FOR S

Last month, I was in a car crash and a young man died infront of me. I cannot even begin to explain what that was like but I am trying as it means i will heal and grow from this experience.
so
FOR S

there are words that i must write,
words that will explain my pain,
my fear, my disillusionment,
and yet i cannot find them.
Those words

for what words will correctly describe
the feel of death's cold hand on your shoulder,
or the sight of his shadow,
and the fruits of his harvest.

what words allow
for the flowing river of red,
and the pain it no doubt brought,
what words

And what words will suppose
to tell of those last moments
of prayers perhaps whispered,
curses spat out,
gods pleaded to,
at that moment of realisation.

what analogies will draw parallels
to that moment
to tell how alone, how sad, how upset, how unfair,
how...

I am looking for words,
I just haven't found them yet.

behind the bitterness

Dear World,
I apologize
if this seems like a cheap attempt
at romantisising
something that is
already dead.

but i must at least
try and put down
my feelings of joy and love
before they are all too quickly drowned
in the sea of bitterness
pain and hate.

I must first write
about how gentle
his kisses were
how strong and tender
his touch was,
how much love i saw
when i looked in his eyes.

(before i turn and call him,
devils spawn,
son of a gun
worthless good for nothing.)

I should mention
his words of love
his meaningful
promises
and how i needed
to believe him

(before i say out lound
how deceitful he was,
lying pond-scum.)

'lltry to tell you,
how it felt to be
loved by him
and to love him back
how strong we were
how we both let this go

(before i dump the weight of guilt at his door,
and sum it all with its his fault)

i will say now and here,
how much I love him
still
and how much i miss him
and wish him well
and want him back.

(then for sure i will walk out tall
and proclaim my disenchantment
and wish a plague of a thousand years on him,
and tell the world i do not love him
and never will)

so world again forgive me,
for this confusion
that i add
to your foray of days
but i must.

MUSINGS

some where deep inside me i have never quite understood what it is i look for and search for. After you i have found no one I can be my self with, i can be truly free with. You broke that trust and broke the veil that enables hope. Will i forgive , even now will i forget?

thinking out loud now
silently on paper
about ? ANARCHY, about
? REBELLION,
questioning ? SURVIVAL
does it own ? RULES
needs we must
fight for our ? BLOOD

should we be ? HUNTED
take ? ARMS
go the big mans ? WAR

for every day we ? SUFFER
while others shine
and live off our
? DESTITUTION

do you blame us
? ANNIHILATE us
when we
? TURN the tables
and feed ? YOU your
bile and filth

we are the ? RESULT of
this ? SOCIETIES
callousness
its ? AMNESIA
because it forgot our
bellies need
? NOURISHMENT
our brains ? LACKED
stimulation

it begot us and spat us
out
? UNWORTHY
we create our ? CULTURE
an antithesis to yours
we ? DISSEMINATE
our gospel
in our words drum’d
in the ? BULLETS of
our tears.

and your ? NORMS
or shall i say ? VALUES
we ? DESECRATE

please…
find me my
faded dreams and neutered childhood
restore them to me.

search for my
wide eyed innocence,
my shrinking violet,
and console them.

dig deep for my
buried heart,
and its frantic fancies,
and return it.

look hard for my
clouds of tears
and their storms of sorrows
and blow them past.

part my waters
of relentless pain
and denied chances.

and give me love
please…

©naima mungai 2006

ABOUT NERUDA

Pablo Neruda, is like right now the words my heart yearns to speak. His poetry is deep amazing and really intense personal favourites:NUMBER 20 in 20 love songs of love and despair and LOVE from passions and  impressions.

reflections of love

how he moves me

   like rain

   like pain,

     how he moves 

how he sings, 

   words of life

      and love 

      and soul

        how he sings

how he touches

    oh how he touches

       and strokes

       deep fires

       deep desires

         how he touches

how he breaks

     the barriers

     the walls

    and moves me

dear God how

    he moves...
(c) abikusmots 2008

RETURNS

I have been gone from here a while. Was too jumbled up to share anything but now i am back and boy do i have a lot to say

"oh it flies away... it can't ever be caught or described. For it is one earth, one movement and another earth another earth in a moment or two.

