I Rise...

On Christmas day,

I stared inside a coffin,

My own.

Loved ones surrounded me,

Tears in their eyes,

Grieving.

Watching them lower the coffin,

It was a bitter-sweet moment,

Actually.

Seeing myself, outside myself.

Seeing every dream, every ideal,

Every memory.

Being lowered into a 6-foot grave.

It was over, all over.

The beautiful memories,

Of that beautiful girl,

That beautiful young woman.

They were buried on Christmas day.

As the first pile of sand was

Thrown into the grave,

I started to panic,

I felt myself suffocate.

Is it really over, it can’t just be over.

Somebody rescue me, I’m not over!

I screamed at the top of my lungs,

Begged for them to please Stop!

But I was already covered with sand,

Too deep for them to hear me.

Their cries drowned mine out,

As I screamed, and screamed & screamed.

In that frantic state, I caught a glimpse

Of a beautiful black eagle approaching

In the distance.

It flew in from the blue skies

And landed beside me.

‘Come fly with me’ it said,

‘Let’s explore the heavens together.’

An overwhelming feeling of peace

Washed over me.

I felt myself leave the grave,

Spread my wings and

Feel the wind on my back.

As we flew further into the sunset,

I looked back and in the distance saw

My loved ones,

Still crying, still grieving.

I wanted to tell them,

Don’t cry for that body laying

In that coffin,

Her time has passed,

She’s gone.

But even as she died,

I continue to live.

My pain, my suffering is

What we’re burying today.

But my spirit lives on,

and As I soar towards a new day…

New horizons, new memories await.

I will never again be as I was,

I will never again be who I was.

But as you turn your back

On this fresh grave and

The beautiful flowers on it.

Let go of the painful memory of

What brought me here.

And hold on to the beautiful spirit

Of the woman I was

When we were together.

Because although the killer

Thought it was a life that he was taking,

A life that he was ruining,

Only God gives life &

Only God can take life.

I’ve been given a second chance at life,

And like this black eagle on my back

I will rise.

I have always risen,

And will continue to rise.

Lion's Den

I walked into the lion’s den,
Hoping maybe he wasn’t hungry.
He licked his lips as I entered,
& slowly came towards me.

I’m neither naïve nor ignorant
So I already knew what's coming,
I saw his sharp yellow eyes glisten,
As he fixed his gaze towards me.

He circled me a couple of times,
Relishing the moment.
His sharp gaze burnt into my skin,
He couldn’t believe his luck.

The rest of it seemed to happen in slow motion,

As I recall, as he lunged on me,
he first went for my eyes.
Blinding me from the nightmare
That was surely about to come.

In my semi-blind state,
I felt more than I saw,
& with each bite that he took,
I knew I’d known it would end this way…

In the distance I could hear a friend shout;
‘Mbali! What are you doing?
Get the hell out of there!
He’s going to kill you!’

But what she didn’t realize,
Is that I’d made the choice to come here,
And I was going to let him have his way.
I was in the lion’s den after all,
So of course this had to happen.

He pinned my hair down with his paws,
& surprisingly I didn’t fight him.
I felt his nails slicing through my skull,
But I didn’t utter a word.

Then I felt him pause for a second,
‘What’s wrong with you’? He asked,
‘Shout, cry, scream. This is meant to hurt.’

It took all of my power to be still,
And let him have his way.

He saved my heart for last,
Hoping to devour it
As it lay bleeding & beating in his paw.


As his sharp teeth lunged
at my beating heart,
I heard a great big Howl,
And then a sharp tooth crack.

It was only then he realized,
My heart was made of stone.

I’d known that when I came here,
So I knew that I’d be fine.
He limped away into a corner,
Grabbing his bleeding jaw as he went.

I strolled out of that lion’s den,
Knowing I’d won the fight.

Like Vodka, Like Fresh Water

be it psychological, financial, substance or emotional,

i often compare abuse to heavy alcohol consumption

once you've consumed too much of it,

it's hard to tell the difference

between fresh water and vodka

if you were given fresh water,

you'd probably think its a less potent vodka

his behaviour is a typical example

of "he's too good to be true"

when all have mistreated you,

why is he being different?

if he's different and shows a sign of respect,

does that mean he's too good to be true?

it could be that, like a real scout, he can can see true potential

it could be that he thinks you deserve better,

it could be that he's "God-sent"

to make your life a bit smoother,

or he just believes in treating people fairer,

it could be that he's a "God-send"

to make you realise life is not a ferry

but just like heavy alcohol consumer, he's fresh water

she seems to think he's a less potent vodka

why is he willing to sail rough seas just to be with you?

why is he walking into a lion's den to rescue you,

when he could walk-on-by and live his life he did?

why is he treating you special, if only "okay" can do?

why is he walking into rebel's territory just to free your soul?

but again just like heavy alcohol consumer, he's fresh water

she seems to think he's less potent vodka

Those Hands

In the spring of my 21st year,
I met a boy, or rather, a man.
As beautiful as he was arrogant,
As addictive as he was charming.

