Chief-Commander of my thoughts...

I waited patiently for what could have been...though I realise,I have been living in a bubble....I knew this would end badly.
At the sight if the text you sent, I suddenly felt a ton of despair crash my thinking....as the dreaded words punctured my being.
Awoke feeling down, wondering if this is fair, fate or plain torture.
I move on...you vanish from my thoughts and your voice fades with the rains.
If reality was our friend then fate would be different, fact is reality is set.
Time is aligned with the paths of our lives and loudly renounce the show must go on.
I will wait in baited breath for my turn and trust God has not forgotten me.
If love is life, then I need it.
If memories exist as they say they do, in yours I would like to stay.
If my heart was a book, it would have lines of you in each chapter.
Sweep me away and carry me to paradise, paradise being your mind and all that is embedded in it.
I have no place in your life and should not demand it.
Love should speak and caution my heart against such things.
I'm disappointed, upset, hopeful....these days were already written and all this isn't new to my Maker.
I seek comfort in past losers and know that will certainly not help me.
So why do I keep going in circles...can I meet a rare human who will possess the mind of a gentleman.
I will keep threading bits and pieces of words spoken so loudly in my heart.
I will return to my corner and continue writing about the happenings of my soul.
Activity is rife in my mind and I will refrain from speaking of it,instead I will find comfort on pages that will speak sense to me.
Soothe the ache your decision has caused.......

Moving on....day two and I already feel better.
I will meet my other and this will be a faint re-collection.
I will continue smiling and laughing my heart out.
Since our paths end here, I will proceed to journey and explore unique terrains.
Don't hold me back, hoping I stick around...I have no energy to fight.
My head is reasoning yet my heart is crying.
It dawns on me I have not felt like this in a very loooong time...I am blank and I don't know what to do.
I am angry yet I am hoping you recover...come back to me and make this a reality like you said you would.
I still want you, love you...check your online status and see the green light next to your name...
How my heart would weep, weep that what could have been the happiest time of my life,
has now become a devastating blow to my guts.
Time to recover, pack up my picnic basket, balloons, warm kisses and hugs, love poems and happy parade... time go home.
Continue my routine and sink in work.

Chocolate le High

What lies in store for a mind so divine, 

Could never find, something like this can never be fully defined.

So I wait to see the unfolding of this amazing gift, though not mine.

There is high intrigue within your space, the kind of space I have not explored in ages.

Heartfelt words that regenerate my deepest thoughts.

I had eliminated the possibility of finding your kind. You appeared among the wolves and re-colored my imagination.

I wondered if your kind is still made, still exists...you proved me right when you gave me a glimpse to your thoughts.

Like a garden of splendor, with abundant treasure and amazing sights.

All capsuled in gold, I never want to depart from your side.

I say these words very carefully...thinking very deeply about where they could possibly lead.

Who you belong to is blessed...truly blessed since your mind posses depth and truth. 

It is unknown where this will go, yet mentally entertaining, it also seems appealing.

Dangerous and exciting, a thrill known to cause heartache.

Clearly there is a rare connection if I write about it, you found dwelling in my words and stamped your arrival in my life, bringing on a surge of fresh air.

It is greatly unique that there is still a person of your calibre.

Every passing minute has you traveling along with my thoughts.

I reserve my heart, and protect my feelings.

I dread to hear the forbidden words yet I still lure the attraction.

Where will we go with this, countable is the length we've spoken and shared thoughts and every time I am left longing for more.

You are not mine and I should not wish you leave your other.

It would be so cheap of me. I'm tossed in the waves of a man who posses so much peace, importance,appeal....

We should keep this overflowing interest, this brewing interest that I suspect will lead nowhere.

I am intrigued by you, enticed by you. Don't want this to blossom, sense it'll get trampled on so fast from the realities we live in.

Words we share are pieces to a beautiful picture, stealing glances of our souls to paint the voices of our dreams.

Every detail of your personality resounds with beauty, delight and pure joy.

