would you?

Would you cry if I left earth and decided to stay in heaven
or wherever they chose to keep me?
Would it hurt to only see me in your dreams and seeing my arms hang from the sides of my body
knowing how perfect they once fit you,
how they once swallowed you
and trapped you in the depths of my bosom,
that you preferred to drown than to breathe?
How much would it hurt if you called for me and I never came
yet you hear the echoes of my tone behind every strangers voice, the sounds you once chose to ignore?
Would you cry for me if I left and never returned?
Would you weep for me if I wasn't here anymore?
Would your sun continue to shine?


I am not a Saint
I am just a girl who tastes heaven
every time your lips touch hers.

Not at all a god
just a girl who falls in love everyday
with every fragment of your soul.

Faraway from immortality
just a soul, who has risen from the dead,
everytime your eyes meet hers


“the point of it all”

Let you and I talk about that point,
retrace our hearts to that very second,
where you realised you desired me more than you fancied life,
that moment when you yielded your entirety  into the precariously shaky palms of my hands
knowing how capable I am of breaking you
the point that lived beyond faith
where you stood on the edge of my second chance.



Never to be seen again,

Never to be felt again,

Perhaps to slip a million minds

as quickly as death leaves its preys.

But I was here

I lived to tell the miraculous tale

Of life in this generation




You tell them
"Just be yourself"
yet you remain lost behind that filthy fa├žade

So please tell me,
what’s better between your deceptions and shams?
possibly you've reached the equilibrium
between your false truths

maybe you are trapped in between
the threads of your unspeakable reality

Poor wanderers, if only they knew,
that your wisdom is as imaginary as the smile you wear
when you greet the worshippers,
every Sunday morning.


Lie to me
and confess your undying love
before my cracking heart
perhaps my decease will be more meaningless
than your rare truth

words haunt me at night
that i find myself writing my life story
in the middle of a dream
something not even my forefathers dared to try


her lips taste like whisky,
her heart beat cruises on the highway of regrets,
yet everything about her screams perfect.
though she is the legend of all druggies
she mysteriously is always sober at heart
and skilfully she drowns me in her affection
but whisky was never her favourite


Unrequited love is the price of falling in love,
a price we all have paid,
once upon a time.

LoveGlori at Moyo's Zoolake tomorrow night

I can't seem to grow weary of the LoveGlori blues and so can Nomonde. We seem to be more hung up than we were when we first saw them in February at Urban Zulu Roof Top. Every moment in their trance means restoration to my entire being. We went to see them at SABC Radio Park on Sunday and boy was I blown away, they have a bad habit of winning my heart over and over again and I know that I am not that weak. Each second in their midst is resurrection; every instance with them always leaves me blown away to ashes of utter joy. When in their presence I am not afraid to die because I know I will rise again to life owing to their melodies. They have become saviour to my ever so fickle soul.

I wondered what is it about them that makes me weak at the knees and leaves me begging for more. I, for a while was convinced that it was their beauty; it just had to be Nozuko's beauty that leaves me screaming "Abba Father" to my creator in worship.  Ato's smile was definitely the reason for Nomonde's death. That had to be it. We now knew the reasons for our fall and that made things a little clearer. Until I realized, even if Zuko had to cover herself in all rags of ugliness, she would still remain my compeller. Her beauty was not enough to have me in their audience in every of their events, something greater than a smile had to be responsible for this. Even if Ato stopped smiling, she still would command Momo to knees.

And then it hit me, as hard as it hit Momo that no beauty could have such a hold on either of us, beauty could not have such command, it was their voices, their angelic voices that leave us drowning in floods of joy, that leave us in a state of euphoria. It is humbling how alive they are on stage, how they calm the audience with their jazzy blues with just a pinch of comedy. The love they have for their craft would give sight to the blind and strength to the weary.

I will speak endlessly if I started to speak of their songs and how each and every jam seems to rub me up just the right way but I will speak nonetheless, just a little I will speak. How Ato sings "Ubuhle bakhe" makes me appreciate the kind of love I am in, "Call me" actually makes me realise just how needy and broken I actually am. The way Zuko sings "Ivili" is not of this world, the space I enter into when those lyrics escape from her lips cannot be of this generation. The passion that flows in Ato's eyes when she lets out "Te Amo" leaves me chanting with the heavens in thanksgiving for the creator of art that dwells in her soul and the seriousness that covers Zuko’s face when she sings “Again” just confirms that they mean business with their craft and with their hearts.

