Where you belong

You belong in the abyss
Where it's pitch black
And everything leads to nothingness
Because for so long you tainted my heart
Froze it that no blood could flow through
Stone cold was what it became
Not even a sizzling fire could warm it

I latched onto you
Dug my fingers into your flesh
So you could anchor me 
But you instead let me sink to the bottom
Of the ice cold ocean
Where nobody could reach me

The proof that you once existed
Were bloody stained fingers
From holding on onto you so hard
But even that wouldn't make you stay
You left me for dead
No chance at tomorrow

I live to see today
An implication that
I emerged out of that bottomless pit
To thrive, to live and to feel
To be a better version of myself
While you lie under

You try to find your way
Except all you see is a maze
And like a maze runner
You will be in the tunnels 
Knocking on walls
But all you see is the dark
Come find me
When you see the light

The journey

The beginning was the end

Such was the manifestation

Pretty artless

Sweeping through like awhirl wind

Going through a numb object

Like a stalker

Peeping through a key hole

Observed through the mirror

The inception of a being

That wasn’t me, but a stranger

It seemed that way

And so it unfolded

Mesmerizing it was

The twists and turns

It was a theatre

Glued me on the seat

The end is predictable

How dreary, tedious

It needs a spin

And like a master craftsman

I will give it one

To be continued.. 

"An open letter to black people.......in horror movies" This is a poem i landed on Button poetry a site a friend recommended i look up.  Of the kazillion poems available  on the site, this title screamed at me to check it out, One mostly because i love watching movies and of the few horror flicks i have watched, i don't recall seeing that many black characters. I was intrigued by what these chaps had to say about the subject.

And boy i was in for an earful.

The silence that ensues after they say out the title is so captivating , it sets up your mind like an empty shell, waiting for the next words to drop because you are eagerly waiting. The pressure is up a notch. They scream out Runnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.......then the flow starts. The poem is about the everyday struggle, hustle and bustle of black people living in the whiteman's land looking over their shoulders every other time, a constant reminder that they don't belong. The disparities between the two races are still so profound despite all the movements that have happened to give blacks something near to an even playing field with whites.

When all is said and done, whats going on around us still shows that like animals we are still an endangered species. So we gotta keep running: will there be a finish line where everything comes to a a normality: maybe yes or maybe not but we can never know the outcome until we get there. Mean time the race is on....

Enjoy the recital..xxxx. B

Uncharted territory

For if it's the first, it should be the best first and it was.....Recently a work colleague prompted me to read Frank McCourt’s biography “Angela’s Ashes”.  I was so reluctant; in all these years I have read, I have never opened a single biography. I have heard about so many but fiction has always been my comfort zone and go to whenever wherever.

I have been pushing myself to try out new things, so trying out a different genre of a book wasn’t a bad idea. With much hesitation I got it, flipped through the pages, good thing its sizeable, just 425 pages, big enough letters and I told myself, this would be a piece of cake.

So may be that wasn’t the case from the onset, first I was thrown off by the style of narration 1^st person, have no problem with it except that I haven’t read many books like this, or a biography for that matter, so I had to first adjust my head space to get into it.

When that was over with and I got the hook of the story I was in awe. Frank McCourt doesn’t leave any stones unturned, the humour with which he tells the story of living in absolute poverty in Limerick in Ireland, you cannot help but laugh. I find it ironic because this is supposed to be a sad tale but then it’s only a good writer who can manage to make one find a laugh in even the saddest situations. No wonder it was an international best seller.. As I wind down Angela’s Ashes, I am on the lookout for another great biography. I am now on a roll. And ohh McCourt has set the bar so high with me so I want something equally good or even better. Any recommendations?????