Potable water under the bridge

All it took was to lay my eyes on you, and all the 2008 memories sailed back. That brief five seconds I held you in my arms felt like infinity and right there I knew I’d be seeing you again, very soon. That knowledge became a reality that night and the day after until I realised, just like it once dawned on me seven years ago, we’re going nowhere slowly.

What is different this time around is the fact that I am wide awake and for once it looks as if you’re wounded by my maturity and disappointed that I found it easy to leave and never called; so much so you saw it fitting to antagonize my unfamiliar demeanors.

I’ll admit, I missed you. In fact, I want to be with you right this minute. Perhaps this is possible in my thirties – not in my twenties. Maybe you really are the love of my life and that your lingering taste in my mouth will be something I invigorate for as long as I find you sexually attractive. It’s also possible that you and I will merely live in sin and will continue to regularly make romantic and sexual overtures towards each other, and subsequently live to be loathed by many.

Drafting this post, it feels like I’m 22 years old all over again. God knows; I see you, I just want to fuck your brains out. The fact that your memories of me are simply the best and that in your mind I’m an angel is not helping. The fact that we both know that, every now and then, I romanticize the idea of having you stimulate my anterior rectal wall is not helping. The fact that there the question of whether or not I’d enjoy this remains a mystery is not helping.

One minute, I see us working. But knowing that you have no intention to even try and understand the concept of conciliation in our situation dislocates all prospects. Honestly, I despise this about you – which makes me wonder why I still hold you in such high regard to the extent that your soft sneeze would tear the impenetrable membrane that covers my heart.

Other times, the reality is inevitable and of course excruciating just by observing my friends’ facial expressions whenever your name comes up then I’m subjected to “are you okay?” and “say one word, and I’ll make him disappear” or “you don’t have to see him” sentiments. This is all because they care. Yet, here we are; entertaining the idea of making it work knowing very well this would never work. My poor friends…

Man, I love you. But this has to stop.

You have to work with me and help me let you go. Please help me stop hoping that one day you and I will run away together. Help me stop thinking that one day you will change for me or that I’d ever accept your irrational and selfish justifications.

There is a high possibility I’m lying to myself and that I’m fighting the inescapable; you and I truly belong together. Perhaps, I have to go back and experience once more what used to be in order to swiftly move on to the next chapter. A big part of me wishes that I’d pretend to make it work and have you hurt me in every sense of the word. Maybe then, it would be easy letting you go. But I also know for sure that doing this will damage my career; the one thing that seems to bring me constant joy. So, no.

I don’t know what to do.

Happy read!

To the God(z)

Realness was redefined when you bumped me.

What I knew came to never be.

What was strange came to be.

Realness was redefined when you bumped me.

You found my eyes, and I found God.

You lived so I can know you to be real.

You gave so I could learn to receive.

The frame of mind, all around me, is new.

You call it fresh, I say it’s love.

That which you inserted in me.

The same you welcomed inside you.

Songs need not make sense anymore.

You became the fundamental lyric my lips serenaded.

My mere existence transformed your frown.

You gave me your hand, a job I reimbursed.

Realness was redefined when I gave you the time.

Vaguely, we may have created light. But we had a life.

Happy read!

16 Days of Activism against gender violence

In a classroom outside of Johannesburg, a teacher pressures a young student to have sex with him, telling her that she’ll fail the class if she does not.

 Not far away, in a living room late at night, a victim of domestic violence, afraid she’ll get beaten again, acquiesces to the drunken insistence of her husband and endures intercourse.

In a one-room house in Kwazulu Natal, a young man listens in confusion and anguish to the news that his sister has been raped. No one knows whether the rapist was HIV positive or not.

 

Original author: Dean Peacock, Men as partners: South African men respond to violence against women and HIV/AIDS.

Happy read!

Lovers on the cross

I suspend myself and swing my arms all over the bed,

My back pressing the sheets, his eyeballs lust over my nipples,

That time, his testicles hang on a cross

A cross nailed by a man whose name rings the doorbells of the past

 

The roles have changed. I am the man he is

And, he has become me, but his presence has otherwise multiplied.

