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!






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!