Takers of joy and light, selfish to the core.

We think of ourselves constantly – nothing more.

Harbingers of pain and death; we pollute the very air.

We often wind up smashing nature beyond repair.


We are human.

We are flesh and blood.

Outwardly bright as stars.

Inwardly – dark as mud.

We are human.


Our footsteps leave footprints of regret and contempt.


Or so I thought.


Among our number exist a few,

Who buck the trend and spoil the view…

One can’t argue, it’s for the better.

These human beings live not for themselves.

They break every rule in the rulebook – to the letter.

Imagine shouting, “Hi!” to someone who doesn’t know you.

Perhaps a fool who chose to forget you.

In front of a crowd of your peers.

Unafraid of their jeers; their sneers.


Imagine making time when you know you’re busy.

Driven by love and not by pity.

In a time where disappearing is made easy.

But you can’t, lying makes you queazy.


Imagine giving your life to save the world,

Dreams tied in a sack and hurled.

(We know not where.)

Focussing on preserving life, not money.

Slightly ‘out of touch’ to put it bluntly.


Imagine revelling in the simplest joys.

Plain gifts bring double-joy.

When it seems a tub of ice cream gets you to scream, “I’m highly esteemed!”


Imagine singing songs full of the Word.

Strumming guitar strings no one’s heard.

Flaunting not the talent one has.

Humbly covering a soulful soul full of Jazz.


Perhaps that’s what it takes to be human,

To be an inspiring man – or a woman.

To be a prevailing light in the darkness.

To be a tender touch in the harshness.

To be praiseworthy furnishing in the starkness.

Perhaps that’s what it takes to be human.


The Power Of Defeat

Defeat. Smack! Right in your face. You did not see that coming.

You weren’t walking. You were gliding, baby you were running.

You were sailing real smoothly, everything was glorious.

You very gait and presence seemed to scream: VICTORIOUS! 

Everyone was singing ‘praise be to you’, you were perfection personified.

Now you’re just there to be vilified. They taunt, “You must have been terrified!”

Before every challenge you seemed unbeatable, untameable, invincible.

But that’s all faded away. Your defence is in shambles, it’s so ‘brittle’.

They looked to you to break all the records, you were the headline of all their papers.

Today… today you are used as toilet paper.


You were the nailed on winner until…


Controversy strikes! What’s this? A rustle in your feathers?

Your superstar team suddenly looks under the weather.

Hadn’t you won before you stepped on the pitch?

You try sew a smile on your face with needle and stitch.

Time goes by. You’ve got nothing in your hands but vanity.

Vaporous dreams vanish before your eyes so you spew endless profanity.


Time’s up!


Cue the time to taunt you… oh and they do! They laugh in your face.

“Hahahahaha! You a bloody disgrace!”

A spark ignites within your weary heart.

“You thought you were all that! You really aren’t…”

What stings more than loss is the vitriol that comes with it.

An intense smouldering burns deep within. You can barely bear it.

All that potential and you buried it – you’re worth absolutely nothing.

You came back empty-handed yet you said you were going hunting.

That’s less than a zero, you think, might as well have stayed at home.

You come back to no hero’s welcome; in defeat you’re on your own.

You glance at tabloids for reprieve but all you see is your disappointed face.

And it’s plastered. Everywhere.


That’s the tinder in your furnace.


The crown’s slipped off your head, you’re no longer covered in glory

Smile’s been ripped off your face, you’re beaten, bruised and gory.

“You ain’t no second coming – hmmm, maybe you’re Jesus Lite.”

“Mate!” they laugh brutally. “Have a Goodnight! (I know I will!)”

They mock you in your face, they mock you in your sleep.

“You cocky bastard. You sowed, now reap!”

They say all these words while looking down their chins.

Not knowing their feeding the flames within.

“You never had a chance,” they claim with wide-eyed gazes –

Now this is when the flames become fierce BLAZES.

They viciously shove your face in the muck of defeat.

Not knowing that they’ve just given you the power so this is never repeat-ed.


