Fairytale Live in Change

It was not so long ago I sat in class listening to my teacher going on about puberty, that it was a stage in growth that we would all go through  and that it would bring metamorphosis to our bodies.  It brought change to all in my group, I personally loved what it brought to me.

I was that kid in that everyone in school could relate to.  It went as far as being called Miss Universe because everyone that came in contact with me claimed to have had` a bit of their character brewing in my own.  I really enjoyed being the centre attraction, even with my teachers and kids from other schools.  I reckon what made me even more appealing above my character that was already of witty nature, was that I was culturally inclined and I was an athlete.

I grew exponentially to my time and my credential had far surpassed the school standards in academics, with that came boys growing fonder of me but there was only one that had my attention.  What came as a surprise to me was that he was not even a part of the chess team or a worthy opponent for the Dux scholar, come to think of it, he never did anything for the school.  He got into trouble now and then but never got suspended. In the light that we were similar in our difference, we spent a lot of time together and we eventually thought that forever had us in its creation.  That is what I knew at the time.

We would toil with chance and risk disciplinary action from our parents as we would sneak off on some nights, hand in hand we were convinced it was spontaneity instead of irresponsibility.  The thrill of being in his arms after midnight in fusion with the sweet nothings spoken, used to woe me out of my intelligence and speech.  I only managed to wonder the following morning how I got on my back to view the fullness of the moon with no restraint to head movement, braids thrown back grass touching my neck.  I wondered in numbness to what happened in the fullness of that night because on this night I wonder still with the numbness as I lay on this bed, still on my back nine months later.

It is three years later and I think of how keen I was at 6teen, I embrace a miracle now from a curse of a Five minute stupidity complex that more than a hand full of girls suffered from smooth talking growing serpents.  The vengeance I seek upon him have been are a constant reminder to my forgiveness as she is painted with his complexion and she has his eyes.  I curse genetics because apart from God I bore this baby alone.  The harsh reality can consume ones worth, which is not defined by a past.  I realise this with my own life and the possibilities that have spawned from accepting my NOW, for change to have been inspired or lived out, I had to let go.  This child is now my world.

What is it About Great Men

Have you ever wondered what thoughts probe the minds the minds of “great” men.  I personally wonder if they are all thinking in one absolute frame of mind, or if they are of one absolute state of consciousness.  I wonder if they are in a league where they are the only people that were given and elevated sub conscious.

We all know the Legends, in leadership, in music, in sports, in politics and in education, the list could go on if we started naming them all, from those that were and those that still are.  There is a saying that I am sure we have all come across; “great men are not made they are born”  and I am too certain that not all of us have believed this. In this, the question of a possible catalyst to being so great a man comes about: what is the driving force that these men have, what is it that helped them realise on that one God given morning and infinitely know that whatever path they are on was guaranteed to be the one that would change everything about their future and ours and the very fabric that time is woven.

I look at some of these men and I, with no doubt, know that the greatness they have or that they aspired, was from the era in which they existed, the people in which they spent their time with, exceptional in their view,  and the adversities which occurred within their existence pre and post their greatness evolved.  I reckon, from this, that change or progress itself is inspired by the suppression of being stagnant, a frustration of seeing and feeling the thing day in and day out.  I reflect to the awe that was and is conceived from the honour that these men have had in serving,  the cunningness or wit in which they looked at challenges that made them see all of them as minor hurdles to what victory lies ahead, the people that stood in the way of things happening for them must have been considered as stepping stones. To those that have fallen, if their presence is resounds now in our age in time, they must have had an overwhelming persistence to living free, a persevering grit that shouted “FORWARD EVER AND BACKWARDS NEVER.”  I cannot help thinking sometimes that all of these people will be forgotten in the generations to follow, my hope is now in the history books written that will paint the pictures of men that had a spirit that stood just in its cause.

In all the thinking that I do, I also think that the men that had to assume the roles of mothers when the family rock was claimed back into the bosom of the earth, should also be called Legends.  I strongly believe that when genetics set apart men and woman, another force was at work to set apart the order of  great men, including them that are not published about in the books of history.  I look in the mirror every morning  and the thought  of greatness surges my mind in every obtainable and imaginable way to my life.  I look in the mirror and I know that one good day, when great men are spoken about, my name will come up.

