Heritage Day

Today is my last day


I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget


I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family


The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges


So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.


Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!






Circles Of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – A Review

‘The twenty two relationships of a spiritual life and culture – and why they need protection’

Yet another from Moon Books’gems!

This wasn’t an easy book to put down, yet it was necessary to do that from time to time in order to get the full message of it!

We all know that there are certain ways of different cultures and religions, including sacred rights, days of celebration, and fewer know that even some day to day routines are also rooted in the sacred.

This concise eye-opener could not have come at a better time, for our generation is possibly among the most fearful the universe will ever experience!

The pages and messages and lessons are honestly comforting for a time when the silence is scarce and the noise is utterly scary.

‘The Good Life’ as Mr. Brendan Myers describes it, becomes less of an abstract, almost unreachable idea and simplifies it in ways that once read cannot be forgotten.

Learning the relationships between yourself and the landscape, the neighborhood, animals, doctors… to name a few; is the lightest, most pleasant melody of an alarm that wakes you to discover that you have just begun experiencing life at its true pace and meaning for the very first time.

A must read for the truth seeking soul.

Circles of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – For those of you more curious here’s the link that will help get hold of this one.

Love and Light!

Canis Lupus

Blue oR Black Days

And the green light is illuminated next to the picture of your face
and I hate my own for yearning to touch it
Can I help it though?
Oh no!
How I search for the deeper meaning of life
beyond the sight of your eyes
the whim of the unfamiliar scent of you
I cannot smile just yet
I cannot
yet I do
With images as bright as the Canis Majoris
With the wishfulness of Canis Lupus soul
No backbone
Just dreams and wishbone
This composition of sounds through letters
This musical of broken word strings
Your wings
So keep them
Your Majesty
‘There’s green light in my eyes, and my lover on my mind…
And I’ll sing from the piano, tear my yellow dress and
and cry
and cry
The florence passion of an untaimed wolf soul
spills out
screams back
There is green light in my eyes and I time it
minute through passing of silent minute
Do you think I do not see or notice your silence
so deadly
live without the addiction of the life you give me
the taste for thing I never had
It is yours won’t you take it?
So come on my morning
Be the green light in my eyes
Be the lover on my mind
tear my yellow dress
Show me
That you will let me get around it
There’s green light in my eyes…

One Breath At A Time

The problem with moms and dads is that they are unaware of how powerful they are and how much they go through solely for the sake of their children!

The problem with my dad was that he wanted too much to believe in the things he was doing, but he didn’t realize if he’d started off by doing the small things well; that his success would have been inevitable. Don’t get me wrong; he was my hero – but he gave up… and I don’t blame him.

Now understand that giving up doesn’t always mean that you stop working, but real defeat happens when you stop living. When the only thought that possesses you is the need to prove yourself, the need to be independent, the need to elevate your pride because someone else left it rotting with a pile of scrap food under their bed. He had stopped going out unless it was to work, he had stopped singing, he had stopped swimming, he had stopped writing… he lost himself at the bottom of a glass each day and he couldn’t understand why I was so distant… but I couldn’t handle seeing him that way so instead of being there for him, I ran away and didn’t realize that inadvertently I had given up on him too. So how was he supposed to get up, when one of the only people he was getting up in the mornings for had given up on him too?

Please don’t mistake this as a call for pity, this is one of the toughest messages I have had to put into words… but it needs to happen, because if only one person reads this and recognizes the urgency with which it needs to be passed on; it could save lives.

Giving up on our elders is equivalent to giving up on ourselves. My second hero is someone who played a vital role in raising me too; he is my mother’s father. He’s been in ICU for the last week, it all started with a little fall that broke his arm and leg. Being in hospital meant that he could no longer reach for HIS glass countless times a day, so his first phase was Delirium… now Dream has him and Death is waiting patiently to be his friend, to walk with him and guide him until he is comfortable enough to let go. When I first found out, I cannot honestly say that I felt much, because I was angry. I kept myself busy with running, writing, studying… I almost gave up on him too.

Last night, I allowed myself to face some demons. They turned out to be angels because they taught me that sometimes the one thing a person needs most is someone to say,” I am not giving up on you, so before I do – you should never give up.” So I told him that… now it’s all up to him to fight or quit, but I refuse to give up on him.

You against the world (aka:you) (DO WATCH THIS!!)

The magical thing that happens when you tell someone that you believe in them and mean it; is that they begin to wonder why. On first glance they see nothing in themselves that someone else could believe in. That is the precursor to the search, they then begin to tear down their own walls searching for the thing you so desperately believe in. Will they find it? Oh, you bet! Because once their walls have collapsed, they find themselves… don’t understand where I am going with this??



