Saturday, 31 January 2015


you might see it as a lofty demonstration
or a revolt or an influential song of protest
with banners and shouts flying
at first your heart feels something
against the horrors, the injustices
your throat tightens
you swallow on your counterfeited tears
and then you try hard
to suppress your attraction to these misfortunes – as long
as they are happening far far away
you can not help to sprout a smug smile as
you feel very chuffed with yourself in
keeping up appearances and
indulging in mock compassion
this whole act wishes to quote all the idealism the world has ever known
I refuse to use any metaphoric descriptions
in fear that this piece of white's desire might get nebulous
we do not want that, do we?
these words beseech you to stop listening to
any lecturing, flattery, poems, anthems, anecdotes and confessions
they are all ego-driven and  emotion-based
and stay away from protestations
they are simply an expression of a spoilt childhood
these black-and-too-easily-decipherable-hieroglyphs do
not wish to be interpreted as an ultimatum
and do not want to incite praise, prayer or discussions
pay attention to the undercurrent!
you might think it is all dumfounded truths and unholy lies
but that is only your inner turmoiled dialogue
bursting out of its thought-bubble-seams
if you want to learn the steps on how to choreograph a campaign
please do not read the attached memorandum
and please do not ever petition from near or afar
this laptop-pretending-to-be-an-armchair fighting for a cause
will not stop the poverty and injustice
i can only pull tears out of my eyes and murmur
a blessing on the gullibility of the congregated masses
as they continue to hope that there will be
a cause hidden in the dust of the marches

Friday, 30 January 2015

agter tralies

ek wil net slaap
maar hier staan ek
met my uil pantoffels
voor die laptop en
maak sin van die
punt blare wat wieg
in die wind die
hoenderhaan kraai die duif
tortel ek sug en die
rooi kar sny deur
die grondpad en groen
weivelde dit trek my
oog na die bottelborsel
wat net so lekker
aan't wieg is en
ek raak op my
voete aan die slaap
ek moet net nog
een keer kyk na
wat daar so graag
gesien wil word my
oё raak weg in die
jasmyn en die plantasies
en my ore word
ge-abba deur krieke ek
hoor die vlieg agter
tralies ek maak die
venster oop
hy vlieg buitentoe
en laat my
hier binne agter

Thursday, 29 January 2015


  > drink dié gedig met 'n bottel Raka rooiwyn <

ek wil jou voed met
die bloed
van Raka
sodat jy die wilde dans-pas
van sy stam kan ken
en die ritmes van