I am skinny, boy you’re so fat.

 

He approaches. There is middle ground.

He finds me. I see him, coming.

He mumbles words evidently of erotic nature. There is middle ground.

I find him. He sees me, coming.

 

Happy read!

I give birth to myself

I give birth to myself, so it seems.

I realised this as I mulled over which hole my skinny pipe should infiltrate.

Of course, its own intentions are flexible, as opposed to what my mind anticipates and lusts for.

My two hands clutch on it, hold it together and it behaves.

This way I find myself. And, this is how I know I give birth to myself.

I conserve resentment at the sight of discernment under my roof.

Yes, in the eyes of the enemy, I am capable of pulling punches with this broken wrist of mine.

I murmur hymns and silently recite celestial idioms; calling onto sincere influences.

Suddenly, I am entirely serene. That way, I realise I give birth to myself very often.

Surely, I give birth to myself.

Carrying an abbreviated burden, the world is still conspicuously beautiful in my eyes.

Bordering opinions toss attempts, this way. Yet, my pupils are fixed on the bigger picture.

I stretch both my lips, forcing them to part and interpret what the heart emits.

And then, the light seems to be all over the tunnel. This is how I know I give birth to myself.

I am convinced I give birth to myself because my etiquettes wear panties in sun-drenched climates.

Yep! I show my nipples in the rain, my pubes hang in washing lines, as my personality wanks in corridors.

But, my undies remain glued to my etiquettes. This is how I learn my water broke.

And, I understand that I continue to give birth to myself.

Happy read!

The mathematics of lust

With all the veracity I have been clouted with in my existence, I still hold close the serene concept of a fairy-tale when it comes to relationships. Nevertheless, I am aware that many may argue that this is the same reason my many fairy-tales end-up mashed, on the potato side of things.

Given that my reciprocation in affairs tend to equal preeminent standards, offerings coming my way ought to hit the roof in excellence.

Having said that, the escapade my sexuality explored in preceding weeks has left me wincing at my initial principles; leaving me chewing reality with the same attitude I applied to my fairy-tale ideas.

I fell in what the mind understood as erotic hankering.  For the first time, my heart remained immobile.  My mind stimulated many parts of me; an effort that inspired me to pursue the prey. Hence he hovered in my surroundings.

Looking back to what had been, today, I am amazed at what maturity has done with my emotions. Also, I am pleased I kept at arms-length with the kill. Yes, I was keen on further developments. But, I was also interested in seeing and feeling his attentiveness. Alas, I almost took lead in a one man show.

Too bad, I could have made an amazing Romeo in Pretoria; despite the abrasive Joburgness in me.

I admit to this, with my objectives untainted and still clouted with a tranquil concept of a fairy-tale when it comes to relationships.

Happy read!

Xa ithetha

Ithi yakuthetha kuthi mandithi tu.

Ithi yakugushuza kunga ndingama nkqi.

Ithi yakuvuka kuthi kuthi mandizole.

Uloyiso lwayo luvuyo engqondweni,

De igazi liwutyhutyhe ngobuchule umzimba,

Ngelo xesha, intliziyo ijongile; ibukele ukondleka kwamehlo.

Ithi yakuthetha, kuthi mandihlabele elandincamisayo,

Ithi yakugushuza kunga ndingachul’ ukunyathela,

Ithi yakuvuka kuthi mawufe fi umbono,

Ibe zizihlunu kuphela ezinokuphefumla,

Imisipha izel’ ubom,

Ngeloxesha, umanyano liluqilima.

Ithi yakufuna, kunga ndingaba lisela.

Ithi yakungafumani, kunga ndingaphambana.

Happy read!

Why don't you be the writer?

In between acknowledging the existence of homosexuals in societies and the subjects fully embracing their sexuality, a few heterosexuals misidentified their preliminary grasp of life on earth as an indication that they possess power and the independence to control the actions of those who materialised later.

Several gay people exiled themselves to cabinets with the intention to avoid promising discernment of any sort. Times evolved and countries held a fresh perspective on things, and then we had gay friendly households, welcoming cities and accommodative legislations. This inspired one straight mind to assume the sits of Gods.

