Valentine

Darkness engulfs the whole land.
Dull, heavy nimbus clouds block out the sunlight,
And in a matter of moments, releases the contents of its belly,
Wrecking destruction and yet, giving life to the land that so desperately longs for a refreshing.

A bolt of electricity lights the dark skies,
Momentarily revealing the beauty engulfed by the darkness.
Escorted briefly by a thunderous roar that shakes the foundation of our souls.

Then follows the calm silence that is the raindrops, beating on the iron sheets.
For the madness that preceded it: beauty and craze,
Makes this feel like a drop in the ocean.
And just like that, a beautiful moment in time passes.
Etched only in the canvas of our memories

Sorcerers' well

He is the devil
She is the devil
They are the devils.

The devil is all around us,
Masquerading in various shapes and sizes; looks and appearances.
Whispering in our ears,
Holding placards to our faces.

But always hiding his face,
Veiled under the shadow of deceit.
The face that remains consistent
The face unknown.

One day she took my hand,
And led me to a well,
A well not so shallow but neither so deep,
Nonetheless, magic resided within.

Look keenly, search with your eye.
The enemy resides in your household,
A person you know intimately.
Look and tell me who you see.

I looked and searched,
With my eyes and with my heart.
And I saw the devil's face,
So attractive, so beautiful,
So me!!

Feminist speak

Today being the year TWENTY SHE-XTY. the year of our Lord and or Lady

Today is a great day for Womankind and all her folk. We have finally got our victor(ia) that shall (s)henceforth be recognised with the changes in the naming of the number six to she-x and many other pheno(wo)menal changes to the Queen's language thus restoring the pride and dignity that the patriarchal half of the society has for so long denied us.

Rise up now all ye women, No longer shall we be the slave(ttes) of those who have so long tried to suppress us. The chauvinists who continue to belittle our cause, who try to resist the wheels of Justi(nna). Always putting up the Men at work signs in an effort to create potholes on the road to freedom. No longer shall the signs of the patriarchal age dominate. A dawn comes upon the night blurring out the night that is the age of inequality and with it, the rise of the age of a new balance. disrupting all s(h)ocial order, closing the pages of history and rewriting a new shestory. We will no longer speak of the story of the lion and the hunter for none of them concern us. Now we shall tell the tale of the lioness and the huntress; the Pocahantas and Brave-heart. We are rewriting shestory, the kind of shestory Cleopatra would be proud of. We shall sing aloud praises of Marie Curie. Not of Napoleon and Hitler, of Obama and Blair.

This is our time. Stand tall. Justinna is served. The scales of Justinna now swing to our advantage.
This is Feminist Victoria

Autofocus

Undivided love.
Singular devotion.
If a man was to commit to these and these only:

Tunnelling vision,
Patient commitment.

Teaching his heart to desire,
For desire exceeds want.
While pulling the reigns of his heart
Training it to reject its list of lusts,

Breaking the cycle of broken men,
Reversing the trend of dysfunctional societies,

Then probably we could say:
I am a man and a man is who I am.

The lull after the storm

The harsh winds constantly beat against the sails by night,
Threatening to rip them apart.

The unforgiving midday sun bears down on the sailors,
Promising to bury them in hot humidity.

Eventually the ship docks at port.
No lives lost and a hull that is intact.

The reminders of nature's wrath,
Broken splinters and sunburnt skins,
Sign off as memorabilia

Of all that was; the beauty and strength, the valour and courage.

Trophies that only shine bright.
In the lull after the storm

The owl

Short days and long nights

Days blanketed in noise
Nights filled with silence.

Times when men walk in the company of each other
Times when men share the company of themselves.

When work gets done
And when thoughts get made.

Eventually craving for longer days
And quietly appreciating the short nights

Where periods no longer consist of seconds
And neither are moments measured in time.

He is

A man comes built with two things

Pride, so that he may have something of worth to hold on to, and

A heart to feel, feel all that the wretched world of men has to offer.

He is fashioned to use his pride as a sword. A tool to cut beyond the veil of impossibility
His heart, a shield to protect all that he values.

And when his sword dents, for his pride will soon be when he meets an obstacle in battle,
He won't be left with a sharp edge.  Only shame.
Which by the sharpening of, he shall overcome.

But when his shield shatters, he is made handicapped. Unable to craft another, he is left partially helpless.
His only choice, a specialist, a healer.
Only by whom, he shall rise up boldly anew.

His dignity he may recover,
But his heart needs a surgeon.