Tuesday, May 27, 2014

WHERE BLUE SKIES CRY ...

WHERE BLUE SKIES CRY IN THE AFTERNOON
© Jill Townsend

The sun scorches
Where blue skies cry
In the afternoon

The land breathes
In cross-currents of emotions
Collisions of oceans and winds
Reflect the minds and spirit
Of the people

Complexities and contrasts
Flourish and divide
Into pockets of resistance
Spiritually uplifting
Emotionally draining
Ebbing away into vast flatlands

Tall towers mirror
Dark secret places

There is corruption in power
As there is corruption in suffering
Breeding greed, betrayal and guilt.

Today is negated
By tomorrow.
Today is always more important
Than yesterday.

Uniforms and rhetoric
Disguise the soul
Masks fit every face
But never the eyes
- The eyes
   always tell
   another story -
So that every truth
Is also a lie


by kind permission of © Jill Townsend

letter/poem from Jill Townsend:
composed: 10.03.1986
[Carlton Centre, Johannesburg, South Africa under apartheid].

[] Acknowledgements:

Where Blue Skies Cry In The Afternoon was previously published in:

     The Wind Still Sings Sad Songs (piquant publications, p106, 2006);
     The Wind Still Sings Sad Songs (kindle, 2014);
     The Wind Still Sings Sad Songs (amazon paperback, p103, 2014).
     www.faroukasvat-poems.blogspot.com (27.05.2014).

* I decided to include this letter/poem from Jill Townsend to me, as it was so incisive and perceptive in capturing the essence of South Africa and its people in the 1985-1987 period.  I was quite determined that The Wind Still Sings Sad Songs would be my last attempt to represent the events in South Africa in poetry; and so I felt that Jill's letter was an essential part of that portrayal of the country, its people, and its turmoil.  It should perhaps rather have been part of my collection A Celebration Of Flames, capturing the events and emotions of the mid 1980's. 

Anyway, Jill's poem also reminded me of Basil Davidson's Report On Southern Africa (1952), which also gave an insight into the people of South Africa, with a profundity that South Africans themselves refuse to see, and are reluctant to appreciate.  The book was obviously banned in South Africa throughout the apartheid era, and Basil himself was considered persona non grata after his visit, and was unfortunately never able to return to the country to give the people of South Africa a valuable insight into themselves, during its many years of turmoil. 

[] farouk asvat

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© farouk asvat.  All rights reserved.

Farouk Asvat asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, or transmitted in any form or any means whatsoever, mechanical or electronic, including recording, printing, photocopying, or via any computerised means or media, including the internet.  This publication shall also not be stored in a retrieval system.  And the writing shall not be sold, lent, hired, resold or circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published,
without the prior permission of the author in writing.
Permission to publish or reproduce the writings in any format can be obtained from the author.
Reproduction of this work without permission, except for scholarly & nonprofit purposes,
is liable to a payment of 10, 000 ren men bi or US$ 1,500.

farouk asvat can be contacted at: farouk.asvat@gmail.com

[] please check out my blogs @:

farouk asvat - poems: www.faroukasvat-poems.blogspot.com




books by farouk asvat: www.faroukasvat-books.blogspot.com

[] also link up on:


linkedin: www.linkedin.com/farouk-asvat/




amazon kindle author @ www.amazon.com/author/faroukasvat

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#thewindstillsingssadsongs #whereblueskiescryintheafternoon




Tuesday, May 20, 2014

IMAGES THROUGH A CRACKED MIRROR

IMAGES THROUGH A CRACKED MIRROR
© Farouk Asvat


          Come, my child,
            Let me teach you
            Teach you
            About those brutes
            That kill our children
            Besmirch our women
            Smother our men

            Come, my child,
            Let me teach you
            Teach you to hate
            Hate with equal passion
            For you know
            Too much love
            My child


                      My people still wait
                        For some Black Moses
                        Come to liberate my country;
                        But the weaving lies in the hand of the weaver
                        Revolutions are made by revolutionaries
                        And those living on hope
                        Will have only hope to feed upon
                        For destiny determines nothing