For many gay men and butch women the journey has been decadent while some paid with their lives; a price silently ticketed by sexist presidents, uncouth neighbours as well as families driven by fear of being excluded by communities.

Because I am free, as a homosexual individual, in the presence of a sagacious conventional woman, she miscalculated my company and acquaintance for acquiescence to articulate to me who to lust over and who not to consider.

Knowledgeable mama felt she had to warn me as the reciprocals might endanger me. One could have sworn she walked the journey with me; from denying myself of the true me, lying to family and hiding from masses. One would swear she knows what is best for me. For a gay man.

You clasped silence and they utter a word. They feel your ears are famished and your life is losing weight, hence the feeding schemes they throw your way. They believe they are observant enough as you change your position and they amend your movements.

In between sleeping with other men for sexual pleasure and the straight souls knowing, the latter subjects became the artists who felt endowed to script lines for untrained gay people.

Perhaps, Madonna is no longer God. They are. Actually, heterosexuals are God.

Happy read!

Oh, Jerusalem

Hello, it speaks. Put me in there.

Obedience bends in kind, we are in here.

Like a freak at the sight of throbbing rigidity,

I find my way to a household so clustered, I am blinded.

We sway lightly, but I am hard.

We are excited.

Oh, Jerusalem, Eve may have been lured by the beauty of prohibited capsules,

But down here we spit to appreciate.

We jump to bite a bun; buttered one side yet dripping both sides.

Slices so sensitive, I am in. I have sunk.

Exchanges in unspoken phrases, minds are inspired.

Weakness is sheltered in the joints.

Emulating animated concepts, a part of me is in charge.

Efforts are met, sounds are heard and marks are made.

Like a coquette approaching royalty, I seek dominion.

He submits. I sign. He receives.

I approve. He is proud.

Thanks to the works, we are wet.

Oh, Jerusalem, some may have dubbed you intolerant.

I find you otherwise.

Happy read!

Relapse amid evolution

I found myself submitting to appreciation recently, when I overheard colleagues sharing intricacies concerning the widening gap between the poor people and those who rinse cups with Oros, in South Africa.

Emulating the poetic sense of Shakespeare, one painted the picture of the country we live in: “a beautiful place where laws oppose the actions of the people who are duly authorised to pass them and make sure that these are put into action.”

Rightly so, her statement was supported by the policemen who are involved in many corruption cases; hence the rate of crime in South Africa fails to decline.

My gratitude, nevertheless, emanates from being fixed within the working class, despite what tomorrow is believed to have in archives. As a result, my future is based on solid ground; depending on how habitually I nurture the soil on which my professional feet stand.

While I boast about my accomplishments which benefit me and my family, many individuals bear little and, some, nothing to show-off.  They went through academic channels, and many succeeded with flying colours. However, for reasons no one can understand, that was just all for them; no work or any means of income approached.

Something went wrong somewhere and my index finger points at the lack of ambition. So, who do I paint pink with blame? The parents. The families that fail to see past the empty plates on their laps. In this case further education is needed, and with that I am not referring to the enrolment in academic institutions; education in the sense that an individual must learn to be creative, smart and willing to explore possible chances.

Our communities comprise people who are able to shape and design, accordingly, the brands we believe our families are, alas we do not realise that. Hence many people look up to almighty government for everything.

Apart from living large spending the taxpayers money and getting more corrupt each day, the government can only do so much to assist the people who are in need. It is for people at the grassroots level take thing in their own hands. By no means do I say steal from one another. In fact, help one another.

With that being said, South Africa comes a long way, and that would not have been possible had it not been for each of the people who have served as cabinet members in our South African government.

The man whom majority of South Africans dubbed the epitome of humanity, Nelson Mandela shown traits of the push-push concept. Why not practise the push-push concept on each other then; starting in our homes, with families encouraging each member to do well in all aspects and show support whenever members needs it?

Several black South Africans refuse to work hard. Instead opt for illegal dealings that leave the rest of us who do work hard shocked, especially when other races have something to say about it.