You’re Doing Alright, Keep It Up aka Happy Birthday

Thank God that time has come once more. It’s your birthday and you’re still here to celebrate it. That in itself is something worth celebrating but we’re human and we want more – always. What is the purpose of a celebration? Why, according to a certain online dictionary it is designed for one to enjoy oneself, to honour and to mark as an occasion to remember in the future. In essence when we celebrate someone and said person is still alive and kicking we seek to make them happy and to assure them they are invaluable. With that in mind:


What is this? Does she not tire of the effort?

Surely this woman’s insane…

Another invitation, another offered meal, another query regarding my health – too much…

But who am I too complain?

Actually I’ve taken up arms. I shall open my lips. I shall bare my throat and protest.

How could I refrain?

It’s human nature to give back when you’ve been given. Is it not?

Shall I then trade your sunshine for rain?

For you shine as bright as a forest blaze, setting a new kind of example,

Glory wrapped around you like a mane.

Monkey see monkey do I’ve heard. “Don’t just preach it, show it!” they say.

So with you I’ll be plain.

You’re doing alright Nothando, keep it up.

Happy birthday!




The Best Kind Of Madness

“I believe. I can. I WILL!



“Just because you want it doesn’t mean it can happen.”

“Not in a million years,” they said.

“Not even after.”


Outward he stood upright.

Inward he lost all fight.

He failed. Again.


“Grrrrrrr,” he growls

Then next he snickers.

He laughs in the face of his detractors.

He can feel it pulsing deep inside.

Passion fuels his heart.

Dum dum… dum dum… dum dum…

Defiant his will swells.

Intense he whispers:

I will!


Inspired by the restaurant scene in The Disaster Artist – 2017


Courage Born From Disobedience aka I Used To Be Afraid Of The Dark

Fears… phobias are just a few of the things we often keep close to our hearts. We don’t like to talk about them for fear others will ridicule us or worse, use the knowledge against us. Fear is a powerful thing; it’s enough to start entire revolutions – or stifle them. Fear can win wars or lose them. And yet sometimes the smallest thing can help spark the courage you need to overcome that fear. I used to be afraid of the dark. “Used to be” because I’m not anymore. In fact, anyone who knows me knows I now prefer a dark room and night time to day time. All for one simple, ridiculous reason.

From the 7th grade onwards I developed an insatiable appetite for reading. This was a localised fascination, it had to be fantasy (and largely still is) simply because of the creativity it inspired within me. *I’ll discuss how I became fond of reading in tomorrow’s post.* However high school loomed and the work grew more intense. I would no longer have the countless hours to pore though fantasy and science fiction novels the size of dictionaries day in, day out. I had to be realistic. This is what my parents told me.

“Focus on school, read the books later.”

Now I know what you’re thinking. This post is about fear of the dark, what does it have to do with reading novels and high school? Firstly let me rephrase the term “fear of the dark”. I possessed (especially in my younger years) a quite incredible imagination as often is the case with youth. All I needed was space and time to create whatever universe my whims led me to. I only fell just short of the imagination Oscar for never having had an imaginary friend. I had an imaginary army but never the one friend who would take up space at the table etc for that would have been near suicidal. It was this intense imagination coupled with the housekeeper’s fascination with horror movies, ones I had to watch with her at all costs, that made me fear the dark for a long time… yes even into my teens.

So I would sleep with the light on. “I need to read,” was the typical response. It wasn’t nearly as intense as the phobia I wrote about earlier in my blog though. So long as I was already in bed with my eyes shut, I’d have been fine. But that was rarely the case so the light stayed on… until I was told to stop reading novels at night. I had to wake up early in the morning since my bus to school left at 0630. Immediately my mind went into detective mode because the love for reading was too great to let go instantaneously, much less for something as mundane as waking up on time for school. How to beat the system? That’s what I pondered for a few hours at most. The answer finally came.

“Good night. I’m going to sleep.”