Those eyes, that smile, those hands.
I must admit that I fell in love with those hands.

With his hands he held me,
As we watched the beautiful sunrise,
After the long nightmare

With his hands he held me,
Through long walks by the sea,
As we played, laughed and

washed the past away

On endless nights of loving,
& love making, he held me.
Caressing my body,
Celebrating my being.
Always holding me.

I’d been held before,
& I’ve been held since.

But when he held me,
He held my body,
Held my heart.

He held the most intimate
Parts of me,
Gently caressed away my pain,
Calmed my fears.
He reminded me
Of what I’d long forgotten.

That I am something special.

Yes, I’d been held before,
And I’ve been held since,

But when He held me...

The Perfect Man...

I met the perfect man once,
I didn’t recognise his face,
But for as long as I shall live,
His memory I can never erase.

I spoke to a perfect man once,
He didn’t blow me away,
But the perfect love he gave,
I still reminisce about today.

I loved the perfect man once,
I had gold yet I didn’t know,
And I took it all for granted,
That I was all he’d ever want & more,

I left a perfect man once,
Chasing dreams & the superficial,
But I cannot still deny that,
His love was something special.

My Hearts Longing...

To live content with small means.
To seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion.

To be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich.

To study hard, think quietly,
talk gently, act frankly.
To listen to stars and birds,
to babes and sages, with open heart.

To bear all cheerfully,
do all bravely, await occasions,

hurry never,

fear never, lie never

In a word, to let the spiritual,
unbidden and unconscious,

grow up through the common within me,

This is to be my symphony.

~William Henry Channing~

A conversation with an ex...

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I never ever write about s*x, it's just not my thing. But this just had to be said...



When I asked you the one question,
That’s possessed my mind since we ended,
‘What broke us?’

I was nestled in a cloud of passion,
Drained yet content, from hours together.
‘Promiscuity’, you said.

Until those words left your lips, I lay
Curled up in your arms, exhausted, blissful.
‘Promiscuity?!’

Our bodies still entwined together,
My head nestled comfortably on your chest.
I listened to your heartbeat.

‘Promiscuity, you say.’
I breathed in your delightful scent,
Light-headed from your delicious perfume.

‘I don’t wanna talk about it’ you said,
Then proceeded to kiss my neck,
Running your fingers down my back,
And marvelling at how much that excites me.

‘Um, actually. I wanna talk about it’
I murmured, trying to resist the heat
As your lips ignited a fire deep within me.

‘Please don’t start. We’ve had a perfect night.’
You said, circling my breast with your hands,
Your fingers tickling my belly, as they headed south.

I could feel tears threaten to betray me,
As I replayed the word in my head.
‘Promiscuity?’

The thought was drowned by your lips,
Pressing hard on mine, willing me to forget.
‘Guess what I’d like to do to you?’

I felt my brain separate from my body,
As I watched like a spectator, my body betraying me.
Passionately devouring you, burning with excitement.

Had I been a stronger individual, I would have
Shoved you off me, slapped you and kicked you out.
Promiscuity? Promi-bloody-scuity?

How dare you reduce what you did to me to that?
How dare you forget the way you hurt me?
How dare you?

I could faintly hear my brain condemning me,
‘How dare he? How dare You?’

I continued watching the scene, still a spectator.
When it comes to you, I’ve often felt like an addict,
Your body, my favourite drug.

Watching you climb onto me, breathing heavily
I welcomed you as I always have, delighted.
Feasting on my favourite drug.

‘I’ve really missed you’ you said,
Nibbling on my ear, delighted by my screams.
‘I’ve missed you too...’ I whispered.

We continued this magical dance,
You on top, then me, then you again.
‘I can never get enough of you’

Oh, how I loved to hear you say that,
Loved being the centre of your happiness.
As you explored the centre of mine.

Later, as you lay resting beside me,
I sat staring into the darkness.
Silently revisiting our earlier conversation.

‘What’s on your mind’ you asked.
‘Oh, nothing much. I just realised
That the word ‘promiscuity’
Rhymes perfectly with ‘stupidity’

What do you want?

This poem was written by one of my favourite young poets, Richard 'Quaz' Roodt. Speaks to my heart...

I want to be with you.
I want to forgive you.
I want to forget the dark times,
Those lies you told.

I want to be with you.

I want us to restack the cards.
I want us to build sand castles
I want us to run through the rain
Bare foot and happy.

I want to be with you.

I want you, to want to be with me.
I want you to kiss me first.
I want you to tell me of the different
Shades of your love for me.

I want you to think of me,
I want you to want me to think of you
I want you to know that I do think of you often.
I want to be with you

But most of all,
I want you to apologise first.