One little step at a time is all it takes.

My step included admitting to myself that I had given up on the one person I believed in most and indirectly; on myself too.

It included selling my bed so I could stop being lazy and start working harder to achieve the things that I aim for, that I am passionate about: the things that scream.”Iva was here!” just by existing, being done or having been done.

Room without a bed

Room without a bed

Unfortunately my photography skills are not all that great but this (and my computer on which I am now creating this blog) is about all I currently have in my room. Each time I feel adgitated and want to drown myself in distractions… I work out with only one phrase on my mind:


Find your demons and make angels of them. It will make the life journey a lot less impossible and unbearable. Most of all guys, no matter how hard it may seem, remember to let your elders know it, they need it more than we could ever imagine.

Howls and hugs


URL for featured Image: http://old.seattletimes.com/ABPub/2013/12/04/2022396558.jpg

A City

They run down the saturated array of street bumps which connect both ends of this underpopulated place.

When it rains here, it pours and the area keeps herself clean with fluffy bubbles of scent, hygiene and water running down through every suburb, curve and corner – even through the darkest little hideout…purifying and preparing all her inhabitants for the new days and experiences, tornadoes and often times ; leaping earthquakes that resemble a wave leaping carelessly on some quiet shore.

It is also important to mention that although not many live in this space, there are landmarks all over… Starting with the varying length of naturally sprouting silk at the peak of the north point where scents and many of Them get lost, tangled, drowned in perfume and then get found again. Continuing south They take four steps down to the valley just before the steep hill which separates the clearest or darkest pair of wells placed so skillfully and perfectly. At night the wells are covered by tiny skins and in that instant (it is known to all ) the entire place rests peacefully (for the most part).

Next They take an intensely fulfilling and nervous walk to the Source of Sound and laughter and lies. This place is right under the steep hill which separates the wells and admittedly They cannot help but return to it, over and over and over. This pair of cushioned, pink happiness once in functionality is the attraction and the destruction of good and bad. It is curious though that this source often pairs with another pair which usually indicates the coming of an earthquake as described previously. One boat entering the Source, another following… exiting  and enclosing of source over source… the inconsistent flow of long then short breezes of hot and then cold air… the sudden movements that infect every single nook, spot and string of satin.

Following the curving hills and roads leading further south They wrap themselves around the air system, the connection between North and the rest. Here they feel the little pounds of life, they revel in the most unique aroma, it is here that every area’s aroma differs… not ever to be replicated. Other wells run quickly to this place and rest their north between this north and the rest.

Ever on southward, They pause at the Prayer Points… Rounded tents where Their Owners usually make them gather and surround then connect and shape around the Points in the manner of a praying apostle. They walk in circles first at the core… later at the points of the Points where tiny earthquakes or rather – earth shakes are provoked.

Inspired by the now trembling quest, they take a swift jog past the soft desert, jumping over the miniature pit fall… only to halt and slowly, gently search the outskirts of the Silver Moondrip. The Silver Moondrip it is said, creates happiness, longing and most importantly it gives life… not to those already living but new life, unique and uncertain life. They adore the outskirts as a sign of respect, They do not rush to enter the Moondrip, but first They revel on the outskirts taking in every sensation and texture before finally heading in.

Writers are not to describe the Moondrip, so as a respectful writer I will only say, that no life would be complete or would exist without it. The place of the ultimate and yet the place of nothingness. Dark and daunting as beautiful and sacred as it may be.



Well those are not to be forgotten… long and sturdy as they are, the point of strength… the show of weakness at the sight of another city, when they fold and give in…

Hands – ‘Their Owners’

Fingers – They

Eyes – the two wells shinning brightly or clouded in anger and pain or apathy.

EyeBrows, decorating the wells and providing a distraction on an animated face to keep from a recognition of what is hidden behind the wells.

Eyelids – the skins that close at night to symbolize rest.

Ears – the givers of life as are our lungs and the Steep Hill separating the wells which is our nose.

Neck – the breath, the connection… the spot of intimacy when the first kiss (or pairing of source with source) is delivered.

Collar bone… arms …tummy… palms… worlds within a city within millions of sensations that we bury, deep down in the fear of what other cities might think if we decided to feel all of what our worlds are capable of feeling.

This galaxy better known as a Woman is not merely a walking child-birth machine, made for man’s convenience in releasing hormones and being pleasured. A woman IS pleasure, she IS pain, she IS beauty and everything we can and cannot describe in words… skillfully crafted and fitted into one frame like an artwork that needs not be questioned, only respected, appreciated understood and loved.

Their eternal weakness!