Then I would switch off my light, proof that I was actually sleeping… only to go into my  blankets, produce my latest novel from under the pillow and switch on my Nokia’s torch. This is how I read Stephenie Meyer’s ‘New Moon’ in one night. I did this often enough that the fear of the dark evaporated. I needed the dark for me to do what I loved; read. And I read. I went through 6 to 8 books a month this way. In a school of 700 students the librarian new my name and would set aside new books for me to devour. So repetitive and exciting was the new habit that even my study habits tweaked to accommodate this mindset so that even now I’m extremely productive in the hours from late evening to early morning.

And that’s it. I told my parents about it a while ago and they had a laugh. It was silly beyond belief. But one can’t deny that it got rid of an unnecessary, hindering fear… even if it may have replaced it with a less than necessary habit. The young man no longer feared the dark… he was just borderline useless early in the morning.

Marry Me

Boy: Marry me.

Girl: Ok.

Boy: Wait… really? That easy?

Girl: Well, yes. What were you expecting?

Boy: Well I thought I’d have to go on my knees and beg. I thought you’d say no a thousand times and I’d have to keep coming back a thousand and one times to prove myself. To let you know the extent of my love.

Girl: Oh. That sounds incredible! I’m at a loss for words.

Boy: No need to be. I’m just so glad –

Girl: I change my mind now. It’ll be a no from me.


The girl went on to be the most controversial judge on the Voice.

23 October

Morocco and Saudi sure made something special.

Unlike this rap, which is audible ether.

You on the other hand are a lyrical miracle.

“Pew pew” is the start, “pew pew” ain’t your pinnacle.

“I ain’t got friends.” That’s what you said.

Perhaps that’s true and my name’s Jed.

Honestly though, you really don’t got homies.

Just an army devoted to you – your very own cronies.

What else ends with -onies?

Uhm… Pink plumed ponies!

Even if they’re beaten and they’re gory and red.

Your enemies better run scared.

Coz at the flip of a switch they’ll be right there.

Except for me… I’ll prolly be late.

But don’t sweat it, I’ll bring a machete.

Or come swinging my Helicopter Richard tiny though it may be.

This is my blessing to you on this day.

It won’t be deep… But it’ll prolly be gay.

Your star sign’s Success.

You’re failure’s biggest nightmare.

Dream to infinity and beyond,

Cause you’re A Baz Lightyear.

Smile. Laugh. Sing.

Smile. Laugh. Sing.

Cry tears of joy, you deserve them.

Let the giggles out, why preserve them?

Why lock them up? Why detain them?

Time to trump stress! Cause some mayhem!

Stretch those lips out as wide as you can.

Let’s see them pearly whites.

Or sunshine yellows…

Hahaha! They’re still alright.

Now bellow my fellow!

Let them know you’ll be here tomorrow.

That sadness won’t keep you feeling hollow.

That you every time you’ll choose joy over sorrow.

That you won’t ever let stress gain control.

That no matter what happens you’ll still:

Smile. Laugh. Sing.

Maybe even cry tears of joy.



Good Pain

From the balls of my feet to the nape of my neck is a low-burning sensation. With each motion (more likely attempted motion) the flames are stoked and burn brightly. My limbs have been rendered near useless. I feel as if my bones have transformed into jelly – my muscle fibres into marshmallow. Sitting up my lower back screams at me, crying tears of sweat for the slowest motion. As I lie down again my calves beg for relief. Just one session of parkour, “just a taster” they said and I feel I’ve had my fill for seven generations. And yet I absolutely loved it. I’m no masochist but I’ve never felt better. Each step takes more effort than the last. At times I feel as though I’m one hundred years older; putting on clothes or getting out of bed feel like impossible tasks. But each time I manage to do something, even the really simple things, the euphoria kicks in. I have gained a greater appreciation for every part of my body – because at long last I now feel every part of that body. Oh it’s pain alright… but it’s so damn good… it’s good pain.

Perhaps I should have listened to myself and one funny brunette I know. Maybe I should frequent the best place for my body, the secret the world would love to hear about; in her own words: “Gym!” 

Or maybe I’ll go back to the parkour session next week. Maybe I’ll shake off the cobwebs in my underused muscles and awaken them with a sweet, sweet dose of good old pain.