The covenant

Long ago we made a promise

to meet under the blue skies

beside the acacia grove.

You asked me to search my heart for justice

when fear clasped its chains around my feet.

And as I turned and stumbled away

you promised me unconditional love.

 

Separation began.

 

You knew in time I’d learn to trust my feelings

in the season when cool winds scatter dust around.

Apart from you, I found myself.

Who I really am.

 

Though there’s nothing in life to be certain of

I looked inside and found the answers

amidst the memories.

That love is truth and truth is justice.

And in my heart I found all three.

 

 

 

**Shared with dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night #239**

 

 

 

 

 

Transform

 

 

Dust off those dreams and ideals spiked long ago

When your caged heart was free and lived with gusto.

With the Pen in your grasp

Switch genres, change the title and unclasp

the yoke around your neck.

Write one word, then never look back.

*****

 

In my google search, it turns out a quadrille is also a dance.

I was not familiar with the use of the verb ‘spike’ as in rejecting something. Usually used in publishing where a manuscript is considered and then rejected and put on the spike. So I thought I’d use it in my attempt at a quadrille.

This was nothing short of a mental crossfit workout… Hope you enjoy it.

Written for dVerse.

 

 

 

 

 

March Madness

 

Summer rages on his deathbed, fighting off the change in atmospheric pressure. Minute turns of an invisible weather dial, the sun beats mercilessly down on dust, tar, bricks and sweating scalps. Children delight in a deceivingly endless warmth, only the old feel the new chill in the breeze. Winter arrives unannounced, freezing the greenery till they drop to the ground, brown upon brown.

Cooling Summer’s rage

“Tis only hibernation,

not the death you fear.”

 

****

Written for the dVerse prompt on March Madness.

This is my first attempt ever at a haibun. Very challenging, but rewarding too.

March is blazingly hot here in Botswana. But it is the month when it starts to shift into Winter. And so, it feels as if Summer is turning up the heat in defiance of the coming season. (So very Dylan Thomas) We hardly have an Autumn or Spring to speak of. Literally one day it is Summer, the next thing it is 3 degrees celsius at night.

I look forward to your feedback, so I can learn and improve my poetic craft.

 

 

 

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Not a cloud in this blue sky today.

 

Song of Zulaikha

I turned to God to escape you.
To cure what I perceived was an illness of my heart
And in that turning to God
I saw your name
Surrounded by praises of His name
In a faithful song of fate and destiny
And what I thought was an escape,
Became an exit from a door of my mind
Into a spiritual realm of my heart,
And His heart
Deeply entangled with you.
The three of us entwined in a heartaching love
So painful that I broke.
And continue to break
In waves of pain and joy
Causing me to question who am I
And where do I truly belong

I kept company with Rumi, Shams and Al-Ghazzali
But still it brought me back to you
Through Him

Just like Shams heard Rumi’s name,
So I saw your name attached to His.
Shams understood and followed
Whereas I followed but do not understand

All I know is I am forever changed
Stripped bare to my soul
And all I see is this longing for you
That is entwined with Him

There is no escape
For if I turn to God in utterance of faith
I see you too

*****

Based on stories of divine love popularised by Rumi and Shams. And the lesser known legend of Zulaikha, the King’s wife, who fell hopelessly in love with the Prophet Yusuf. The legend has it that her love for Yusuf led her to a more divine love for God. And that her love for Yusuf was a veil that hid the divine love

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I put my heart into a bottle

I put my heart into a bottle

stuffed it away. Out of me. Out of sight.

I’d grown weary of it’s whispers

nagging me through my busy hours.

It was getting harder to focus on all I needed to,

on who I needed to be

with it’s tales of dreams and hopes long forgotten,

long abandoned at the fork in the road

way back when such things were still possible.

No, it can’t be. Can’t ever be. Wont be. Not for me.

Silly stories, silly heart

Time to grow up.

 

At the edge of the cliff I threw the bottle into the ocean

Watched as the tides carried it away

over the horizon.

That night as I slept, the whispers came louder still

Woke up in a cold sweat feeling the hole in my chest

Empty and void.

Yet tales of better tomorrows, hopes renewed

swirled all around me.

See I had not realised that I could abandon my heart

But my heart would never abandon me.

 

Thoughts of a dying dream

I was born with you, the day of your birth,

in your awakening

Out of those moments of joy bursting with light.

I stood by you, through years of your longing,

in your flagellation

Through those moments of pain echoing with the truth.

 

We have always been one, though you split us in two

Denied me, seeking fulfilment from others besides me.

Embarrassed, you walked away

I saw you look back eyes dark with regret.

You had no sense to know you could never forget.

 

Once in your mid-life, I sent you flowers, a fragrant bouquet

Hoping to remind you of what we had, and all the missed hours.

You read the note, threw it in the bin

Hid in the bedroom and found you could not hide from what was within.

That night, in the yellow of the porch light, you looked up at the stars

wondering, always wondering.

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And here we are, together still at the end of your life.

Yes I’m still here, beside you, within you

And I bloom in your chest, with a lot of regret.

You tell me you’re sorry, you don’t know what happened

I say nothing, just let you speak, hear your voice cracking.

 

The pain in your voice is much for me to bear.

I know I tried to tell you over the years

that for you to truly live, both of us need to have life.

 

But I will die with you, the world never knowing who I am

More tragic than this, is the self you hid from the world.

All I could do was show myself to you

Hoping you would find your courage.

Something you could never do.

 

Oh the life we could have lived!

The possibilities we could have explored!

 

It is harder for me still, to question my own existence

The dream that never could and never will,

be more than a thought in your head

A fledgling hope that never took flight.

Why was I here? It makes no sense.

 

Then I look in your eyes,

moments before the light in them goes out,

and I see the same questions stirring about.

 

****

Inspired by an article I read on the regrets of the dying. Unfulfilled dreams were one of the biggest regrets.

There is something about unfulfilled dreams, hopes and desires that cause us so much pain. Most of it seems to go against logic and reason and it takes courage to follow them.

Undeniably, dreams are a part of who we are. To fulfil them is to fulfil ourselves. To give them life, is to give us a life that feels authentic, and has a buzz to it that makes us feel very much alive.

Need a better title. It is a WIP. Suggestions welcome!

Here’s to your dreams 🙂

 

 

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Veiled hearts

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

 

The first time their eyes met a deafening rip tore through her head

Mistaking it for her broken heart’s pieces cracking once again

She turned her gaze away, not wanting to shatter what took so long to mend

But something in his hazel eyes called to her through past lies

She dared another sideways glance a strange rising courage at the end

Pushed her into the unknown, where hopes renew and dreams begin

The second time their eyes met she did not flinch when the ripping sounded

A hazel gaze pierced through flimsy veils wrapping tight around the wounded

99 words

I read Erin Hanson’s poetry recently and was just so ultra inspired that I simply had to attempt my own. Last time I was inspired to pen rhythmic verse was in high school. So forgive me if it’s not perfect. The 100 word limit was quite challenging this time!

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by novelist and artist, Rochelle. The challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less.

Click here to read more flash fiction from other great writers.

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Here is one of Erin’s poems. She is a talented young woman in her early twenties, touching hearts and moving souls since her teens with her magical prose.

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