Life itself is an un-finished sentence, or a few haphazard brush strokes. Nothing stays. Nothing is completed. I can make nothing whole from it, however small...

The meaning of a painting is a voice crying out:' Isaw it, before it vanished, it was thus.' An honest painting would never be finished; an honest novel would stop in the middle of a sentence. There is no shutting life in a cage, turning the key with a full stop with a stroke of paint."
wreath of roses
elizabeth taylor

SECOND CHANCES

Its not unlike me to be completely taken over by things to jump headlong into things and then later wonder what i was thinking or why I was deluding myself at the time that i was thinking. Do you do that sometimes? Do stuff thats so wrong you don't know if you'll ever do right again? And then comes that miracle- the second chance. That new page you can write on after someone rubbed out the scribbles you'd mad. Its not a clean page but its a page, you get to do it over.

The thing about second chances is that we create them we decide for ourselves that we are worth those second chances. How we see ourselves determines how other people see us and how they relate to us.

"... no matter what we start with it always ends up being so much less..."
Richard 'the hours'
We will always fall short of our expectations, and of others expectations of us and yet we must remember that it ends up being something, this life of ours no matter how much less we think it is. Learn to forgive yourself, learn to love your self. You are worth this chance and the next and the one after that

theres a meeting of
old fears
aged tears
in my soul tonight.

theres a remembrance
of cold aches
and heart breaks
deep in my soul
this night

theres a dirge of
muted screams
and shattered dreams
sung by this soul
on all nights.


theres a wake held
for a child, a friend, a love
remembered

and this soul of mine
is loving you still

WATCHING WORDS

I am sitting, quietly, watching. The quiet documenter of others lives. I see their lips move the moments in their seemingly interesting fulfilled lives pass away as they talk.

And slowly I sober up. I pull away from the warmth and dulling consistency of their words, the moving harmonies of their throaty supplications. They talk the million voices, like passing gales of icy winds locking me out. They gush in their eagerness, these words enjoining souls, mirroring feelings, breaking and mending hearts, a salve for all ills... These words. They cloak their meanings in the murky depths in between shrouded sentences.

Trains of words put together going somewhere and yet leading nowhere.

And I sit quietly and listen. Until words are expected to leave my mouth. And yet my words seem so discordant so out of place 4/4 in 2/4 time ta-ta-ta-ta-, tate-tate or something like that. Not in synch.

I wanted noise today. I craved these voices, their subtle nuances, their broad proclamations. I needed them. I needed echoes to fill my silences. I searched for harmonies to match my music, prayed for supplications and found them in the words' hopes, fears and dreams.

I stole from the words, stole their strength, undressed their owners, bared their souls with the power the words gave me.

I smile and put my pen down, words again, silently spoken reaching from abroad and getting used, exalted, worshipped, feared, adored. And those that wield them, use them, carve unwittingly into sculptures of the bound variety. I see them watching silently, listening as the words slowly find their way back to them.

This is me

My life was never going to be ordinary, I knew that from the moment I could think for myself. and then I realized it was ordinary that everyone around was just like me wanting to grow rich wanting to be the most acknowledged the most beautiful... Just the most.

Have you ever realized how short life is how insignificant we are to the universe. When I did I started to ask myself who I was? Why I was? and what drove me? I am still on that path. and like all things are connected so I believe that our spirits are connected these are my spirits words I hope they speak to your spirit whoever you are, wherever you are.

I'm a woman and a feminist not your yuppie gung ho feminist, but the kind that believes that what defines us most as women is those things about us that we have been taught to despise. Our bodies, menstrual periods, childbirth and motherhood those things that we have been taught make us less than men. We have been told over and over again that to be equal those things shouldn't define us we can only achieve equality if we are more manly "don the power suit , butch it up .

So slowly we have over the decades been detached from our centers from our centers we have been weakened left without a place to recharge. My spirit - its words are a woman's words in this life time. They are words about a woman's pain, her fear, her, loves, trusts and disappointments.

I welcome you to share them