          Death descends on those defenceless:
            The political prisoner slipping on soap
            The baby sucking in vain
            Upon the brown dry cracked landscape
            Of her mother's breast


                      Marx's children forget
                        That this is not the British Museum
                        In the nineteenth century
                        That Azania's children
                        Speak for Azania
                        That the drumbeat of our ancestors
                        Speak of bloody rains
                        And bitter peace


          Your children have forgotten you, F.A.
            They merely burn candles in protest
            Veering between obsequity to the Whiteman
            And disdain for the stinking Zim


                      Do not sing to me of love
                        That flourishes in the spring
                        And gardens that kaleidoscope in summer

                        Between these prison walls
                        There are black hands
                        Ready
                        To pluck khaki weeds


          Our ancestors are young men
            Too nominal to plant their seeds
            Or nurture an African harvest

            So we plant their supple bodies
            In freshly tilled earth
            Singing and dancing
            As we die
            Our way to another death




© farouk asvat


[] composed: 1976 [Johannesburg, South Africa under apartheid].


[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
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is now available on amazon kindle @ only $5.
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[] Acknowledgements:

Images Through A Cracked Mirror was previously published in:

                Descant 69, vol 21 (2) (Descant, Toronto, Canada, p35, Summer 1990);
                The Wind Still Sings Sad Songs (piquant publications, p103, 2006).

() Come My Child (as You Know Too Much Love,
part of Images Through A Cracked Mirror): previously published in:
                Belgravia High School brochure
                (Belgravia High school, Silver Jubilee, Cape Town, p29, 1981)};

() My People (still wait):
part of Images Through A Cracked Mirror): previously published in
                University Students' Bursary Committee (Witwatersrand, p11, 1981);
                Vuka (Crescent Publications, Durban, p31, 1981)};



© farouk asvat.  All rights reserved.

Farouk Asvat asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, or transmitted in any form or any means whatsoever, mechanical or electronic, including recording, printing, photocopying, or via any computerised means or media, including the internet.  This publication shall also not be stored in a retrieval system.  And the writing shall not be sold, lent, hired, resold or circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published,
without the prior permission of the author in writing.

Permission to publish or reproduce the writings in any format can be obtained from the author.

Reproduction of this work without permission, except for scholarly purposes,
is liable to a payment of 10, 000 ren men bi or US$ 1,500.

farouk asvat can be contacted at: farouk.asvat@gmail.com


[] please check out my blogs @:

farouk asvat - poems:
www.faroukasvat-poems.blogspot.com

weapons of words:
www.faroukasvat-viewpoint.blogspot.com

streetwise:
www.faroukasvat-lingo.blogspot.com

books by farouk asvat:
www.piquantpublications.blogspot.com


[] also see my profiles on:

google+ :
https://plus.google.com/116303232543019349765

linkedin:
www.linkedin.com/pub/farouk-asvat/42/6b6/52a

twitter:
www.twitter.com/FAROUKASVAT

facebook:
www.facebook.com/faroukasvat

goodreads ¡poetry!:
www.goodreads.com/FAROUKASVAT


[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
The anthology The Time Of Our Lives by Farouk Asvat
is now available on amazon kindle @ only $5.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

THE BLOODY FLAG

THE BLOODY FLAG
© Farouk Asvat


Orange stains
White gods
and Blue blood
            flapping in the wind

            The stench of death
            is like maroon icicles dripping
            from fresh wounds
            The stain of death
            is like a dot of ash
            a dot of vermilion
            through the forehead
            The stench of death
            is like rocks in my fist
            teargas on my face
            water in my hands
            The stain of death
            is like the mournful tears
            of grieving mothers
            in my bloody eyes




© farouk asvat


[] composed: 16.06.1985 [Johannesburg, South Africa under apartheid].


