Despite (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 3)

Where roses die and wither, I grow. Despite a lack of sunlight – I grow. They call me weed and nuisance. I call myself conqueror. …

Sometimes they’d rather see you breathe in and suffocate on your own breath than see you exhale (excel). So I was the type to exhale till my lungs collapsed just to spite them. One day I realized that I didn’t have to make bagpipes out of my chest to revolt against negativity. Now every time I look at them, I see a sign pasted on their foreheads that reads don’t feed the trolls. I learnt not to spite. I learnt how to live – despite. Despite became a one word affirmation and I found myself holding on to it like a life raft when the storms of my thoughts wanted to shatter my heart through morning palpitations. Hot tears would caress my eyes. I held them back, scared I would go blind if I carried on. It felt like the wind never offered to carry me, it always pushed against my hate  graffiti written paper skin vandalized by words like ‘you wont’ and ‘you cant’. I was lighter than the wind but ‘despite’ kept me anchored and flailing forward like a pebble cast from a sling, made to topple giants. I am David. They said I was a slave to failure so I learnt to run. I am Frederick Douglass. The hardest part is not to do but to do completely. In other words to pursue your hearts desires fully no matter what they do or say.

Despite – you have kept me believing in the suns existence when there was no evidence to do so

All those cold nights, you would describe how  warmth felt through my dreams

You showed me that scars are stronger than the original skin cause it is not in natures character to allow the same mistake twice

And because of that I have no reason to be afraid of hurt or healing

You have taught me to love myself in the face of hate when I had no reason to

You have introduced me to gradually and finally

And one day, I know that in my heart of hearts, you will all introduce me to success.

Thank you despite for your unconditional love and encouragement

You have introduced me to the most important person that I should ever meet

You have introduced me to myself

Advertisements

Prelude (Old Mother)

She crawls out of the ground, stretching her limbs out. She wants to touch the sky, it has twisted and deformed her shape. Many creatures call her home and provider. She sheds her skin on autumn to stand out stark naked on winter, reaching out to the sun like a beggars lament. Many children have climbed and built forts on her giant’s shoulders just to see past their own imprisonment. Old Mother grows despite gravity and longs to hold hands with the sun, despite how impossible it is and despite the fact that she’ll die even before she reaches her goal. Old Mother knows not of Icarus nor of fail or fear.  She knows ‘despite’, that oh so empowering word that allows her to believe and love. She hatched and sprouted from the cracks of the ground despite a weak stem and soft leaves and now she looks to break through the sky, galvanized by the word and principle of despite. She personifies it……

A rendition of the sunshine

You play the sunlight like a soft instrument.

I play guitar but I can never strum it to the same melody you produce from the sunlight

,bending it around your body to orchestrate a symphony

I can see this soundscape – I can hear it with my mind

When you smile, I’m sure that this is how forever sounds

even with a cloudy sky and rain trickling down

You manage to piece the torrents together into a timeless ballad.

Its like a billion collaborating light filaments  all sparking off into an echo

I’m trying to find a shadow to hide behind…

Too afraid to understand the lyrics of your glow

You see,  I’m a walking whisper

Im not for the casual listener

My sounds are awkward next to yours

And I have trouble walking through open doors

Im a prose of walking disjointed words formed into nonsensical lyrics

sung in a cappella  from a falsetto voice

Constantly played in the note of D

When you opened your mouth to speak, its like you added vocals to your instrumental

then I introduced you to my shaky time signatures

‘and listened to your footsteps as you plodded off in an even cadence.

I wanted to talk like the silence was some how a burden…

like I had the words sitting  in me so long that they were gathering dust like old antique furniture.

I wanted to say, I dont think any one can play the suns radiance like you do,

like you were crafting music from it, playing a rendition of the sunshine even beneath a

cloud veiled sky

simply – which is to say that I think you’re beautiful and I owe you that.

The words (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 2 )

Sometimes you write just to be writing, the same way you speak just to be speaking. Have you ever searched for something but you didn’t know what you were looking for until you found it because that’s all you could do? That’s how cathartic writing and speaking is. You throw random subjects out, not in hopes to be understood by someone else but to understand yourself because some of us are deep enough to get lost in our selves and we just haphazardly let words blunder out so we can find a life raft in them so we don’t drown in ourselves. We hope that a few words formed into a sentence will become an epiphany and will some how save us from ourselves because the cure is in our own ideas. We wander around in ourselves, rummaging in the trash can of our consciousness for something meaningful and somehow tangible in this scatter brained abstraction we call the ego. When we find it, it will be something so obvious and we will ask ourselves how we kept on missing it but that wont take away from how profound it was. These are the words. You can find a home in their minimalistic simplicity. These are the dialectics that run mind body and soul. Take comfort in them, take your time with them, take shelter under them and take understanding and peace from them but never and I mean never take them for granted because when all is lost, all you’ll have are the words.

Broken Adamantium

He stands slightly slanted down

like a cardboard shanty town

Analysing an abundance in which

he’ll never get a chance to drown

This is how our pretences sound

Some memories are like ephemera

and some shape you

Some sound like an

old ragged heart beating from a porcelain

chest where little micro holes provide a conduit

for sound to escape through.

