and happenings that never took place. They are all cooked up inside his head and they are not true. Basically, he tells lies. Someone who tells lies is a liar! And he’s a good one. How on earth do you think he manages to get readers glued to his words on a page? Remember you told me that this guy of yours is flawless. I don’t believe that crap. You said he never hurts you and that the things he say and do make you happy. Wake up, girl! That’s just not real. This guy is fiction himself. He’s a smokescreen, a façade.  Sooner or later, when fatigue catches up with him and he can’t put on a mask anymore, you’ll see for yourself. And don’t say I didn’t warn you. Be careful of poets and creative writers.

Now, really, what kind of advice is this?

Twist within a twist!

I’ve been relaxing with a movie. And Im thinking, agggh, how can a director spoil such a wonderfully crafted and acted movie? Same theme as ‘Buried’ but fast-paced and unpredictable – a couple of aspects that ‘Buried’ lacked. I just finished watching this movie ‘Brake’ and how I wish I had not watched the last five minutes!  The twist was superb, the kind I never saw before, the kind that makes you grip the carpet with the tips of your toes and ultimately heave a sigh of relief. But then, another twist came. A twist within a twist! A sick, awful twist that spoiled what could have otherwise been a perfect thriller. And I hate the director for doing that! Actor Stephen Dorff pulled off an incredibly great performance in this film but the sense and story is lost in those stupid five minutes at the end. I felt like my intelligence was being undermined. 

Fret Not, Pray, Lay Yourself to Rest, Leave the Rest to God, for Thou has Blest (Poem)

Head swirls 

Brain creaks in pain
You twitch and turn, and then you toss
Echoes...
Echoes as their voices reverberate within your inner walls
Voices as sharp as samurai swords
Slice through your flesh
Fragile your walls are
Yet their hands hurl rocks at you
Broken your spirit feels
You perch on stone and cradle your chin on palm
Then you wonder
Aloud, silently
It rains on your face, acid rain
Salty, scalding drops etch your cheeks
Darkness creeps in, you cringe
But when the sun rises again, Angel
So shall your strength; your faith
This, we all know, you and I
Your smile will adorn your face again
And your soul too, yes
Let not their crucifix anchor you down
They’re all wax and before Thy fire
They shall melt
So fret not
Pray
Lay yourself to rest and leave the rest to God
For you Thou has blest

Heart of Gold (Poem)

God, my God, created I in Thy image
And in Thy image, you, He created
Your beauty, my queen, resembles Him
I, your king, trod in Thy light
You and I exalt Thy Name
And rejoice under His showers of blessings
Behold,  let not earthly threats  shake your
Heart of gold
For God, our God, is on our side.

Atomic Love Attack (Poem)

Here I am, again, reminiscing about the past

The past I so want to place behind me
Bury, sixteen feet
But thoughts of you infest my mind
Like a virus
A virus that eats at my flesh and sucks my soul
I’m reduced to a lump of hopelessness
And a bowl of ridicule I’ve become
Wasted
Wasted were the times I spent with you
The pleasures I’ve tasted in you have turned sour and bitter
Like a serpent you had sneaked into my life
Briefly
Yet beautifully
And blinded me with your infatuation
Now like a mist you’ve drifted away
You reaped out my heart and stashed it in your right ribcage
Two hearts, you now have
And here I am, again, reminiscing about the past
Swaying and reeling with a hollow chest
Feeling like a Hiroshima
Suffocating with the repercussions of an atomic love attack…

Effects of Goodbye

A selected group of Batswana poets/writers were tasked to pen a piece on the theme 'Womb'. As one of those writers, I submitted a short poem entitled 'Effects of Goodbye'. It's one of the poems that come from deep within my heart, also reflecting on my personal experiences not as a writer but as a human being. The poem is published at Prairie Schooner.

Click here to read 'Effects of Goodbye at Prairie Schooner, And thanks for reading...

The Road to Somelo

From the end of the battered, weather-grilled tarmac in Samedupe, around 20 kilos from Maun, starts a road that I pray, from the bottom of my heart that one of the top politicians, preferably the president himself, should experience a ride on. The road will shake the contents of his stomach until his pukes. It will shift the brain in his skull and render him unfit for office – that is for sure. This is the road to a small village (or a settlement as some would name it) called Somelo.

The dusty, rutted road is imbedded with hard, sharp stones that punch painfully at the tyres. I feel every grind and bump as though they hit directly on my bare feet. The ditches and holes make me grit my teeth in a surge of sickness. I hear the metal structure of the highly-built Nissan Patrol 4X4 Station Wagon complain under the assault. A hail of gravel hammers the underneath of the vehicle, scattering loose stones in idiot profusion.  I grimace, gripping the back of the front seat for support. Outside, the vegetation is dull and hopeless. Dry shrubs and brittle trees stand on the roadside like corpses, watching every brutal movement on the road like spectators at an illegal, deadly race.

There seem to be no air outside, and that we survive from the blowing aircon. But that’s not the case, of course. At one crazy point, an anthill straddles the road, as though placed there with an evil intent. The Nissan swerves around it and barrows through thick sand. The road stretches on and on, getting worse with every kilometre.  Now and then, an antelope swiftly crosses the road.  After very many kilometres of bumping and shaking,  we pass a stationary and deserted light weight bakkie on the road with flat tyres. The poor machine couldn’t survive the cruel road. I look back at the road behind us. I can’t see the bakkie. A thick cloud of dust trails us. Then I look ahead again and I see the first road sign ever. The board says, ‘Somelo 25Km’. That’s a lie, I say to my companions. I tell them that the true distance, on this road, is 250Km. My head is aching. My body is painful.