We have young girls who do not see the importance of education at all because there men out there who are willing to finance their needs (and possibly their families too), just as long as the reciprocal process includes having sex. The idea of saving oneself for marriage is so ancient, like who wants to be a virgin in 2012??? Like, that is so not cool.

We have dreams, we are very talented people and we are hungry for knowledge, but peer pressure seem to get us even in our 20s and early 30s because we simply cannot be seen standing alone at a bus stop declaring being unique.

The words we utter, therefore, will become pivotal in this case. Consequently, thorough consideration of the things we say to one another will come to play. Perhaps, the outcomes may not be market-related salary for all the family members, but an attitude, for some, that will yield expedient features of life; happiness, positivity and drive.

Nonetheless, there is one thing we just cannot let go. Discrimination. Or is it negativity?

Happy read!

As we lay, foolishly

He belonged to me just for one night. Stupid me, I failed to keep it at that. I had to strut around town carrying a feeling in my heart. At least, I think that is where it was and not in my pants.

Signs cuffed my belly as I humped and pumped his rubber, but I forced my mind to focus on my near destiny. I even faced complications reaching that destination due to being intoxicated, but I loved it. So did he.

The night faded and it dawned; the sun penetrated the window and its reflection hit the wall behind me and off to his face it went and it found comfort. He was beautiful. He was sexy. He was mine; tall, light with a loud mouth.

The loud mouth he is, he seemed to have exhausted his speech during last night’s blurting at the bar. Therefore, I took it upon my smitten abilities to chat him up. He reciprocated my efforts with looks and smiles that drag me to the deepest route of love. Now and then, his head would meet mine half way and our lips would lock. And every time my lips brushed his, I died a million deaths because I could not believe what I was experiencing; it was more than I had ever experienced before. And to think I have heard and seen it all.

It had not even been 24 hours yet, but I was in love already. I realised I had been transformed. And that exact moment I was hurt in advance because I knew what was coming. Even though we both did a great job in making that night the best time of our lives together, him and I were an illusion.

I forgot to acknowledge one thing; he can never be mine. Instead, I went ahead got lost in the moment. I sank in his kisses and I refused to shift from his side while we lay. But I had to go. I left, but it feels like he left me.

Poor him, he’s going on with his business, unaware that I wish one of us could get on a Santaco plane and fly over to play a scene of two fools in lust.

He belonged to me just for one night, but I feel like I have lost a soul mate. With that being said, it is killing me to have him in my life. So I pray to God and ask him to give me strength to get over this man.

Today, I have a price to pay. I mean, for every choice we make in life, there are consequences; good or bad, it does not matter. In my case, I have to endure a sore heart.  So far, not even one episode of Sex And The City has helped to erase him from my mind. I miss him every day. Hence I have opted to watch Glee with the hope of approaching the mending from a different angle. Being infatuated by him is killing me.

I know I am to blame for taking tomorrow for granted, but even fools deserve a third chance.

Happy read!

Subject imminent

Man, oh man he’s a good man
Fixed to his word, he’s keeping up
He makes up for the less I hear of him
He listens, he remembers and he does.

I told him. He acted
Like I had asked, he spoke on time yet he broke me into pieces.

His speech was packed with fruit. But I don’t like oranges and litchi
His words tore apart the tubes conveying blood from various parts of my body to the heart
He hurt me. I made him hurt me.

My heart is tired
Leaving my mental supremacy in doubt of the intense feeling of deep affection my heart exudes from its aperture.

I made a fool out of God
Now my nose bleeds stupidity
He must be glad
Though appalled, I will applaud the timing.

Happy read!

My boys of miscarriage

I lied to myself so many times, when I was single, and said I am NOT looking. Love will find me, I would say. But deep down in me, I knew I was looking for the one person with whom I can talk about things that other people hardly understand nor find interesting.

I went out with friends at night and on weekends; drank, laughed and ate all the fattening food. I socialised and met new friends some of whom felt like I was too much of a pink diamond to be single. So, I was hooked up -unwillingly- many times with other single sheeps. Though disappointing in so many levels at times, the experience was fun and very insightful.  