Sometimes remembering is like aggressively walking on aspic

Im you’re classic case of a man who will find his final home

in a casket

or find an escape in a heart that has grown agrestic

Do you want to hear a horror story? I catch my morning taxi to work perpendicular to a tiny clinic that stays over flooded with what I assume are potential abortionists. Next door is a KFC who’s security metal pull down garage like gates keep it safe from the homeless who have decided to loiter and make an informal sleeping area in front of its doors. They have custom bedding and dirty linens posted and parked out there. I pass what seems to be a couple who just woke up and are now loafing around in bed. A rolled blunt hangs out of the mouth of the male. He has three cigarettes piled on his pillow. The female plucks and places a cigarette into her mouth. Both have strange (to me) facial expressions of satisfaction like they were a married couple sitting in front of a good breakfast.

Im standing in the middle of the North Johannesburg taxi rank and standing next to me in the line is a man of middle eastern heritage. He is bearded, wearing one of those cute (?) winter  hats on his head, a dirty old jacket on his torso  and camo pants on his legs. I cant help thinking that he looks like a refugee from an Iraqee military camp. I look around as always, finding wonder in the chaos, stench, pollution and sheer desolation of this place. Most of the commuters here are the working class citizens of Johannesburg South Africa but the hopelessness painted on their faces stands as contrasts to the the expressions of the homeless couple I gaped at this morning. A beggar begins his rounds at the head of the line, receiving more no’s than an old handkerchief. Our middle eastern friend is religious, you can tell by the sorrow on his face. He does not feel as much sorrow for the child as he does for the coins in his pocket. The beggar stops in front of him and produces his sale pitch for charity. Our friend pulls out some coins and retracts them like a mistake. What I see in the child’s face is a desperation like no other – it pulls at my heart strings – its the epitome of salivation – this pitiful creature was once human. Our friend hands him a a shiny 1 rand out of his collection, the beggar comes to me next. I contemplate it – I say no only because he received some money from our Osama. He tells me ‘God bless you’ but it comes out so impetuous that it sounds like a curse. I feel angry,  disgusted (at myself more than anything), ashamed and guilty all at once. How can he bless me in the  name of a God, I no longer believe in and one he doesn’t fully understand …..

You’re conflicted and I can see the sign of your addiction

No point in playing the role of victim

but I cant tell if you’re high or crying your eyes

red

This old machine leaks oil and its power supply is dead

They think you’re crazy but you’re not trying to escape the

re looping cassette tape playing the recriminations in your mind

– You’re worried about the voices outside your head

He spat it out at me. Johannesburg is like the mechanisation of beggary, a cast of creepers form various conveyor belts to feed change to the deep, dark rust of the city. Conveyor belts is the right metaphor cause here they are, conveying their need for your loose change. Here comes another one – its my favourite one because its the saddest one of the bunch. Once upon a time he looked exactly like his cohorts. They all look alike , sometimes you can wonder if this was the same one who asked you for change a second ago but there’s a clear distinction in this one. He’s a clear illustration of the cities degradation. Saddam hops from foot to foot whilst shaking his head in the universal gesture for no and trying to ignore him. He cant even look at him. This is understandable, I like him more for his display of guilt. The beggar stops in front of me, shaking his hand up and down like it was a mechanical action. He has a useless eye and a bloated jaw from an infection.I remember when both of his eyes worked. His jaw is too swollen for him to speak but you can tell that its not too swollen for glue or what other drugs he may be swallowing. Out of all of them, he has the best marketing gimmick but I still say no with a heavy heart. It feels like someone punched me in the gut as I see him carry out his routine to the rest of the crowd. Most of us are veterans in saying no. We say it with such a quick clean precision that the beggar has no other choice but to move on to the next potential customer with out even a single attempt in reinforcing their plea with greater persuasion. I wonder how they do it, they even give out angry no’s like these beggars were audacious in assuming that they would ever get a cent out of them. I wonder  if the givers have a special heading in their budgets for the mendicant. Another one passes by but this one asks, receives a no and moves on with fervour – he doesn’t seem to need what he wants. Ahmadinejad has a grin on his face and he seems to be giggling at something. I follow he’s gaze to realize that its aimed at nothing in particular. The city can make you crazy my friend, there’s nothing else you can do but laugh at the irony sometimes. This is civilizations ass hole and if you don’t like fart jokes, you wont find it funny but this is what the city’s flatulence produces. I look at lost people trying to find which line to stand in and confused taxi marshals standing around. I see a man on crutches doing a crippled man’s jive as he walks trying to find where he fits into this mess. I turn to Muhammed next to me and realize that he was laughing at the lame man’s walk. He must love fart jokes.  Our line finally moves…

You see there are things that cant be broken,

there are things that cant change

This has always been true,

even in societies very young age

Your pathos is that you’ve always been

so keen to express those echoes in your spirit

That’s why you speak to yourself now because there is

no chance of interference

They wanted to break you cause things as free as

you and I are too pure for this existence

Say good riddance to the past and this crashing system

This is not an apology, here is my open heart and this is your admittance

Im trying to say that you’re one of those things that should be admired from a distance….

Im in a rush. Im late for work again and Im trying to jog through this crowd. I have to admit to myself that Im slightly exhilarated from the air rushing through my chest. I pass KFC and something familiar splashes itself into my mind, caught from my peripheral vision. I’ve always wondered where they slept. I stop to stare and the desperation I felt a few seconds ago evaporates.  I try to find any sign of life in him. A little chest movement maybe to indicate that he is still breathing. The eye that still worked is wide open while the useless one lies closed. His mouth was too swollen to close so that hangs open as well. What did you dream about last night? What was your last dream like? Who is going to mourn you? Death says no to no one. It hurts to know that you can only gain acceptance when your eyes are closed. Goodnight…

You know when things go so wrong that you cant control your hands from flying and holding your head. I saw things corrupted that I thought degradation’s touch could never poison. I have seen the indestructible broken like shattered adamantium..