not because they know where these weary feet will call home
but home is where the heart longs to beat in: in,
quiet spaces where the mind is a slave to its imagination
quiet spaces like the palms of a loved one
hate places they don’t belong in
and faces they will never kiss good morning
hate voices they can’t imitate
and shoes they will never walk in or afford to dictate their steps

tall only be-cause they gods of midgets
rich only be-cause they laugh with lowly neighbours
know what the future holds in her cradle
have no plan to die young

something (else)
just are

intellectuals only be-cause they argue with fools and win
mistake pride for self-love

think voting is a right,
by giving away one

live to die
lie to survive
dying to live
seek asylum in Europe while
in the Emirates are spending $35 bn. dollars on skyscrapers
wonder where brotherhood is in times of global essentialism

think they are beautiful be-cause that’s all they write about
and the mirror is their diary
and every freckle is a story
written in smiles and time

think the world will end in a block of ice or the return of a Christ
in purple halos
and salvation comes in miracles
believe that’s the beginning of The Age of Man
pray for the death of love

are willing to die –
not for their country –
but be-cause they have nothing to live for;
nothing to lose
are dead walking
(There is no proof every man has a soul)
are discarnates
believe in time warps and parallel universes
lost faith when their children came out as stillbirths
never recover from a heartbreak
invest in pain to garner pity from the world

worship money
comfortable living from hand to mouth

faceless and will die without a name
desperate to be known, so they embarrass themselves to the public;
lose their dignity and their soul
well known but they often feel alone
believe Hollywood is real

ask why is always war where there is oil?
Who buys guns to shoot who for whom for how much?
Why underpay those who toil?
Like teachers, the police and doctors. And poets?
Why pay an athlete in gold and bronze,
but leave a fugitive eating tears for dinner?
believe an African can’t think —
can only be a beast of labour like running a marathon,
running from burning cities,
boxing, basketball and killing their own people for a piece of land
are modern slaves in foreign lands and they hate their skin

are a nobody and they are free
write good poems and they are anonymous

become financial philosophers after a few zeroes in their bank
and they think they know life
hate such braggarts
worship them

love to hate, hate to love
hate those they love
think it’s just sex, but it is a wound:
a memory of ash and rain
think it’s just life, but it is a trap:
a test of faith and science

pay the price

wait for the Messiah to come and save their souls
But the messenger is walking amongst us
and we have raped him,
sent him to jail,
ignored him by the streets,
left him drowning by the shores of hope,
robbed him and accused him of ungodly things

think life has meaning
worship the sky and pop stars
ask the ceiling questions
find answers at the shouldering end of a cigar

fell in love this morning, got cheated on in the afternoon and broke up by dusk
No baby to breastfeed so their breasts belong to
fingers and tongues in the dark

left rich farms in the countryside to come and congest in smelly, rotten urban slums
and the landlord is their god
addicted to power and killing and stealing
think they are here to save the world but the world has enslaved them
work for food and that’s important
work to look important so they look like disposable food to the government

believe in aliens, chakras, mantras, Madras, yoga, numerology, channelling, reincarnation, telepathy, breatherianism, indigo children, ascended masters, theosophy, Ouija boards, Wicca, Law of Vibration, karma, Anuhazi syllables and tribal keys, fire and water
believe in hell, Lucifer, purgatory, eternal gnashing of teeth, demons, crucifixion, walking on water, miracles, bones and skulls
believe in equality, new world order, martial law, gay marriage, depopulation, the nightly news, NYSE, NSE,

thought you’d leave me when I lost myself
trying to find you in us
thought your death would break our family apart
but like the pyramids of the phoenix,
you keep eye on us from the cracks of your grave
outside the garden
marvel how I manage to soar with wet wings
or whistle in my sleep
keeping my wallet
my drugs
my licensed gun
next to my pillow because,
don’t trust the night and a new bedmate

write their names in tattoos, some in lyrics,
in bed stains, some in beer parties,
in blood and scars,
in picket signs, some in their wills…
I mean, we all write history
day I believe I will write anarchy a thank-you note

are awakening
conform to keep surviving and die in peace
can’t sleep at night without sleeping pills or smoking pot
sleep on their jobs
sleep with their father’s wives
smell in the mouth but they are decent kissers
smile in pain
will use you
will thank you and forgive you
will revenge
will think being hated means they’re significant
afraid to trust
speak hate and catch a throat tumour
want to be ruled

just don’t care.


7 thoughts on ““Some, are”

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