A lil girl (By Mashilo Masemola)

once upon a time,

there was a lil girl called uhm,

well let's just call her a lil girl

lil girl was a sweet girl when she went to sleep

lil girl used to have sweet dreams

one night she went to sleep,

and didn't have sweet deams like she always did

this time it was a sweeet dream,

that turned to be a real nightmare,

a nightmare turned to be a "daymare" after a nightmare

from sweet dreams to nightmares,

it all changed when she met an evil soul in her sleep,

and she felt for the evil soul

an evil soul that will eventually corrupt her lil sweet soul

the evil soul corrupts so much,

she can't see antonym between fowl,

guinea fowl and an owl

she carries the nightmare everywhere she goes,

she's in a nightmare night in,

day out and her soul is bare

a bare soul, drowning in it's sweat and nothing is sweet

for years & years she's drowning and chocking

the green line is about to go flat, bleep, bleeeeeeep, bleeeeeep, bleep

could it be she'll never wake up from a deep sleep?

nuh!! because one day she woke up from the nightmare,

next to a a guy with good spirit,

and he whispers "sshhhh, it was just a nightmare, i'm here for you babe"

The Other Woman...

Once upon a time,
I was the other woman.
I thought that I was his,
& he was really mine.

He would look into my eyes,‘
I can’t imagine life without you’.
And in that moment I believed it,

He would hold me in his arms,
‘You complete me,
I never wanna lose you’.
And I knew I felt it too.

I lived a lie,
Thinking I was living the dream.
He was mine for random moments,
Whilst I was his completely.

Waking up from that dream,
I felt used, cheated & betrayed.
I couldn’t believe that ‘I’
Had been the other woman.

Every kiss we’d shared had been a lie,
Every ‘I love you’ he said, had been a lie.
Our every single memory,
had only been a lie.

Once upon a time,
I was the other woman.

But as I often say:
The world has two types of people.
The judgers and the judged.

I no longer sit with the judgers,
Coz now I am the judged.

They say the road to hell,
Is paved with good intentions.
It’s not okay to have meant well,
When lives were torn apart,

It’s not pity that I’m looking for,
Or even some absolution,
This is just a little reminder,
There’s two sides to every story,

And in this case, my begins with…

Once upon a time,
I was the other woman.

My Voice...

When the others left,

They took my silence,

They cleared the air.

When they left,

They let me be,

Let me see me.

See beyond their,

Words, dreams & fears.

They let me see me

I found my voice,

When I silenced theirs.

Their ending gave birth,

To my beginning.

Let it have it's say,

Let it have it's way

Alone is a place,

I had never known

But my voice lay there

In the land of alone.

Waiting for their silence,

So it could have it's say.

Waiting for the day,

It could have it's way.

When I say I'm a Christian... (Carol Wimmer)

When I say..."I am a Christian"
I'm not shouting "I'm clean livin'.
"I'm whispering "I was lost,
Now I'm found and forgiven.

"When I say... "I am a Christian"
I don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble
and need Christ to be my guide.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak
And need His strength to carry on.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed
And need God to clean my mess.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not claiming to be perfect,
My flaws are far too visible
But, God believes I am worth it.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I still feel the sting of pain.
I have my share of heartaches
So I call upon His name.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not holier than thou,
I'm just a simple sinner
Who received God's good grace, somehow!

I dream about the day...

I dream about the day,
When I’ll no longer be.
I dream about the day,
When you’ll wake up to see.

See I was all you’d ever wanted,
The best you’d ever have.
See how showering all my love on you,
Meant I had none left for myself.

I dream of myself dying,
You hearing the terrible news.
I dream about you asking yourself,
Who’s left for me to use?

I see you walking aimlessly,
Wondering what a fool you’d been.
I see you crying for my return,
Praying to wipe the slate clean.

As I dream about that day,
When I’ll lay cold, six feet under,
I dream that for your sake & mine,
You’ll find another woman.

I dream about the day,
When your ego won’t dictate,
How you act, what you do.
But by then, it will be too late.

But then, I dream about you waking up,
And me being gone was just a dream.
When you wake I’ll be beside you,
And you’ll resist the urge to scream.

Scream with joy, with relief,
Knowing you’ve a second chance,
A second chance to love me right,
A second chance for a brand new start.

I dream of you making a vow that day,
To love and cherish me,
To never forget the special gift,
That is me and only me.

But this is just a dream for now,
For I know you all too well,
And although I hope and pray for it,
Honestly, only time will tell...

But for your sake and mine my love,
Don’t think I’m here to stay,
Because although I love you now...
Tomorrow is another day.

Dedicated to Mbali (by the Late Tshepo Gule)

There's something special...


There's something special
About the way you smile,
That lingers in my mind,
So that,
Whenever we're apart,
I always look forward,
To being with you again...

There's something special,
About the way you care for me,
And makes me feel strong enough,
To handle almost any day.

There's something special,
About the way you love me
That makes every day I'm with you,
One more reason,
To want to be with you forever...

How Aids Has Affected Me...

