Mother Teresa’s Anyway Poem

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered; Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies; Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God; It was never between you and them anyway.

An Ode to Mandela

As I watch this video, I ball with tears

it has come to that time where we have to face our fears.

We know you might be on your way to Heaven’s portal

We kind of believed you are immortal.

Silly to assume this, old Black Pimpernel

But all I can do is wish well

You have served this country with passion, sacrifice, forgiveness and grace

even when you were left with bitterness in your mouth to taste

I thank you Tatu Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela

as I wage my body weight on my patella

I pray to God to bless you and your descendants

You were our voice, our key, an unworthy defendant!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAtciil6Cpc

(Courtesy of: elevenplaza Published  Apr 11, 2012)

Unconscious Double Life

The people I am living for are not even aware that I am.

I sense sadness everytime they ask me to do something ( I feel is extra) for them, I tend to sulk and groan.

Isn’t how I am living enough? How much more of me do they want?

I’m tired.

I can’t explain myself to them.

They don’t even know this is how I feel. I look in the mirror and don’t see Me.

Who am I? What happens when they leave? Who will I be.

I’m empty.

Is this blame shifting? Am I removing my responsibility of proving and showing my true colours?

Is this some kind of insecurity magnifying itself and substituting me?

I’m broken.

Subconscious just returned my pen, she was writing for me.

I’m not even upset. I see truth in this or is it a half truth from the other me?

I’m torn.

I’ve mentioned “me” so often as if there is a distinction.

I hope I’m not too old to start defining she. I don’t want to confuse people.

I think it’s safe to say I have failed me.

I’m sorry.Image

Bleeding

I have no words.

I have nothing to say.

All I have are feelings.

That’s what I shall describe.

The feeling of not being enough.

The feeling of unimportance.

I’m not worthy of being fought for.

I’m cut.

Besides my words, I have a greater loss.

Loss of respect, loss of fortitude.

I’m numb.

So all I had, (which were my feelings) are gone.

There’s some pain.

My heartbeat thumps harder, my bones rattle, my body slouches. I feel lifeless.

My aorta, atria and ventricles burst open. I’m bleeding.

Bleeding internally.

I’m sore. Sore for you too. Your blindness hurts. The fact that you couldn’t see me wave as I drowned.

You chose to purge me. Silly me thought you were dead to me, meanwhile I was a long gone fossil to you.

If not, then why? I have so many questions.

Actually,

I’m done

I’m out

Adieu

I like it

I like it.

I like it when you see me walk from the bus stop to my house
and you slow down your car so that you can watch my derriere.
I like it when you roll down your window
and peek your fathead out the window and call me over.
I like it when you call me babe.
After meeting me 2 hours ago.
I like it when we start chatting.
And I sleep at 3 in the morning and wake up with bags under my eyes.
I like it when you start calling me
And ask me how was my day on your way to fetch your girlfriend or your wife
I just like it.

But can I tell you what I love?

I love that as you treat me like you do,
I represent your mother, a child bearer, the woman who nurtures ALL of you.
I am the lady your father could have met a few years ago,
But would you be proud of the way he pursued?

I love that you value family
Respect, integrity and valour all the good things you seem to own
I love that one day you’ll have a daughter who will be your cornerstone.

I love that you’ll protect her from the Nasty boys that you are.
I love that she’ll go to college and you won’t be able to protect her from afar.
I love the way the wheel turns and she’ll feel what I felt for you.

I love the way her heart will shatter
And you tell her that “not all men are the same”
I love that you’re a hypocrite
And your child won’t be exempt of MY pain.

The Working World

The cold dark of these passages swallows you in on your first day,

You introduced to various faces, some welcoming some mundane.

I don’t know whether to sit or whether I should stand,

I’m waiting for a nod, an instruction, even a command.

I’m struggling to fit in. I don’t know if it’s my age,

cos my personality was never a problem, I love being the centre stage.

So I fetch my key to unlock the room where all my experiences will be birthed

An erratic burst of excitement, like electricity in my veins

Not sure if I’m hot, neutral, or unearthed.

In the kitchen to make tea, colleagues throw an occasional chitter followed by a chatter,

the technical service men benignly flirt, an unexpected flatter.

I scurry to my office, so embarrassed and forever bored.

This can’t be life, everyday feels like a damn chore.

I feel this isn’t for me.

Why?

Cos everything here is so bureaucratic and institutionalised

No room for creativity or change, everything’s run according to the so called wise

And then I remember that God does things for a cause,

It’s not always about shining and getting the applause.

Sometimes we need to sit back, watch and draw from the academics

To avoid, in the future, the brainless and cliché gimmicks

So this is a start, and for a while it felt like the bottom

But it is with “experience” now that I appreciate the gruelling warren.

Aisle.Alter.Hymn.

I’m thinking of a wedding.

It could be yours, it could be mine

With a handsome man

so groomed and defined.

The white of this dress is pure

and the cut, well-trimmed.

In my mind are three words

and forever begins.

AISLE. ALTER. HYMN.

I’M READY!! I think, I presume?

But there are still some doubts that my mind consumes.

“Ag, just nerves”

I console my heart and think,

Mom gave me three words and it’ll be over,

AISLE .ALTER .HYMN

Some ululate, some cry as I walk down the aisle

I see my journey of life as I pass people by.

I cuss in my head,

‘I think I’m gonna die”

WHAT AM I DOING????

I’ve seen all the signs.

But then I remember

I’LL. ALTER. HIM

Infront of the alter

after the second hymn,

I see godly figures, cherubims and seraphims

I hear a voice.

God says, “You are dead”

I pinch my skin to check

and He says,

“Child you’ve ignored your Daily Bread”

Spiritually retarded, Dunno how it started,

But one thing I BELIEVED is that

I’LL. ALTER. HIM

He looks at me with loving eyes,

I shed a teardrop.

I mixed up the words and my soul says I should Stop.

I CAN’T ALTER HIM

Call me the runaway bride

But somehow I’ll gather up my pride

and wait on Him,

to show me the way , with less a price to pay.

Til that “big” day, once He shows me the way

those THREE WORDS used in the correct array.

I’ll wait for him