kinds of people

Some people discover their best smiles in front of the mirror.

Some people roll our of bed into last night’s pair of jeans.

Some people just never do..

book project: lies = fiction

the story of you’s been walking around the world with me for so long, that i’m now lies and fictionafraid to let it go on paper.

you’ve been growing in my head all this time that i can hardly separate truth from lie from fiction.

i’m not me. i’m not you.

what about all the lies? were they part of the narrative of you? a way of escaping the unbearable reality called life.

multiple personalities? there must be, how else do you explain the intricate lives your character is juggling?

paranoia? afraid that someone will figure it all out. the fiction.

anxiety? well…

fear? hardly surprising considering the fictional living

all make for an interesting state of mind…

do the lies we tell, the small untruths, add up to the fiction of you?

if they do, then we are all born storytellers…

sleeping under the same sky

got very excited at the prospect of seeing

when we did finally meet,

it wasn’t all tears as i had expected.

only a hint of excitement…

felt strange yet familiar at the same time.

hours passed…

days passed…

i felt your skin against mine,

your breath against my back while you slept…

reminded me of days gone by…

when it was time for us to part,

once again i waited for tears

but they didn’t come…

i head home with a heavy heart…

knowing that thoughts of you will haunt me till we meet again…

magic: melody, dancing and you


swaying my heavy body to the hypnotic beat..

takes me to a far away land,

reminds me of a time

when i dared to dream.

dared to remember the cause,

the plan,

the goal.


to the sound of music in my head.

the endless song

playing in my mind’s ear.

i wondered if,

you heard it.

i am hoping that,

you’ll like it.

that it’ll steal you.

give you a peek into another world.

another time


the plan,

the goal

all intertwine

and give birth

to a beautiful melody

of time with me and you:


thoughts: mirrored reflections..

then there are those moments when a reflection in a mirror catches my attention. just as i start to follow it. a shadow cowers over it making it hard to read the words underneath. we carry on…

mirrored reflections 2

listening to the music around us. until the next moment of clear silence comes around. We obey the beat inside and climb into it. Just we are about to reach the pinnacle of the crescendo. It starts raining. While frantically searching for cover. A window pops up, opens wide enough to see the other side.

random: unicorns dipped in magic

make ideas realideas are fleeting acquaintances that come and go as they please. meaningless with no follow up or proper plan for arresting them and turning them into reality. everyone can come up with ideas on tap. most things began as ideas, didn’t they?

some say the best ideas are conceived during moments of whimsical abandon. in rooms full of like-minded bodies, searching together, pursuing a goal.

but they lie, ideas are cheap without any logic in hindsight. they require rationale to work and grow into meaningful creations that can be consumed meaningfully…

here are some fleeting anecdotes that have passed through my head… lately…

unicorns dipped in magic

The silence you only get when it snows\unicorns dipped in magic\bumping into people who look like they don’t have homes\riddled spirits\incompatible figures\incoherent metaphors\comprehension in their eyes\means they tolerate the lies\toldwith straight faces\with no regard\for all the places\these hearts have been to\and back\hope still lives\and love will never lack\spaces to fill…

ideas are fleeting

Pens down\and the genie leaves the room\If you breathe\You won’t miss it\Arresting silence\(is not) tranquillity\Worth every cent\Ideas are fleeting acquaintances\They come and go as they please\Hardly bothering us much\Like the sun shines during the day\And the moon at night\Beautiful strangers who never meet\We consume\without question\



sonnet 116: challenging life

sonnet 116When people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it should not be read at school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange and stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language – and that it what poetry is. That is what literature offers – a language powerful enough to say it how it is.

It isn’t a hiding place, it is a finding place.’

Jeanette Winterson, from Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

Came across this quote on Dawn Garisch’s blog, and I was practically jumping on my bed because earlier this afternoon I was trying to help a bunch of grade 11 Xhosa, native-speaking kids unpack Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds”. It was such an awesome experience for me to watch them really throwing themselves and their eyes light up as the words of the poem started making sense. Of course it could possibly because this sonnet is about love.