I can't believe I found this, after 7 years! This is an essay that I wrote for a Natal Witness essay competition in 2001. I won the competition and got it published in the paper...




"It was bright and sunny that day, the perfect day for a wedding. She was the first one of us to get married. We were proud. My brothers scraped every last cent from their wallets. My father wanted everything to be perfect. We were all together for the first time in years, we were a real family, united and happy. She radiated beauty and womanliness; my beloved sister had found true happiness.
I liked my brother-in-law, he looked like a good man and he treated her well. We all thought they would live happily ever after. After all, every cloud has a silver lining, right? My sisters life has had it's fair share of dark clouds, from the time when she was born and my father denied she was his, to when her mother had died in the floods of '95. She was a strong woman though, a real survivor. I loved her and I wanted this day to be extra special. It was. She rode out of the church with her new husband on her arm. We cheered, clapped and ululated. It was a happy ending, so we thought.
Two months later, on a cool windy Thursday, my mother received a call. My sister's husband was in hospital. Nothing major, just a recurring headache. I had no reason to worry I was reassured. But it was at that moment that I knew something was wrong. My family is always trying to protect me from things. They think just because I am the youngest I won't understand.
To a certain extent I don't understand, I don't want to understand. I should not have to understand. The worst thing was finding out. Like everyone who's never been faced with this situation, I made fun of it. I was just commenting on how everywhere you turn, there is a warning about HIV/AIDS. I might have said something like, "who cares how many people die of Aids everyday, they should know better." I cringe when I think of how insensitive and just blatantly cruel I was being. My mother asked me this: Would I still feel the same way if someone I was close to got infected? I said I would. Then she said "your sister's got it".
I was stunned. I thought about it, tried to make sense of her words, but I couldn't let myself believe it. I felt the ground beneath my feet crumble. I wanted, I needed to cry, but I couldn't. Instead I got angry. At her for letting this happen, at myself for loving her too much and even at God for taking my sister too soon. She would miss out on so much, and why, for what? For love? I didn't believe in love anymore. Everyone seems to believe that love is the answer - love conquers all. Well, let's see it conquer this. Nothing has managed to conquer Aids, not love, not medicine, not anything. It is love's fault that I'm losing my sister. She means the world to me. I love her so much it hurts. I wish I could take her place. She has so much more to live for; her presence is much more valued.
This is how I felt for a long time. But then one day, it hit me; she's not gone yet. I realized I would have to let God's will be done if I were to keep my sanity. I had to be there for my sister, after all she was suffering more than me. I had to stand by her to the bitter end.
Looking back on my sister's wedding day I can understand why she was glowing and radiant. Somehow she must have known that those smiles, cheers and ululation meant she was loved. A true uncircumstantial love that would give her the strength and reason to fight, even when things looked and seemed dark and hopeless. I realize that my sister's being infected with the HI virus has taught me. It has taught me to love, in word and in deed.
Me and my sister's relationship has survived the greatest test and I am proud to say that even in death, God is with us."

My Ideal Woman...

Beautiful eyes, focused
Crazy, yet disciplined
My soul sister,
African woman, independent woman

She's my ideal woman
when i met you,
my boys said i was getting soft,
i said - fuck
For my ideal woman,
i will cry,
i'll go to war and die,
for my ideal woman

I'll fight against evil
for my ideal woman
Because.....
Babe you worth it
When i did the right i
normally would done wrong,
I knew you were the one,
my ideal woman
when i could've treated you bad
but i didn't
knew you were the one,
my ideal woman

when you made me
appreciate you for you,
without even trying
i knew you were the ideal woman

when we sang along to Marley's
"is this love, is this love that i'm feeling"
i knew i had developed feelings f
or my ideal woman

But then you called and said
"babe we need to talk"
i thought, are we moving things up a notch?
the answer to that was nope!!!
we stop

now i'm ragging against self,
for my ideal woman
the one i know is the one,
is no longer there,
and i got no one
coz i don't want no one
other than you, my ideal woman

Could it be i fell for a wrong woman?
how could something
that feels this right be wrong?

where did we go wrong?
is it something i did,
something you did?
something i did i shouldn't have done?
what is it?

now i'm ragging against all
what's wrong with me,
what's wrong with you, woman?
there's nothing wrong with her,
after all....

she is my ideal woman
then she told me.....
what's really going on,
what really went down,
why we can't be down like that

she made me understand
that people go through phase in life,
right now i'm going through
a phase where i'm fighting to be
with my ideal woman"

even though right now we can't be
"we" like we where,
Babe, you are still my ideal woman

Fifteen and a Half (Eric Miyeni)

Never hurt somebody when you can be kind,
Never be kind to somebody when you should hurt
Be generous with the correct dose of the right
punishment or reward


Don't, don't don't only act to please, it does not suit you.
Never smile when looking at people and things you
despise
Never laugh when in your book the joke told is not
funny
Never jump up acting all excited when all you feel is
boredom

Never, never, never be false.
It's not necessary


When the man dying is the object of your hatred, don't
cry
Just like you mustn't laugh when you are dying to cry
Don't cry when your whole body is aching for you to
laugh

Don't, don't, don't be someone other than yourself, it isunbecoming


Never say sixteen when you should say fifteen and a half
Never lie when you should tell the truth
But never be truthful when you should wait for the right
moment for truth


Never, never lie or ill-time the truth, doing this
has a funny way of biting back
Never lick ass when you should be fighting hard
Never ever fight when you should be licking that ass


Be yourself always and pray
That 'yourself' is the best of you
that you can give to the world
Never change who you are to suit others.


