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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: February 2014
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Sunday, 2 February 2014. She wrote me a poem. I copied it in my mind,. And pasted it in my heart. I should have read. The subliminal irony in it. And not the surface words. That left me love diabetic. She wrote me a poem. And i kept it in my heart. Took to heart the words. The meaning my mind could fathom. If they could be reversed. I will not read again. She wrote me a poem. Painted my life with a colour so bright. I lost my sight. Mabye it was the night. Or with her i lost all my might.
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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: December 2013
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Tuesday, 10 December 2013. WINNIE MADIKIZELA-MANDELA – MOTHER OF AFRICA. Sweet songs often tell stories of sorrow,. Of love lost, of trials, of Golgotha, of tyranny’s arrow;. In clime clement and kind every hand is valuable,. But it’s tempest that nominates the invaluable. As Nile’s turgid waters let history’s tenor overflow its banks. For those mothers – of which Winnie is first – that guided our steps. Thro’ the slippery stairs of Mount Oppression. Until we stood on the rooftop of liberation. And chant...
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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: October 2014
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Saturday, 4 October 2014. Write me our story. And continue with the story of my life. Remember, memories are on replay. It’s a default setting. Leave behind the smiles that you didn’t cause. Or the laughter you didn’t induce. Those are the pages when the pen was not in your hand. Write us like this:. Start from the moment you kissed me. And narrate the passion that was in our hearts. And this mutual feeling we hope to hold long enough. When the only pain we would want to feel. Is death as it parts us.
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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: HELP ME!
http://scribbledn.blogspot.com/2015/05/help-me.html
Sunday, 17 May 2015. Revolted and disturbed at what i have converted into. You either too smart or too dumb to find God. This time i think i have gone a little too far beyond ungodliness. I think i have crossed some sort of indiscernible line. I think i have entered into a precinct where to me your name is as petite as a grain. Where your absence means liberation. I've sunken too deep into the conducts of the world. Each day i carry this tormenting pain. I hope you are not humiliated. But here i am.
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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: March 2014
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Sunday, 16 March 2014. I DID IT ALL FOR YOU. What is it that I didn’t do for you. Didn’t I give respect and honor. Wasn’t I like the women of old. Who adorned themselves not in braided hair or jewelery. But I adorned myself with a quiet and gentle spirit. It was not of love being blind. It was not stupidity that I endured it all. Never my fault that I was naïve. I possessed hope that you would change. I carried thy weaknesses in pure love. But in response you took my heart. That I also needed to be loved.
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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: September 2013
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Monday, 16 September 2013. Umhlaba uyahlaba (The world is a pain-filled place). To all the people of my generation. And helping raise nieces and nephews. And other little ones. Please tell the children the truth. Love them. Protect them. But please don’t end your lectures at,. 8220;Listen to me:. You’ll work hard and pray everyday. And get married and live happily ever after.”. Life is hard. Even for the ‘regular do-gooders.’. Life brings the unexpected. It’s full of surprises. Some of them unpleasant.
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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: May 2015
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Sunday, 17 May 2015. Revolted and disturbed at what i have converted into. You either too smart or too dumb to find God. This time i think i have gone a little too far beyond ungodliness. I think i have crossed some sort of indiscernible line. I think i have entered into a precinct where to me your name is as petite as a grain. Where your absence means liberation. I've sunken too deep into the conducts of the world. Each day i carry this tormenting pain. I hope you are not humiliated. But here i am.
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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: #Note to him...
http://scribbledn.blogspot.com/2015/04/note-to-him.html
Thursday, 30 April 2015. 8234;#Note to him. I know I’m not your type. Not that girl.with wide hips and hugging jeans. I’m just the girl with wide eyes hugging my journal. Reciting my thoughts to blue black inkblots on a white canvas. I know I’m not your type. You know the kind with catwalk confidence and charisma. I’m just the girl walking silently as the cat. Hoping to escape the crowd's gaze. So I can confidently tuck my thoughts in between these pages before my mind walls rise. Back to the truth.
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www.scribbledn.blogspot.com: February 2015
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Saturday, 14 February 2015. She say she's every woman and more. Worth a dozen roses but is she the woman for me. Baby I hold you close,. I take an oath. Honey drip on your lip. Till you feel like heaven coming. Though I haven't seen you lately,. Only broken voices on your phone when I call. Baby, I miss you greatly. He tastes of the mysteries of manliness. His promise of heaven hard to ignore. The hunger in his deep dark brown eyes. The heat of him as he embraces me. Clouding my every instinct. Friends o...