The melodies that these ladies have created cannot be known by me and Momo alone, it is a sermon for the whole universe to bask in. A lyrical sermon. Their music on SoundCloud brings zero justice to them; you must literally tan in their melodies; that will take you to the adventures of Peter Pan or Alice in Wonderland, to actually say you have come to know the Christ of Art. Luckily for you, they will be performing at Moyo's Zoo lake tomorrow evening.

Go there and be jazzed away by their careless blues.
She is a fountain of metaphors
A buffet of adjectives and pronouns
but on most days she is just a verb

She is the alphabets in all the words I write,
The punctuation in all my verses,
and the breath in every pause.


you are the ink in my every pen, that's why I am unable to put you down...

She was as sweet as May,
Her smile was as bright as the winter sun,
but her anger was more vicious than thunder.

they talk about the tragedy of falling in and out of love
but they never speak of staying in the love on which we have fallen
the music that penetrates the rays of the early morning sun


The lessons we teach today and the battles of the previous night might not change our lives tomorrow, it might never change our lives at all but the next  generation will reap the fruits of your labour so aluta continua, whatever your struggle, your descendants will benefit from your blood and sweat.
I am just a girl who loves to write. My mother was not a painter nor was my father a sailor. I used to dream of being a singer, now I want to be a poet and sing the world away in blissful blues...


Her love
rose from the soles of my feet to the follicles of my hair
she worshipped my every limb
she always was a celebrant of mankind.

She speaks,
vomits words of restoration,
I have risen from the ashes seven times by virtue of her devotion,
she whispers words of strength,
the ghost whisperer
she is.

Her hands
snatched me out of Lucifer's cradle,
Satan’s fugitive I now am,
such melody came from the tips of her fingers,
as she pulled me out from captivity,
her birth must have been intended just for me,

Her skin,
such unblemished skin she has
my ocean of pleasure,
save me not I am drowning,
dip me in the depths of your bosom, I implore.

So I played hide and seek in the pores of her skin,
A pursuit to uncover all the secrets she hides from the world,
to take for myself the light she hoards in her soul,
until she yelled I am coming
to save you from the iniquities of your own flesh,
to release you from the chains of your yesterdays,
she said.

Her lips
Tasted like summer rain,
The drops from Jupiter,
A little more like the kisses from Adam’s wife,
She was more supernatural than real,
The reincarnation of Mother Mary
she is.

Her voice
soothing to all my aches,
mellow to all my blues,
my circadian medicament,
my humble compeller,
she is.

She held the rays of the sun at the tip of her tongue,
Spoke in syllables of thunder to the rebels,
Clouds dared not whisper a word in her presence,
Her command was out of this world
That Gabriel fell at her watch
She once ordered the sun linger longer
so what is a mere man’s fall,
whose pride clearly preceded his faith?

Her aura
She serenaded the daredevils to slumber
Lit every tunnel with her smile
At the contours of her mouth sat hymns of hope
that she’d arbitrarily let escape to make the atheists to believe,
in him, the Great I am, that made their very existence possible.

But she wasn't what I was used to,
she clearly wasn't what I prayed for,
you see, I prayed for a lover,
to embrace my agony with her careless touches,
to be intoxicated in endless buckets of fear,
and my list ended there.

so I never banked on midnight nor day long conversations,
those all day Sunday sexual celebrations
that always left us hungry for more,
the gourmets of flesh we became,

I never banked on promises fulfilled,
Nor was reciprocated love a fan of mine, was so accustomed to unrequited affection,
But she let me lay on her bosom, though smothered in distress, drenched from the floods of tears escaping from my eyes; she let me in the depths of her soul

she clearly had a love only the gods could comprehend,
perhaps she too is a god hence inexplicable,
she surely was a different kind of a she,
she became my author of faith as I became the pump of liberation in her every vein,
something more like we were each other's life support,
but she wasn't my mother's cup of tea,
definitely not at all the girl next door,
she clearly had a love way out of my league,
she was the only girl who fell in love with my soul and all that makes my heart beat
a different kind of she.

©GayKindaLove 2012.12.01