Marriage – Best Explained

Poem: The Unravelling of a Christian Marriage – http://wp.me/p4xkgU-ii

poem, poetry, rhyme, Uncategorized

A Beauty Certificate – Expiry date

Entering the world she was stamped with a beauty certificate

The terms and conditions read

“To be happy there is no need to gesticulate,

But only to be well bred”.


Now breeding does not come easy

Especially to the pure

And not to be cheesy

But for beauty – there is no cure


She was taught to smile, to sit upright

To say please, to say thank you

To lie, only when it was right

And most of all – never to be true


Her life was a whirlwind

Of autographs and pictures and the perfect smile of a mime

While a calm river was her mind

Of mathematical equations, laws and theories of time


To utter intelligence was shunned

For most were fickle

And the idea of “Brains and Beauty” did not tickle

And more often than not, it left them stunned


She was no more than her mask

Not a degree to her name (her mother would have no such thing)

Now Her beauty is slowly fading

Glory days are waning as she wonders where next to bask


More make up

Cover up

But what will she do when the wrinkle says “ Time’s up”?





poetry, Uncategorized

Looking through a magnifying Glass


It may be an actual tragedy

Or just s small problem

Most of the time it’s a parody

When we tell them,


“You’re looking at it through a MAgnifiying glass”


Now some may be guilty

For this they have done-

Taken pity

On themselves instead of having fun


“You’re looking at it through a MAgnifiying glass”


Time will come

When all we can do is watch

In clothes that match

Watch from the windowpane

In despair, in sorrow and in pain

For our bodies will not be worth much


“You’re looking at it through a MAgnifiying glass”


This time it will be too late

To lose the weight

Of the looking glass

That has become part of us.


creative writing, life, personal, prose

You always like to be “Different”.

Shell-shocked, that statement incinerated my world – of skyscrapers, buildings, lights as bright as the sun echoing names of hero, heroines, stars and valiant men, and with streets paved in gold with not a piece of debris in sight. Where once there were yellow perky flowers and crimson rose petals lining the polished marble paths are now shards of blackened glass and singed plastics of a dirty green. In the places where my dreams- like pre-school children- danced on tunes of their own accord is a cold, bitter and merciless wind. The towers that caressed the sky were replaced by mounds of brick and metal weaved together to form a monstrous contortion with jaggered arms.

Within the desolate streets lined with growing dark and dreary nightmares, I searched for answers.

“Was I always trying to be different?”

“Was my entire life – my existence- a façade?”

Turning to my dreams, I found that I was greeted by a cold memory of what once was. My nightmares only mocked and scorned my melancholic state for were only concerned about their own existence. The more I festered and fretted, jerking from one side of the street to the other- walking up and down- the bigger my nightmares seemed to grow.

The seasons, oblivious to the current conundrum, went on with its busy schedule of waking up the sun on time for the day ahead and putting the moon to sleep after a good night’s work.

It was during one of the rants of the nightmares that I realized what I should have uttered in response to that statement.

You see I don’t always like to be Different. I can’t help being different. I was made different and so was everyone else. The striking difference is that everyone else is desperately trying to fit into one person’s mold of “normal”.

Ungluing my face from the ground, I faced the nightmare that was now no more bone protruding through the skin awkwardly but rather a fully fledged healthy beast glowing with unphathamable darkness.

For it took years to nurture, nourish and nurse this beast, it would surely take just as long to reverse to process.








Trading Boards

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Come one come all. The crowd was alive as they poured into the hall (much like milk into a large cake bowl), filling every seat in every aisle. The stage was already preened and pruned for the first act. A yellow hat, a tiny mouse and bunny ears had the early birds of the audience taking their best bets on what awaited them in the minutes to come. Excitement danced on the corners of the eyes of the audience members as the lights were dimmed. The stage light shone on the actors that were born and bred in Bulawayo. From the moment the actors commenced their episode, they had the audience by the neck. Expectations were raised as curious riddles were spoken and further still there was a mounting anticipation as the story was narrated by the mouse. The audience, now on the edge of their seats, backs straight and ears erect (much like the ears of a dog listening for its owner) not wanting to miss a thing. Before the act was over both the youth and those in their golden years were tumbling off their chairs with tears streaming from their eyes from laughter.

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With spirits lifted high the scene changed leaving the audience wondering what could possibly top such a performance. Love, live romance and tragedy all wrapped up in one scene. The audience as silently held hands and fought for the damsel whose relationship was misunderstood by her father. Her love was declared futile by her father. Her fiancé shunned, by her father. The audience clenched their fists. Veins on their foreheads threatened to burst through their skin. His wife; unloved, not cared for, neglected, pleaded – almost on her knees- for things to be as they were. As though he were a close cousin to cold ice, he wouldn’t listen. His heart could not be thawed. The fate of the audience was not a good one; for they were given, as a farewell token : sore hearts and tissues glued to their eyes.

… (to be continued)