What way to follow.

I heard my name been echoed in the distant past, I was being called back
And though I seemed to be walking forward, my feet kept going on back.
My body resisted from heading forward, my heart fought the war even though my mind told me to look at the future.
The truth was hard to find, were I was heading to, I do not know. But it is were the voice came from.
Yet I never knew it spoke what was not de truth, it lied through its beautiful voice. It reminded me of Tselane and the beast, my mother's tales of the past.
Tales that sent me to dreamland had returned to teach me yet again, to were u may ask. I don't know either but I hope to find out because I don't want go back but head forward and if my feet walk me der n my heart wins the battle, my mind shall defeat de war.
Now thats victory I applaud!

Her Guide

She dances her whole life through.
The sound of life is like a jazz orchestra...
No matter where the melody goes,
she follows through.

Light on her feet, she spins round and round...
she mends the broken earth with her healing feet.

It seems so perfect, she seems so perfect.
I call her the silent contemporary preacher because she travels with a compass in her hand,

the leader she alone can see...
Her greatest guide is the holy book,
the only map she has and knows.

The dance floor is not always smooth,
she does miss a step or two...
but when she lends on her knees,
it's the only time I hear her speak.

'Lekunutu le Morena'...
she continues...
'guide'
All i understand is the end,
she says Amen and gets up again.
She stands brighter than the sun,
and for that moment I thought I saw this 'GUIDE' she speaks of.

It was too bright to clearly see,
did I really see...?
There was a word she continued to spell out while she danced...
G U I D E...

I would like to know what she ment,
it must have something to do with her mumbling whenever she falls...
Guide...GUIDE... Guide...She continues.
I stil could'nt make it out,
maybe if I shared the floor with her, I would know.

I joined her and we swifted through the floor,
she followed the compass i spoke of and I followed her.
Through the dance, her lips moved and for the first time I finally heard what she was saying...

I now felt the peace she preached,
Finally I understood her gospel.
GUIDE...
God U N I dance eternally.

Pages of a heroin's book.

I left traces of my happy memories, hopin that you would pick them up,
Only to salvage those that bring a smile onto your face and divulge all the pain inside.
For I see it in your eyes, that which you try so damn hard to hide, only to lie to yourself that you empty right inside.
Every tear you keep from wetting your face has caused a flood in your heart. Did you think I would not notice the drought on your face?
The cracks are there when you pretend to smile and share that undying laugh out loud.
You not well, Its sounds like a water fall is at your throat, without the beauty of nature in my ears.
I think about it and realise my memories won't do you any good, guess it was with a try, though still I'll continue to try.
Never had I seen disaster gone so deep. It was about to nurture your sleep, now thats deep!
I took your hand and walked back on the same path you came and at every sight of my memory, I turned a page or two.
A picture of you appeared, the way you used to laugh. Another one on the next page, the strength you had to show.
You were what got me though my times of floods inside, the strength you had to show gave me courage to get through mountains high, valleys low and oceans wide.
You held your own and that knife you took on, I must know...was that all an act, I think not!
You did it once, you can do it again. You can back it up!
I picked up the page when we riched the end,
Look, that's you screaming victory the way you know best. Besides only an author knows her book best.
Copyrights (c). (2009) CLK PHAKEDI. All rights reserved.

YIELD

yield (verb)
to give up; to surrender

he carries a yield sign that only my heart can see.

in my sleep, he comes to me
my over-eagerness,
continually contributes to my consistent insomnia
heas on pillow
eyes closed shut
breathing slowed down
He is mine.
the love is tainted
but it is love nevertheless
He is mine

i awake
He is gone.
leaving me feeling...
Twice bitch slapped!

stimulus
the reactions he causes,
emotions evoked,
walls broken.

My bricks are lost.

i cannot fathom,
the sweet sweet sweet agony,
that is him.
His smile is art.
i marvel at his being
My love, sacred.

he carries a yield sign that only my heart can see.