[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
the anthology The Time Of Our Lives by Farouk Asvat
is now available on amazon kindle @ only $5.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]


[] Acknowledgements:

The Bloody Flag was previously published in:

                The Wind Still Sings Sad Songs (piquant publications, p102, 2006).



© farouk asvat.  All rights reserved.

Farouk Asvat asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, or transmitted in any form or any means whatsoever, mechanical or electronic, including recording, printing, photocopying, or via any computerised means or media, including the internet.  This publication shall also not be stored in a retrieval system.  And the writing shall not be sold, lent, hired, resold or circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published,
without the prior permission of the author in writing.

Permission to publish or reproduce the writings in any format can be obtained from the author.

Reproduction of this work without permission, except for scholarly purposes,
is liable to a payment of 10, 000 ren men bi or US$ 1,500.

farouk asvat can be contacted at:                               farouk.asvat@gmail.com


[] please check out my blogs @:

farouk asvat - poems:
www.faroukasvat-poems.blogspot.com

weapons of words:
www.faroukasvat-viewpoint.blogspot.com

streetwise:
www.faroukasvat-lingo.blogspot.com

books by farouk asvat:
www.piquantpublications.blogspot.com


[] also see my profiles on:

google+ :
https://plus.google.com/116303232543019349765

linkedin:
www.linkedin.com/pub/farouk-asvat/42/6b6/52a

twitter:
www.twitter.com/FAROUKASVAT

facebook:
www.facebook.com/faroukasvat

goodreads ¡poetry!:
www.goodreads.com/FAROUKASVAT


[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
the anthology The Time Of Our Lives by Farouk Asvat
is now available on amazon kindle @ only $5.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

A MUSEUM OF SORROWS

A MUSEUM OF SORROWS
© Farouk Asvat

In the land of the dead
The comatosed is king.

In the land of the dead
The snake sprays perfume on his skin
Scattering the souls of the poor

In the land of the dead
The new chiefs go down on all fours
Whimpering at the old dogs

In the land of the dead
The old boss messes in his pants
Trembling in the eye of the storm

In the land of the dead
The new boss boy
(who looks like a blackman
 and does like a whiteman)
Comes to clean up the age-old mess

Gladly chanting along:
            "Yes Boss!
              Happy to do it, Boss."




© farouk asvat
 

[] composed: 14.01.1992 [Johannesburg, South Africa under apartheid].

 
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
the anthology The Time Of Our Lives by Farouk Asvat
is now available on amazon kindle @ only $5.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]


[] Acknowledgements:

A Musuem Of Sorrows was previously published in:

                The Wind Still Sings Sad Songs (piquant publications, p101, 2006).




© farouk asvat.  All rights reserved.

Farouk Asvat asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, or transmitted in any form or any means whatsoever, mechanical or electronic, including recording, printing, photocopying, or via any computerised means or media, including the internet.  This publication shall also not be stored in a retrieval system.  And the writing shall not be sold, lent, hired, resold or circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published,
without the prior permission of the author in writing.

Permission to publish or reproduce the writings in any format can be obtained from the author.

Reproduction of this work without permission, except for scholarly purposes,
is liable to a payment of 10, 000 ren men bi or US$ 1,500.

farouk asvat can be contacted at:                               farouk.asvat@gmail.com


[] please check out my blogs @:

farouk asvat - poems:
www.faroukasvat-poems.blogspot.com

weapons of words:
www.faroukasvat-viewpoint.blogspot.com

streetwise:
www.faroukasvat-lingo.blogspot.com

books by farouk asvat:
www.piquantpublications.blogspot.com


[] also see my profiles on:

google+ :
https://plus.google.com/116303232543019349765

linkedin:
www.linkedin.com/pub/farouk-asvat/42/6b6/52a

twitter:
www.twitter.com/FAROUKASVAT

facebook:
www.facebook.com/faroukasvat

goodreads ¡poetry!:
www.goodreads.com/FAROUKASVAT


[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
the anthology The Time Of Our Lives by Farouk Asvat
is now available on amazon kindle @ only $5.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]