But never, never, never stick to what's horrible about who you are.

The Black Woman is Dead (Source Unknown)

On August 15, 1999, at 11:55 p.m., while struggling with the reality of being a human instead of a myth, the strong black woman passed away.

Medical sources say she died of natural causes, but those who knew her know she died from being silent when she should have been screaming, milling when she should have been raging, from being sick and not wanting anyone to know because her pain might inconvenience them.

She died from an overdose of other people clinging to her when she didn't even have energy for herself. She died from loving men who didn't love themselves and could only offer her a crippled reflection. She died from raising children alone and for not being able to do a complete job.

She died from the lies her grandmother told her mother and her mother told her about life, men & racism. She died from being sexually abused as a child and having to take that truth everywhere she went every day of her life, exchanging the humiliation for guilt and back again.

She died from being battered by someone who claimed to love her and she allowed the battering to go on to show she loved him too. She died from asphyxiation, coughing up blood from secrets she kept trying to burn away instead of allowing herself the kind of nervous breakdown she was entitled to, but only white girls could afford.

She died from being responsible, because she was the last rung on the ladder and there was no one under her she could dump on. The strong black woman is dead.

She died from the multiple births of children she never really wanted but was forced to have by the strangling morality of those around her. She died from being a mother at 15 and a grandmother at 30 and an ancestor at 45.
She died from being dragged down and sat upon by UN-evolved women posing as sisters. She died from pretending the life she was living was a Kodak moment instead of a 20th century, post-slavery nightmare!

She died from tolerating Mr. Pitiful, just to have a man and the house. She died from lack of orgasms because she never learned what made her body happy and no one took the time to teach her and sometimes, when she found arms that were tender, she died because they belonged to the same gender.

She died from sacrificing herself for everybody and everything when what she really wanted to do was be a singer, a dancer, or some magnificent other.
She died from lies of omission because she didn't want to bring the black man down. She died from race memories of being snatched and raped and snatched and sold and snatched and bred and snatched and whipped and snatched and worked to death.

She died from tributes from her counterparts who should have been matching her efforts instead of showering her with dead words and empty songs. She died from myths that would not allow her to show weakness without being chastised by the lazy and hazy.

She died from hiding her real feelings until they became hard and bitter enough to invade her womb and breasts like angry tumors. She died from always lifting something from heavy boxes to refrigerators. The strong black woman is dead.

She died from the punishments received from being honest about life, racism & men. She died from being called a bitch for being verbal, a dyke for being assertive and a whore for picking her own lovers. She died from never being enough of what men wanted, or being too much for the men she wanted.
She died from being too black and died again for not being black enough. She died from castration every time somebody thought of her as only a woman, or treated her like less than a man.

She died from being misinformed about her mind, her body and the extent of her royal capabilities. She died from knees pressed too close together because respect was never part of the foreplay that was being shoved at her.

She died from loneliness in birthing rooms and aloneness in abortion centers. She died of shock in courtrooms where she sat, alone, watching her children being legally lynched.

She died in bathrooms with her veins busting open with self-hatred and neglect. She died in her mind, fighting life racism, & men, while her body was carted away and stashed in a human warehouse for the spiritually mutilated. And sometimes when she refused to die, when she just refused to give in she was killed by the lethal images of blonde hair, blue eyes and flat butts, rejected by the O.J.'s, the Quincy's, & the Poitiers.

Sometimes, she was stomped to death by racism and sexism, executed by hi-tech ignorance while she carried the family in her belly, the community on her head, and the race on her back!

The strong silent, talking black woman is dead!
Or is she still alive and kicking? I know I am still here.

The Invitation (Oriah)

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for and if you dare

to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool

for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...

I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow

if you have been opened by life’s betrayalsor

have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own

without moving to hide itor fade itor fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own

if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you

to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us

to be carefulto be realisticto remember the limitations

of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayaland not betray your own soul.

If you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty

even when it is not pretty every day.

And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure

yours and mineand still stand at the edge of the lake

and shout to the silver of the full moon,

“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest meto know where you live

or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night

of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone

and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know

or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the centre

of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom

you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside

when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself

and if you truly like the company you keep

in the empty moments.

It takes a real man...