I met men – and boys - I felt were the right ones. With some, I slept, I had sex and I loved. Many of whom proved to fall for me for the many get-togethers I am loved for. Clearly, boy eyed guaranteed entrance tickets – to a house I do NOT even own - whenever yours truly felt Oprah-ish and fed the ‘nation’; making it rain while he would come in with arms folded. I am guessing his wallet had one big hole through which his cents escaped on his way to mine.

The last one though, boy I mean, was a figure my friends felt was the most ludicrous relation I have ever pursued. He liked me and I liked him back. He had deep issues and I had to have tissues always. Of course, I had problems too.

Nonetheless, he was not a hard tiff to swallow. Or so I thought. He left me bending picking up my jaw when he had no shame sharing with me that his ex did not only have horse of a pipe, but he –my boy- was the only one whom the ex told could take it all in...

Yes, I was single and in like, but I was not foolish that I would dip my being in a hole that had taken in objects dubbed to be larger and bigger than my arm. Besides, I had an ego to grow NOT to bruise it. Imagine, me humping and pumping a ride with someone who’d probably be focusing on how slow my beard is growing.

Oh, what a loss though. But he left me with a lesson; never take too lightly petite boys, particularly those who compliment me every chance they get.

All the same, the one before him was another tale to be reckoned. A song I would have chosen Amy Winehouse to sing. I and he were what many considered a match-made in heaven. However, we both knew we were nothing like that. Instead, we were simply lusting for each other.

I told him many times how much I wanted him. I don’t care what everyone thinks of you, I want you, I would say. He would touch me and get playful with me in public and he let me kiss him whenever I wanted to.

Yet, it appeared he had not only been touchy and playful with me. Right across my house, my coloured neighbour knew him. In fact, my neighbour and his friends knew him very well. He had photos to prove it. I saw the photos, he was right; they knew him seeing that we all had seen him.

Happy read!

Mzantsi - Not so juicy!

All women deserve to be treated with immense care and respect. This is a notion shared by many countries around the world.

Some states went as far as advocating for the 50/50 concept, to promote women beyond households en route for higher-ranking settings in boardrooms and in politics. Consequently, the likes of Shirley Lue Arnold, Khanyi Dhlomo, Wendy Luhabe, Pam Golding and Helen Zille are amongst the many women who are widening the female footprint in areas that were once perceived as male zones.

South Africa has progressed from being a tyrannical (gender and race bias) state to a country that recognises and advocates for many aspects of human rights and women empowerment initiatives. As a result, misuse of these rights is frowned upon.

Contrary to the latter, women are still the most susceptible to crime, abuse and discrimination in South Africa. In recent cases, women are lured to the country and subsequently forced to work as prostitutes. Lesbians are subjected to corrective rape by men who claim to be “curing" them of their sexual orientation.

This is the country that once had a woman for a deputy president. Businesses operative within South African parameters are compelled to acknowledge and practise gender equity. In fact, for the local government to do any business with private companies such companies must show where they stand in regards to representing women of any race in their businesses.

However, human trafficking is still rife in South Africa. Women are subjected to sexual exploitation and forced labour. Yes, many of them are foreigner. But, the fact is, all this takes place IN South Africa.

The United States government recently released Trafficking in Persons Report which states that South Africa is a transit and destination country for women and children subjected to forced labour and sex trafficking.

Why then do we still have such problems when we can only be dealing with issues regarding unemployment rate of women and more empowerment initiatives for them?

Last year, Jeff Radebe, Minister of Justice and Constitutional Development, said the government was planning to fast-track a new law against human trafficking before the start of the soccer World Cup. It is a year later now, the Western Cape still has women who bring other women into the country under false pretences and force them to be prostitutes. What happened to the Prevention and Combating in Trafficking in Persons Bill Sir Radebe was planning to “fast-track”?

Educated minds know better than to pay attention to what the government says and promises. That is why the issue of human trafficking in South Africa is only fought by small private organisations. Chances are, had several women and children’s rights groups not warned about this exploitation last year, the government would not have uttered a word.

South Africa comprises political parties that tend to promise to build Jerusalem for the homeless, feed those whose tummies are echoing emptiness and free education for all. Not even one of them says a thing about the human trafficking issue South Africa is facing.

