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Thursday, 28 July 2011


Let us give ourselves a Great round of applause for making it to this day with the knowledge of our roots at the forefront of the description that which we are, for it is whence we came that we are motivated to dream and see where it is we are going.
Today, I gave some of my time to two delivery men that were dropping off a bed for one of the residents in our complex (residential area similar to flats) on the third floor.  When all was done, the eldest of the two said; “u ngum’Africa wa nge mpela.”  I reckon that one can say this when the monument of Ubuntu’s worth is exercised, a gesture that we as the new age tend to forget when we go about our way each and every day. A ‘thank you’ would have been enough for me, but clearly this one man wanted me to feel how grateful he is of my 20 seconds of workmanship. The bed was up and on my way I went like nothing had happened.  It is only when I got into the house that I really thought of what the meaning of his words were.  u Ngum’Africa wa nge mpela.  My worth is of the flavour that scented the works of many in the age that I do not know of yet hear those of age speak of, the hand that describes the neighbor that is yearned for by many but only them that come from the hollows of the townships and grace seasoned backgrounds know of, the Samaritan that was once heard of in scripture and the son of willingness.
The feeling of being valued, to me, is better than the feeling of having everything.  Having a value to myself, to start with, and having a value to my family and close friends breeds the potential I have to care for EVERYONE around me.  This value is what makes me human in all rights of being, whether right or wrong it remunerates the essence of being human.  Why then do we not look into the faces of all the women and men that have been our herders and give a solid word of thanks each and every moment of their existence to us, and by that too I, with intent, mean thank the God of the heavens for them in their passing to another life, for they still exist with Him too that gave them life first.  Are we really blinded by times promiscuous toil with our lives in pleasures that could be barren to our soul’s voice, which be the source of deliverance to our out stretched arms and substance seeking palms?  As sweet as pleasures are, I am certain that none will match the breath that you and I borrow at this very moment.  No pleasure can match the sight of the rising or the setting sun in summers glow or winters overcasting blur.  None will match the sound of the oceans swimming ripples that massage your ears lobe at the sound of a shell or the murmur of your imagination and would you dare to imagine a world without a touch…
I have learned through a great deal of lessons, both taught by nature and humanity, that though many are things that go unnoticed in this life, we should never let gratitude be one of them, so I will start here, right now.  Thank you for reading this script.

Sunday, 24 July 2011

Words Delight

There is a fear that grips me every time I clutch my pen to write.  The anxiety that builds up makes me feel as though my spirits foundation is shaken and because of that, it wants to part from my body.  As great as my heart feels it also bleeds.
I lay down so much emotion on paper, flooding it with words that would not have meaning to any reader if they were not laid down in strategic form.  I see them post my act of releasing them from my mind on the animated faces of them that relate to the message that is bound in every constructed sentence.  “A vision is owed to ancient past’s tales; the tapestry of tombs and wounds is the fabric that weaves these tin thoughts.  I live to see my thoughts propagate through the silent thoughts of many and them that will quote how I spoke of my experiences and them that were not my own but paid a particular significance in my life at that particular time.  Seas serenity’s not satisfying with comfort eluded in thoughts of inexplicable expression, presented in ecstasy which is evident in elevation. Yes, the high we consider as supernatural.”  We tell stories but in essence we forget that the life that we have is a story in itself, but do I, for one, live like it is a story?  The day offers 24 hours and I’m certain that this is enough time for at least a page.
The scripture just gives us a way to make things possible.  It speaks in a universal language so that it cannot contradict itself when we all meet in the social world.  Then  God decided that He’ll give the world philosophers and all that speak positivity into being- you could be one too if you say the right thing at the right time to anyone that needs to hear it- making life a bit more interesting.  Each and every day we dare to speak to the pure heavens with the turmoil that might be brewing inside of us, but we still do it because, believe it or not, someone somewhere said that you can do it if you just believe and wherever you were, YOU heard it and you believed it.  This is where I found my marvel in words.
‘… words, had I not met you the day that I first spoke that One, MAMA, I would have searched for you in the virtue silence because the burning desire I have can only be yours, in every language spoken you are there, clearly the proof must have been found in the giggles of my infant state.’
Fascination in all things that we find some sort of magic in is what brings us closer to sanity in our minds that are of our own right, our own privilege.  This in essence is a challenge for each and every individual to find their fascination and entertain it to the maximum which is the end of life, without intent, I have given you my own.  WORDS.