It takes a real man
To understand the heart
Of a real woman

It takes a real man
To fulfil the needs
Of a real woman

It takes a real man,
To delight the mind
Of a real woman.

It takes a real man
To pursue a real woman.

Because only a real man,
Knows that I am
As strong as I am weak
& altho most times
I don't need anyone

I get scared sometimes,
I need a compliment sometimes,
I need to be held sometimes
I need a friend sometimes.

A real man can
Let down his guard
For a real woman,
Risk his pride
For a real woman,
He can surrender his heart,
For a real woman,

Because unlike other men,
The real man sees
The true value...
Of a Real woman...

The In-Between Moments

The In-Between Moments

No words were spoken,
No promises were made,
In the in-between moments,

We let the moment linger,
From second-to-second-to-second.

I felt my spirit leave my body,
I felt your heartbeat over my own,
In the in-between moments.

I’ve made many mistakes in my life-time,
But I knew this wasn’t one of them.

I felt little goose-bumps,
As I reminisced on your touch,
Your scent, your breath.
In the in-between moments

Our secret world, where we lived

In the in-between moments

My God is a black woman...

When I hear of the majesty, the strength and the grace of God,
I can’t help but believe that he’s a black woman.
When you hear of his generosity, his sacrifice and great love,
I’m convinced he’s a black woman.
A God who could love those who turn their backs on him,
A God who could forgive those who nailed him to a cross
& beat and spat at him.
Isn’t that the love that defines a black woman.
Beaten, robbed, raped and abused. The black woman
Is still overflowing with so much love.
See a mother visiting her murderer son in a prison cell,
See a wife, welcoming home an abusive husband,
See a daughter forgiving an uncle who violated her.
See the love of a black woman.
My mom who worked her fingers bare, so we could eat,
I see God in her beautiful, powerful spirit
Yes, My God is a black woman…

Take me on a journey...

Take me on a journey,
Take me on a journey of souls.
Where words need not be spoken,
Where emotions seem insignificant,
Where lies are as foreign as Kalahari snow.

Take me through the pain,
Let me be there where it all took place,
Let me feel it and live it,
So I can be freed from it.

Take me through the beauty and the joy,
Let me embrace it, inhale it and
Revel in it,
Let my spirit dance in the memories,
Capture the laughter and
slide joyously across the rainbow
of happy days gone by,

Take me back before my time,
Take me through their truth and their lives,
Reveal to me the mysteries they hold,
Spread my lifetime to the time to come,
They will know me, they will know
Themselves

Take me on a journey of souls,
From souls of my ancestors to
my great great grand children,
But more importantly, take me
On my own path, a path that pierces like a knife
Deep into my own being,
Past the falseness, past the illusion, where
Only what is authentic remains,

I can never fully experience wholeness,
Until you take me on this journey

Sneak Preview 3: Writing about ....

Rag Afterparty

We spent the rest of the evening moving through the crowds, having a few drinks at the various spots and then we moved to the stairway above Spur.

‘I hope you don’t mind, I just need to get away from the crowd’

He said as he led me up the staircase, flicking the cigarrete he’d been smoking towards the ground where crowds of students stood drinking and dancing..

‘I don’t mind, I also need a bit of space to breathe’

Oh, and I must admit that had I been sober the next words would have never left my mouth:

‘And spend a bit of time alone with you…’

I regretted the words just after I uttered them, now he’d definitely think I wanted to sleep with him!

I walked in front of him as we made our way up the steps. He walked very close behind me, with his hands on my waist. He had his lips inches from my ear, I could feel his breath on my cheek.

‘I think I should warn you Mbali, I’ve decided that no matter what happens tonight, I’m definitely going to be taking advantage of you’ He turned me around to face him as we reached the last step.

‘Be careful,’ I responded softly,

‘I was just thinking the same thing…’, I looked up at him, inhaling his divine perfume, mixed with the smell of Dunhill Lights. He looked down at me with the most delicate, gentle gaze.

‘I’m going to kiss you now, is that okay?’

He asked moving closer towards me.

All I could do was nod, as once again I heard the angels singing in the background and felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. He held my waist with one hand, and lifted my face towards him with his finger. His confidence, as he took me in his arms, sent my blood pressure soaring. I was living the dream of thousands of women, here in my arms was the perfect man, and I, little ordinary me, was the one girl he wanted!

