Unseen

As I stand in my cage,

constrained by walls of dust,

unseen by the  masses.

I, sentinel unseen.

 

To you, I’m but an eagle on a perch,

scanning the horizon –

No thought unturned,

Nothing unseen.

 

To sit, solitary.

To stand, alone.

As time moves –

a silent tide.

 

I eat music

and spew art.

I drink oblivion

and birth poetry.

 

Long nights drip from my pen,

woven stars from silver thread.

Petals of blood, and love.

A solitary heartbeat.

 

I dance pain,

throwing beauty around.

I wear tears

and millstones, like pearls, around my neck.

 

I breathe the dust

of forgottenness,

an unseen pillar.

Guardian of thought, unseen.

 

I am the unseen.

My trails of art,

a veil slightly pierced.

Meagre witness of my being.

 

Tears are naught.

Only frustration remains.

Marks left on paper,

Still cry my silent tears.

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Silence

image

The walls around my heart

surround a place never seen.

They drift like icebergs

in the oceans of my mind.

I sit by my window,

a tiny shadow without name.

In the darkness I wait,

playing Solitaire with my loneliness.

The hours begin to drip,

forming droplets on the window’s glass,

running down

and settling in pools at my feet.

Your silence,

the lashes of a whip,

has become a map on my skin.

Lines carved on my back and wrists.

My unsent letters lie crumpled on the floor.

Paper dogs producing offspring,

little paper mongrels

nipping at my heels.

The walls around my heart

have become walls around me,

staring with faces unseen

and mouths that do not speak.

I float around

in the oceans of my mind.

My heart is now a stone

to drown me with its weight.

Silence is not silent.

It leans across the table,

it screams in my face

like a Banshee.

Sadness is not sad.

It flies in through the window,

under darkness’ tender blanket

like a raven.

It is I –

held by Sadness, gagged by Silence,

standing by the window –

mouth saying nothing, eyes seeing nought.

Depression/SAD

I felt I had to say something on the subject.

There are so many people suffering from this as well as related issues. It’s become a huge problem. The worst is the loneliness. Those who don’t suffer from it often find it difficult to understand what it’s like to have to live through this, so we feel alone, even though we’re surrounded by people.

I’ve just suffered a relapse during the turning of the season: no energy, suddenly eating like a crazed lunatic, no inspiration and no interest in anything, crying incessantly for no apparent reason, doubt, self-doubt, fear… The list is endless. I have the ADHD/OCD thing too, urgh!

So I wrote this poem, because the first prompt I got just as my health started to improve, was ‘Silence’. If you’re a sufferer, just remember that you’re not alone!

I’ve made it my mission to fight this condition with all I’ve got. This led me to find out more about improving my lifestyle. Still learning everyday, but it really helps a lot! 

PS. I would love to hear from you! Feel free to share your story.

Little Children

image

What is happening to this world?

Brother against brother we stand.

 

I see a playground

and on it, little children:

brothers and sisters

fighting over a Father’s love.

One Father, many children, one family.

 

I see a playground

and on it, little children:

the bullies and the victims,

fighting over their differences.

Some invited in, others cast out.

 

I see a playground.

On it, just little children:

the popular and the unpopular,

fighting over the right

to be on this playground.

 

Who decided this?

Why?

When?

 

The playground didn’t change much,

nor the rules of the game.

Neither did we.

We are the children of yesterday.

 

I see you, men and women:

Yesterday’s children,

fighting over land that is not yours.

Deciding fates, directing lives

you do not own.

 

Creation –

Humans, animals, plants, water, land.

You are stewards of these, not owners.

Never forget.

 

Beware little children,

for time is a fragile thing,

like wings of a butterfly on the wind.

Do not stray, little children,

for time is a sharp-edged sword.

 

So, play nicely, little children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Surface

image

On the surface beyond which no one looks –

a calm ocean,

a mirrored plane,

life continual.

 

The surface of my skin

may crack under melancholy and strain,

but perhaps even that

passes unseen.

 

The surface of my heart

in darkness waits –

untouched, yet guarded,

for love’s tender touch.

 

For only your touch –

key turned in lock,

at destiny’s feet

will move the surface of my soul.

 

 

 

Om te dig/ To write Poetry

image

(English version of poem at bottom of page)

Ek wil dig

van die dag

toe digtery

my gedagtes bevry het.

 

Ek dag ek kan dig,

elke gedagte vaspen,

maar daai een gedagte

sit vas in my pen.

 

Waar dan heen?

Wanneer dan?

Dis waar

wanneer die waarheid uitkom.

 

Soms bly ek staan.

Daar is sommiges, te dig om te verstaan

waaroor ek dig.

So, ek laat staan hulle maar.

 

So ‘n gejaag na wind

wat waai waar hy wil.

Hy waai my

na my wil.

 

Gister het ons nog gedink, gedog,

geweet, maar weer vergeet.

More sal ons weer probeer,

maar dan weet ons nie meer nie…

 

To Write Poetry

I want to write poetry

about the day

poetry

freed my thoughts

 

I thought I could compose,

pin down every thought,

but that one thought

is stuck in my pen.

 

Where to then?

When, then?

It’s true

when the truth comes out.

 

Sometimes I just stand.

There are some, too thick to understand

what I write about.

So, I just leave them standing.

 

All is just a chase after wind

that blows where it will.

It blows me

toward my will.

 

Yesterday we were thinking, we thought,

knew, but then forgot again.

Tomorrow we’ll try again,

but then we won’t know anymore…

Storm

image

The Lady leaves her seat,

Gracefully approaching from afar.

Attention piqued,

She gently descends from her celestial home.

 

She rides the wind bareback across the skies,

Waving her lightning sceptre.

In one fickle sweep

She throws her purple cloak over land and sea.

 

The tempest rages!

It is her right!

She flings hail, like pearls from broken string

as she rips it from her neck in a moment’s fury.

 

An attempt to subdue her

Is like trying to hold the wind in your arms –

Madness!

She is above you.

 

But when her anger is spent,

She retires to her den

To end her tirade

In tears across plains.

Journey

image

It ‘s the wind blowing through desert sands,

It’s the sound of a song,

The heartbeat of a dreamer.

 

The sun’s tender hand strokes my cheek,

Little dust children play around my feet

As I journey on paths unknown.

 

Small steps become many miles.

On wind’s song my heart travels to greet my future –

Un-thought, unspoken,

To wait for me at life’s final destination.

 

Or, perhaps not.

Perhaps, merely a port

Where I will rest my weary head for a moment’s respite,

Before the wind blows me away to foreign shores

Where dreams are yet unborn,

And stories are yet untold.

 

Still, I will journey.

I will walk on,

Never to stop.

 

As the ebb and flow of time moves us in this delicate dance,

All will dissolve into finality,

Only to endure into eternity.

 

And we will be here, you and I,

With our laughs and tears,

On our bench at journey’s end.

 

But for now I will say my goodbyes,

For my journey is not yours,

And yours is not mine.