My Dream Last Night

A high tide of emotion surfaced on the shores of my imagination and when I rose in sleep, there you were ready to embrace me. The lush scent emanating from your presence that now was resting on my nostrils gave rise to all my senses as you drew closer and closer to me.  In a moment, it became hard for my being to find my spirit slightly higher than the order of life, it felt like I lived in the actual Spirit and I floated in every breath elevating me at that moment. It was all together and then you touched me and I felt like a demigod.  When our lips touched, it was an injection beyond what ecstasy could define, a new emotion called YOU was born and what it did was inspire the wonder in my limbs, to move, thus the journey began with my hands uncovering your body to try and find the secrete of enamor that lies inside. The excavation of the clothing seemed to long a process because I had already felt the supple texture of your skin. Smooth and rich with contours seeding the urge for adventure, well moulded, your hips and thighs resting well below the hour glass shape of your waist line where your full figure lies, is the perfect division between pleasure and crossing over and a reality unknown.  All over my hands were found with no reason to be retained, they remain on you paralysed of being tamed by my mind. I fell deeper and deeper into sleep when I got to that moment that would surely make me lie in my bed just a little bit longer and grow fonder of liberation. It got to the point of me being inside of you and you a part of me, see, you are gentle and poised in your actions, your tone so calming with your facial expressions letting me know that I am doing everything right.  At the times that I could manage to open my eyes, I would find you looking, wishing simultaneously with me that this moment would be prolonged. I shut them tight at a moment to regain the consciousness of my own reali-dream, I could not help my curiosity as I opened them again because I could not believe that I felt so good.  Again and again as the shutting and opening of my soul’s windows became reflex to the moment, there stood fantasy with its appeal to be a part of this wonder, I faced it baffled in awe of this creation that I am a monument to, true really became the apparent. I opened my eyes and this time round I found myself staring at my ceiling, alone and in love.

Faces

Statistics are brought out or made annually by cities, countries and for continents, of which make the world as we know it.  Stats about crime, stats about food, stats about the economy at large, but what fascinates me are the stats about humans, the faces that exist.

There is a guaranteed set of faces that we see every morning, though these faces have different expressions  by the days swing of mood, they still stand set in the day to day encounter we have with them.  We see the first set in our families or in the people that you commute or work with.  These people are the people that your mind does not get “over” in seeing them every day.  There are, however, faces that you don’t remember having an encounter with but with a second or third look your mind registers that you have seen it before.  “Oh yes, now I remember.  I saw you in a dream I had a week ago, you were dressed in a pin striped suit with a greyish blouse.”  The mind recollects the images, some of which have sounds bound in that moment they were created, it even goes as far as rekindling the images with the scent that was at that very moment and it all started by seeing a face. 

There are faces we see that just throw our hearts in to a mellow mood, a somber state and we often don’t know why.  An example I can give is about the other morning I was walking in town, passing through to be ferried to my destination.  I saw a family trading in the street.  The man was selling batteries of all kinds, pens of shapes and sizes and sweets to colour the stand.  The woman sold mealies and even took the time to prepare some right there, either made by boiling water or put on a sieve allowing it to slowly roast as though it were a spit braai that is manually rotated. The two older faces for the brief moment I had in observation and awe ricochet the countenances of wonder while staring at the miracle they have in their life a baby, the look was paralleled by the worry and question of “how did we get here.”  This thought, I know, has had its hour of darkness in my heart sounding so sonorous looking at the current endeavor that makes hope elude my spirit and this is from seeing my own face.

And that is the one thing about faces we sometimes do not realise, though it is the first time we see that particular face, it may be the last that the sun shines in its eyes to reflect its worth, it may be the last the world embraces it's feature. I send a please to my sub conscience to remember these faces before there comes a time that old age will forcibly remove them even from my imagination. Happy faces, sad faces, faces consumed in thought trying to validate the happenings of the day, all unique in their own right. Faces make my day.