I drowned in his kiss, at first it was gentle and a bit timid, then it became more aggressive and I heard a groan escape from the back of his throat. He was suddenly like a man possessed. He tugged at my hair, sending divine sparks throughout my body. His lips were rough and wild as they explored mine. I responded to his energy and dug my nails onto his back as I pulled him closer to me.
He started nibbling on my ear, whispering:

'You're irresistable Mbali. I never want this to end'

25 Random Things About Me

1. I'm left handed and am one of 7 kids at home (trust me to sneak in a 26th fact, yeah, thought no one would notice)
2. I've been in Gauteng for 6 years but still don't feel comfortable enough speaking anything but Zulu & English (eish, guess that thing abt Zulus is true)
3. One of my secret hobbies is sitting alone at a Sushi restaurant, eating sushi with chop-sticks and drinking a Castle Lite (wondering what people think of this weird phenomenon... black chick, in a japanese restaurant, drinking beer, now that's just crazy!)
4. I honestly, truly, really really don't believe there's such a thing as a 'bad person', even Mugabe has his endearing qualities (Like that Hitler moustache he's got going)
5. I think Chris Rock is the philosopher of our time, that man is deep shame…
6. I once drove to another province by myself, booked into a hotel and went to a party… by my self.
7. A big part of me still doesn’t believe in sex before marriage, stru!
8. I never missed a single day of school after Standard 3. Until matric I had full attendance (guess I really was a geek)
9. I think baths are kinda disgusting, who wants to sit in dirty water and claim to come out clean…
10. When I was 19, I almost got married (we went to the magistrates court with our ID’s, had the witnesses on stand by… bt the magistrate kinda told us to F* off, thank goodness!)
11. A real fear of mine is going into a club with fluorescent lights (the kind that makes white clothes shimmer), wearing a white item and it not shimmering. So, just in case, I replace white t-shirts often… and swear by Jik.
12. I didn’t know until I was in matric that I had light brown eyes (when a certain someone wrote me a poem called ‘brown eyes’)
13. 90% of the time, I play Gospel in my car, and the other 10% it’s hip-hop / house.
14. I love the smell of a man who’s just had a cigarette.
15. I don’t believe in any form of violence, no hitting kids, no slapping cheating girlfriends/boyfriends, none of it.
16. 2 ply tissues, spring water, flavoured condoms and Listerine are not luxuries, there’s no other way to go.
17. I think wearing more than 3 colours at a time should be a crime. My no.1 rule: accessorise, accessorise, accessorise. (Yes, there’s the odd exception though, like traditional wear, where it’s ‘the brighter the better, but looking like a pack of Niknacks doesn’t work)
18. I think the saddest type of person is an ageing black woman with all the money in the world and no family / man to share it with (…and this comes from a real feminist who thinks men are just there to carry stuff)
19. When I think of going broke, the saddest part is how I imagine down-grading from Dunhill Menthol to Snuff.
20. I would love to produce the South African version of ‘Cheaters’, imagine a Zulu man going: ‘Yes, she’s my girlfriend… and? Hamb’ ekhaya uyek’ uk’tetemuka nabelung’ abapheth’ ama camera. My food better be ready when I get there!’
21. I think make-up doesn’t fool anyone.
22. I think proof that Christianity is the real thing is that it’s the only religion with a real opposition, the other ones are probably on the wrong track anyways… so no one bothers them.
23. I wonder what the guy who came up with Sponge-Bob Square-pants was smoking. ‘So we take a sponge, right. Put it at the bottom of the sea, and dress it in pants…’, but it’s a sponge so it has to wear square pants… I know! Sponge-Bob Square-pants…! Why Bob, why not Sponge-George / Sponge-Phillip?
24. I sometimes sit and look at my huge book collection with the same pride and admiration one would have when looking at their kids. It’s one of my most prized possessions.
25. I think the most unforgivable human characteristic is hypocricy.

When I say 'I love you'

When I say I love you…
It’s not so much the looks,
Or even what you have.
Its you.


When I say I love you,
I love the man you were
the day you were born,
& I love the man you’ll be
when you take your last breath.


When I say I love you,
I love that beautiful mind
that always challenges mine,
I love that boyish charm that
melts every heart


When I say I love you,
I love the man you wish to be for me,
My hero, my best friend,
my knight in shining armour.

I love the woman you inspire me to be.

When I say I love you,
I love who you are as much as
Who you’ll one day be.
The father in you, the husband in you.
The best friend in you.

When I say I love you,
I love the flaws in you,
the imperfections in you,
I love all of you.


When I say I love you,
I feel it so gently, yet so strongly
at the same time.
I know that I know it,
because I know me…

When I say I love you,
I see all of the reasons I
should perhaps walk away,
But then my heart says I love you,
And all I want is to stay.


When I say I love you,
I sometimes wish it weren’t true,
But the thought of not loving you,
Leaves me cold & somewhat blue.


When I say I love you,
I wish I could show you how much,
But all I can say is 'I love you',
& hope you know that it's true...