I am a big advocate of the power of poetry in teaching. Poetry allows learners to dream and come up with word images that transport them to faraway lands, to dream new worlds. Most importantly, it gives them essential skills that help in unpack complex concepts. It allows for brainstorming. Structured thinking. Definitely promoting creative thinking. Seeing links between words and concepts and goes a long way towards helping them access their school curriculum. Poetry is a playful way of learning, for sure..

And for those, who really live in dangerous situations (literally). Who see and breathe negativity around them. Those who live in poverty. It allows them space to exhale and take in new ideas. To escape for a moment into their imagination and be silly.

book o’ love: verses 2 – 5

book o love 12

Loving over a sandwich on a balmy spring afternoon

We spoke for the first time.

I’d been circling you.

Didn’t know if you’d noticed

Until that day.

We stood in your kitchen

Oblivious to the voices,

the bodies

milling around us


 book o love


First kiss

My 25th birthday

Encounters film festival,

Some theatre in town


I’d been waiting in pensive anticipation,

For my birthday kiss,

But when our lips met.

That first time.

That first kiss

Was like coming up for air.

I can still taste it.

Remember it.

 book o love 3



First hang out

20 October

Your place

I was on my way home from a stressful exam. I remembered that you said you’d be at home that afternoon. So I took a chance and knocked on your door.

I don’t remember what we spoke about that day besides the Johnny Depp movie that was playing in the background.

I was only just too happy to be in the same space as you.

book o love 4


First date

Band: Sun of a thousand blues

Somewhere in town



I think we both were,

Smokey room.

Drinks in hand

Loud chatter and music

Forcing you,


To whisper

Breathe closely

into each other’s ears


That night, as we lay

On the floor

In your living room.

I could see stars

Through the ceiling.


book o love 6

scared of the notebook

notebookso a few years ago, i discovered that moments of inspiration can be fleeting. and that relying on memory to recollect them, is like trying to re-imagine dreams. impossible. at least with dreams, some come back to visit as deja-vu..

i decided to accept the fact that a notebook is a must. i can’t quite recall how many i have gone through. how many are filled with ideas. words. other people’s stuff. flyers, i pick up at events. at people’s offices. at interesting places. etc. etc. often, i make an appointment with myself. open a notebook, write that day’s date. try to write the things that are swirling in my head. a mix of words to be picked up later. a to-do list (almost always!).

what i have noticed lately is that, as per normal, i always have a notebook in my handbag. a great feat for me – i struggle with consistency. however, my biggest bug bear now, is that i am often scared to open my notebook and follow up on words i have written down, ideas that i have sketched roughly, instead it is bulging with bits of paper.

of course this has me wondering why… i can only guess that maybe, i am somehow afraid. afraid to bring most of these ideas to life. scared of the commitment they will require in order for them to come alive. scared of how much i have to give of me in order to give birth to them.

so what am i to do with this notebook? what will i become without it? doodles

without the doing, dreaming is useless

without dreaminga few months ago, i found myself at a crossroads… staying in my (then) job or just quitting.. you see, nothing had changed. the politics, the people, the content of my daily life in that building, within the walls of the meeting rooms, the incessant emails, the constantly ringing phone.. the younger people who waited for instructions from me… nothing had changed… it was all the same… but something inside me had…

a little history, i had been talking myself into quitting my job to pursue full time study and to entertain my long-time dream of being a travelling academic, of teaching and writing… the only thing that had stopped me was mere procrastination… at some point, (i don’t know) when i reached this point, my heart just couldn’t take it… i couldn’t write… i couldn’t think creatively anymore… the thought of going to work seemed like torture… i was missing deadlines… i saw some disciplinary action looming… i worried… i brooded over the idea of quitting… for weeks, which turned into months… when i eventually sat in front of my computer one morning and just decided then and there that i could no longer lie to myself or them…

i came across this video recently, it’s title without the doing, dreaming is useless … the title stayed with me for days… i tried to think why i was so touched by it… it finally dawned on me that i had been dreaming and the doing bug was eating me alive…