Sunday, 17 July 2011


Point blank we stare into each other’s eyes with our wits end on our table, we mumble under our breaths with the hope that one of our suggestions to leave this place is taken heed of.
Once the sweet taste of conversation that has fruit has touched our lips, we indulge in one another's presence, but that is only with what I greatly emphasize, that it is only with mind bearing fruit in conversation that will keep us at this table of thought.  Way across the room you and I sit from each other but the ebb of our thoughts has put us together at one table at the light of our eyes connecting in the brief moment we took looking away from our lavish dishes to call the same waiter.  The confusion lay only with the thoughts we had of such an encounter not being possible in both our lives at the same time in the same place forgetting that we are now of the same space.  We find that the debate within ourselves has escalated to the smiles we now have on our faces as my arm now drowns in the shallows of my table.  With the courage I momentarily conjured to raise my hand to summon my next dose of coffee I nod to find your approval in the gesture I have just extended for you to call him first.
What is it that we have found so interesting in each other’s stares that has us now stealing a minor glance at the other every now and then?  My hopes are only that you do not walk out without a word because of the many you have helped me express to my expression which had lost all hope of wonder in words.  My imagination grows more active as I hurry to finish my sentences in this soliloquy that has me gripped in the translation of a stare that ends in mid-air thus the transmission of thoughts between us two is lost to the waitresses that giggle consumed in the “game” they think we play with our eyes.  The back and forth movement of our heads that shows our burning anxiety to verbalize our thoughts is quite the entertainment to them that do not feel the burn of words wanting a way out.  Weary cups of coffee signal the retreat valor as another is ordered to prolong my stay in my perfectly bum measured seat to keep on looking across the room.
As I sit here in question of what to do I find that the source himself, patience, has paid me a visit.  Alongside my persisting ego they try find a solution to my self-inflicted endeavor to be heard- yes, but just a word would be my comfort at this present time- not to be seen. The solution lies at the door for whoever walks out first, for the one that follows is the victim of circumstance to the meeting that happened without word.

Thursday, 14 July 2011

What Sleep Decides

A vision was born the day a decision was made to follow the dream that each and every one of us possess, though we may look at them differently at the end of it all, we all have a place we want to be.  Today, strangely so, my thoughts hovered on the question why do we have dreams, visions, ambitions and so forth.  Are they innately injected into our being when we are born? Are they a lesson all of us learn at the elementary phase of our lives?  Are they a fool’s best hope of escaping insanity so to live amongst all who are “normal?”  Are they a curse from the God of all things GREAT and SMALL, who claimed your life before you were born in his word, which lies as the conditions of you receiving your greatest desire, giving all of mankind a universal proposal that all can understand - Believe?  Are they just another thought that is probably a thought that many before you have had and is not worth the perpetuated brief encounter you have each and every minute it is alive?  Are they worth being measured up to our credential, which keeps on evolving?
“And when he picked up what he would use to speak out, and lay it on a canvass of unique texture, he  remembered:  “My words are not my own,  I have them because I found these lips on a ball point pen and I am inclined to use them because I would die if I were silenced.’”
                                                                                                                                                                                               SC Dunn                               
I had a moment this morning when I met myself again, courtesy of my mirror, which apparently never lies.  “Hello fine sir. I see you’re looking splendid this morning- mind you, I just woke up and I picked up bags from the four hours I had of sleep- have you been working out?  Oh, it must have been the pleasantries of last night’s dinner that evident with the glow of your face or is it that you’ve finally met with the mother of all impossibilities made possible… What I mean dear sir, is that, did you have a pleasant dream last night and I speak not of the one you had in puberty (he says with a silly grin and then a chuckle) oh no, not that one.”  Looking back into my own eyes having heard another voice speaking I answer: “Well, it certainly isn’t that ‘one’ or I would have never wanted to wake up.  The lady I met spoke as though she knew me and she watched me cry.  To every tear that fell on her arms when she held me tight in her bosom she spoke, ‘I know, I feel, I mourn, I understand, I support, I believe, I comfort, I build, I stand, I reassure, I chant, I celebrate, I give, I bare more and I relieve,’ all these words that make feel my existence is of a virtue to my own and others.  The glow that you see on my face is the remanence of her touch which has filled my heart with the acknowledgement of the presence of sleep in my life. Sleep like the other aspects of nature that take course a man’s life also fulfills its task and like a breath of air, for what it brings, this morning I greatly appreciate “
I think that anxiety, mine, is proof of the infinite possibility there is, not only to realize what it is that you want from life, but the fact that it is within your reach, and this is how I know that not only is it a blessing to whisk off into a world that only exists for your benefit, for that brief moment in time, it is a privilege to come close to the immortality that dreams give.