The Black Diamond Deception

In recent years we've been exposed to the term 'black diamonds'. Mainly believed to be the 'BEE's & coconuts who are living the South African dream and making things happen for themselves. Although the term itself actually refers to the emerging middle class (LSM 4-6), it's quite interesting to see how some of us have come to embrace it as a compliment to be referred to as 'Black Diamonds'. But having sat through a number of Black Diamond presentations I'm shocked and appalled by what I see. Basically all they are is a group of people who have more money at their disposal and have zero financial management skills. So what corporates do is exploit their ignorance by sucking them dry and leaving them in debt. From the Truworths card that you're given when you turn 18, to the many calls from Edgars, Vodacom, SAA all offering credit cards. What is sad is how we see the 'credit' as a gift and start seeing all we can do and have with the new-found riches.After reading Capitalist Nigger I've become more aware of just how much black people are preoccupied with looking rich instead of accumulating wealth. We drive the Bentley's & Hummers but at the end of the day, we have no wealth as a people. The business sector knows this and are making billions by marketing products that are 'bling' and like lambs to the slaughter we fall hook line & sinker.The weirdest thing for me is seeing the so called 'BEE' types. All their homes are alike from the leather couches to the plasma screen to the playstation/DSTV. It's as if there's a small voice there that says, you're not really rich or succesful until you're driving that BMW and renting a townhouse in Sandton.I had an interesting conversation a while ago with a couple of people. About this guy who's young, lives at the Michaelangelo and drives one of these 'panty-dropper' type cars. Hearing them speak of him I realised that to some people that's the ultimate success. But then I made this statement: 'besides getting him chicks, I think his life is really boring'. I don't think my idea hit home because the response was, at the end of the day we are all after the fancy car and the hot penthouse, if we weren't we wouldn't be here...But my point is that if we see something to be proud of in having a reputation for spending what we don't have and being evaluated on the size of your TV set, we're more slaves now than in the days of apartheid. At least then we knew the enemy and were collectively focused on one thing. These days we've become so preoccupied with getting, taking, expressing and showing off just how rich we are, but the irony is that this is taking us back to poverty. Even worse now is the huge debt that people end up in, chasing ideals that ultimately don't make you happy, but as a friend of mine would say, i'd rather be miserable in a mansion than happy in a shack!I'm not totally immune to brands & wanting to live La Dolce Vita, but each time I see people who have to know your job title and what car you drive before they decide whether to speak to you or not, I find myself pitying them because I believe there's so much more to life than this and that's why places like Newtown are amazing, it's all about the art, poetry, hip-hop, theatre, graffiti. Over there, you get more respect for the length of your dread-locks than the size of your car.I'm not a black diamond, I'm a new age african who's living her own version of the Sout h African dream

A glimpse into the lighter side of my book...

The previous year, Sam had been part of a ‘foundation-year-programme’ that was like an overview of the various courses. Now, depending on his marks, he could branch off into whichever field of study he wanted.

‘I’ve moved to Groenkloof campus, I’m doing B-Ed.’

My heart sank to my ankles. B-Ed? Had he just said B-Ed, as in Bachelor of Education?

In the hierachy of Tuks this is how things worked: At the top there were the medical students who lived on Med campus in Gezina. They were closely followed by the Actuarial studies students, apparently if you were anything less than a genius, medicine and actuarial sciences weren’t for you.
Then there were the engineering students. They always carried heavy back-packs and wore serious looks as if they were the next Isaac Newton. I once saw an engineering student with the t-shirt: ‘Engineering Department: We will B-Com your managers’, I thought that was quite witty.
Below the arrogant engineers were the B-com & Law students, the smart-ish kids who spent more time drinking at the square than they did at the library, but would still be something one day. Well some of them...
Then there were the BA (arts, literature etc.) students. Their course was accurately dubbed ‘Bugger All’ because these were the rich kids who studied things like art just because it fascinated them. My mother would slap me for entertaining something so crazy! Her first question would be: Does it put food on the table? Of course it doesn’t! So, forget this passion thing and get a proper job! But at the absolute bottom of the food chain were the B-Ed students. B-Ed was the one course that didn’t have minimum requirements. All you needed was a matric exemption, and then you qualified. Everybody knew this and it was the butt of many jokes on campus.

‘That’s nice!’
I smiled, hiding my great dissapointment. It would have been better if he’d told me he’d got a job as one of the security guards, at least they had guns and you were forced to respect them.

The different sides of me...

There’s the fun side,
The crazy side,
The fun, up-beat, side to side,
Side,

I love this side.

Then there’s the driven side,
The hard working side,
The ambitious, go-getter, conquer the world
Side,

I also love this side.

Then we get inside,
To the calm, deep thinking side,
The serious, private, hidden side,

Also my favourite side.

But past the crazy side,
& The driven side,
Even beyond the deep side,

There’s the ugly side.

The selfish, f*ck the world side,
The you don’t knowm me so don’t judge me side,
I feel safe in this side,
I think I need this side.

But there’s also the lonely side,
The wanderer who’s always seeking side,
This is a hidden side,
The private, no one knows this,
Side

There’s also the loving side,
The for better or worse,
Through thick & thin,
I’ll never let go side,
This is my scariest side.
I don’t really like this side.

But my most honest side,
Is my spiritual side.
The my God loves me &
That’s enough side.

You’re free to pick a side,
But know that deep down,
I’m every single side,
On the inside.