Is the human trafficking issue not a mention during their speeches in parliament? They are waiting to host another big event during which they will try and impress tourists and outside investors?

Clearly, the government dreads the process of establishing rigid restrictions for human trafficking; hence the safe and easy route to take would be to assist the existing anti-human trafficking organisations by providing them with necessary resources to combat this crisis.

Oh, my dear political parties lie at least. Say something is about to be done just like your vague promises about fixing potholes and combating corruption amongst yourselves. Hold those pointless conferences annually. That way, at least young minds can learn about human trafficking JUST from hearing about it. Possibly, that could make school teachers’ jobs a bit easier and perhaps the ever accelerating HIV/Aids rate could decrease even if it is with one percent.

Happy read!

Couldn't have been love...

So many times, he’d say “I’ll be right back...”

I believed him, and with that look in his eyes I felt his truth

He promised me something, leaving me with a guarantee, certainty and his word

Tightly knotted with his, my heart felt the honesty in his voice

He never lied, he loved me

He loved me, I knew it

I knew him and I loved him

I watched him care for me always

He nurtured me, kissed me and splurged on me

He did things to my body and my mind would blast of ecstasy

His touches, kisses and love making tactics blew my every part

I could have never been ice, he melted me every time

He was mine and I was his

We shared not only t-shirts and secrets

We shared the sheets, cups and sweets

We shared a dime, our families and styles

I gave him my heart, I swear I had his

I walked the streets with joy

The love I got at home could catch me when I fall

I had eyes looking at me all the time with jealous minds and envious bitches eyeing shine

I thought they were jealous,

Then I heard a word; he hadn’t said things, he’d done things, I see

My sandcastle had collapsed, you see

This was a lie; he and I were a lifetime

We were more than just lust

My peace threatened to flee

NO! This was NOT the day

What were they doing to me? Breaking me?

The golden thread connecting his love to my heart a figment?

This was a lie; jealous minds and envious whores had spotted my shine

Because he loved me, he had to know

Good old us, were to deal with this; together

Mama, NO! He dealt with me, the way daddy dealt with you

Old memories emerged with shocking incidents, he was abusing me

He dealt with me, I could not believe

He’d mistaken strangles for stroking my throat

Coiled up in the same bed we’d lay in when he loved me, my ribs were in pain.

Today, he was hurting me, had he lost his magic?

Mama, he was NOT loving me, love had left our temple and it had dumped his sight
My screams cannot be heard unlike when I moan with him inside me

But, I had to ask him. Jealous minds and envious whores were denting us

But his punches were messing me

I see all we are had never been, his love had cost me a tooth,

And this way, I had never been free

In my face he’d set his footprint,

Then I knew he’d never loved me, he wanted to see me broken

My teardrops had built up streams, finding sanctuary on my scars

The most beautiful butterfly in my heart had died

As I looked up, I saw no glitter not even a star,

I saw a man whose expression was confronted by guilt

His penis had betrayed him; hence my love saw the door.

Happy read!

Doing him...

Naked, skinny, sticky me on top of his white chocolate skin

I lied and said I will be quick.  I said I will not be going in.

But I found myself deep inside him.

Intending to draw where he stands, I locked my eyes in his.

His lips found a way to mine.

Maybe he bit me, I don’t recall.

While he moaned, I felt his hands searching my body. I growled.

We wanted something. We were about to share.

Scars on my back grew, a sign that he receives my gift.

He cried in ecstasy.

I held close his diminutive round bun, preventing resistance from his part.

He pushed. I thrust. He screamed. I went harder.

It’s coming, he said.

Then receive me, I whispered

My pace picked up while my fore-waist fought his manly hands.

I am not hurting him. I love him.

I felt he was hungry. I had to feed him.

I released my whole inside him

Baby, I love you. Baby, I love you.

At least, I am showed him.

I thrust even harder, going even faster.

I am not myself, I am his.  

My part wholly inside him, his body went rigid.

He was still breathing. So, he was alive.

Like ice, he melted and I died on top of him.

Happy read!

Solutions... (inspired by Lauryn Hill's Oh Jerusalem)

Instances, examples and problems,
Emergencies, pain and silliness;
My body inevitably fail to connect and reasons cannot be defined.
Less sleep, more pills, mind drugged, my soul is dead,
And my young mind perished in the name of love.
Can I testify and say I was an actor, stage names, lies and imperfections defined me.
Forgetting lines, having no father but trusting in a man,
Failing schools tests, lacking direction but finding joy at varsity,
Limitations and boundaries dictating the light in my tunnel-shaped journey.

Instances, examples and problems,
Emergencies, pain and all;
Tradition abandoned, rules broken while hearts are in a process of being repaired,
Oh I cry, in the name of ancestors as a black soul
I cry in the name of those who live in the moment
I cry in the name of love; that which never existed.

I defined myself in the same way my enemies scrub their floors,
I explain my existence to those who felt I owed them.
I analysed my behaviour to a woman whose genitals stretched as God moulded my parts and shaped my heart, the same heart I have in my hand.

Instances, examples and problems,
Emergencies, pain and cluelessness;
I sleep around, I am sick; I no longer reap, but suck fruits less tasteful than bananas.
I forgot I was a man, I knew I was, but I had to thrust my being where my feet are forbidden as a man.
I forgot I was a loner, I knew I was, before I fell in love and felt good about it,
Deception fooled me; lust blinded me hence I often came quickly.

My traditions have found me, I chose you though I know you ditched me intentionally,
My heart is all repaired; I had to sort it, even though men stabbed me repeatedly in it,
I have found myself through instances, examples and problems,
Emergencies, pain and all.

 

Happy read!

Judgement days

The manner in which we judge each other in South Africa is atrocious. We have shifted from being groups of people who defend each other from any negative and uncalled-for remarks made by people of opposing parties and groups straight to turning against each other.

In the process, we forsake all the evidence there is to help look at and resolve cases that seems to be shady in our eyes.  Consequently, so many souls have no hope, faith or trust in anyone outside their family circles. But, what if one comes from a family that lacks the element of support for its off-springs?

Clearly, if our lovers, friends and neighbours have forsaken us in this situation, we need not put our hopes up for rescue.

My rant is inspired by what I just witnessed a couple of seconds ago.  A lady by the name of Pelokazi Zao is a trending topic (#TT) on Twitter because of a “her” Facebook account that has a profile photo of her spreading her legs and showing-off her genitals.

The one thing that caught my eyes as soon as I witnessed this is that, this account does not have any information apart from this photo, no friends and it does not have any posts; a concept that introduced a suspicion in my mind. Alas, no one on Twitter seemed to have noticed this. Instead, Tweepets (my term for people who tweet) threw curses and fits towards this lady. And I am thinking, what if this Pelokazi is not aware of this account? What if someone set her up as a revenge for whatever reasons? What if this is a photo she took with her boyfriend/husband – as we all know, people do nasty things when in love - who might have created this, after a very bad split?

Am I the only one who thought of all these things? What are women thinking?

I have read and heard of so many stories where a young girl committed suicide after her sex video was circulated in some town or school. What if this results in the same scenario? Are we to blame the coward in her or we will be courageous enough to admit that we played a role in her death?

Judging comes natural in each one of us, despite being in denial about it most of the times. But, there is a certain limit to everything.  We have proven to be not so satisfied with being obsessed with our bodies, hence we have grown to be more selfish than one can possibly imagine.

Now, this is a story to be made fun of. Even if the worst happens to her, we will laugh and utter negative remarks about her. However, when the lightning strikes on our sides; hitting us, our friends, lovers and those we like, we then look at those who laugh at us, those who judge us without any benefit of the doubt as the bad people, forgetting that we were the first products to be bad.

I advise you to continue and laugh if you want. I also advise you to look at the laughingstock before you let your heavy lips part in slow motion; mull over the possibilities, and after all that you have considered, do note that it is highly possible that you could be the next one on exactly the same position as the person you are laughing at.

With you being the victim in this regard, I wonder if you would be posting #TTs on Twitter spreading the word to people and making fun of the situation.

Happy read!