This feeble bubble I don't wish to destroy, 

I simply relish in conversing with a mind so extraordinary.

There is so much I wish to share with you yet it would not be fair because you don't belong me.

My heart is wrapped in anticipation...waiting to hear from you.

There is so much I would say yet I hold back, out of respect  since I hold you on a high pedestal.

One I know you well deserve to be on, all despair vanishes when I hear from you.

Your fundamental likes are all similar to mine, it stuns me that we are in-line.

You inspire me to conceive words and thoughts of beauty, buried truth.

That clearly give account of how you make you feel.

Thandi Xaba 30 October 2013

The Fall of Spirits

The slight rise of an addiction,
Tearing the pieces of my morals to later bury me in worry, constant resentment.
How steady my feet were,How unshaken my views were.
Things have rotted and now there isn’t much treasure.
It’s rusted with ages of foreign pleasure. 
Was once never there,Never knew the sins that came with what I’ve had to endure.Sadness weighs my sanity to its depth.
Forgot how it feels to not be my own enemy.
Relish now, soul in green misery and despair. 
When was it said life is fair.
Come please Lord and rescue my limp soul.
It’s withered with all other days, leaving me so empty and un-whole.
Will I feel or see the colours of Joy?My Lord You are joy, please warm my rock-hard heart.
Drown me in your immense love and forever shower me with Your Promise.
Please bless me Father and restore my being.
Please pull me out of these slumps I’ve landed in and recreate my life.
Face me with wishes You have for me and please let me grow in Your glory.
I’d become best friends with the enemy.
Surrendered all I’d grown to love to appease my sinful appetite and to aid my  boredom to vanish.
I’d quenched my self-esteem issues with false confidence boosters, falsely disguised in a brown bottle.
What became of innocence? Where did humbleness turn to and when did they kill my teachings and morals? I ask them now…truth has caught up with my being.
Living a double-packaged life.

Thandi Xaba20 April 2010

My Day of Reality

It’s said we all have a purpose in life,

That we all have choices,

Killed though by paranoid voices.

You waste away and ignore your uniqueness,

Subjected to the hard substances.

Daily…Night in and out,

Life appears to wither away, unaware of the filth of their “home”.

Image as vivid as a clear sky.

Three people nestled in a rat’s corner,

Around, walling them are smears of something black…

On the right, on a pathetic imitation of a single “bed”, sprawled and coiled, two more stiff bodies lay.

Is that all there is to it,

A horrid, small room. In a dilapitated building with smashed walls and a chocking stench?

All I get are eyes. Junkie eyes.

Eyes that do not know where or when their next fix will be.

A soul living behind these eyes has long died.

One…appeared to have been untouched by water and soap since birth.

Little popcorn like hair screamed filth from the million pieces of dirt in it.

Sitting and I guess soaking the sun,  his clothes’ colours are now unrecognisable, one shoe with no sole.

Yet he sits…waiting for the next fix.

I feel out-of-place yet comfortable,

Surrounded by the grip of addicts,

They’ve rotted and live for yet another fix…

Dirty thick fingers scooping their drug equipment’s, for another fix.

Another… had a chilled demeanour and appeared composed.

Squashed in a dried-up wax corner,

Smokes and inhales…sit back and stares into nothing, rests his head on the stained brick-wall.

Is that it? Really has life been so cruel?

How do you get to this point? When did it get so bad?

Crystal clear are the bits of brown plastics strewn on the messy floor.

A sick display of all their previous hits.

Again… they zone out into nothing.

I loudly think: “These people are human beings!”

Homeless and isolated from reality.

They know too well of struggles,

They know too much about addictions.

That for them it’s a sad existence.

A blessing is probably something they forgot of,

A good deed is foreign to their abandoned hearts.

Out-look was torn apart,

Ripped to shreds from the sight of their daily routine…cravings visible in their sickly faces.

Can’t fathom all that I saw. It’s messed up, a pinch of how others live. How they survive.

Daily slaves to insane poverty, do they dream, vision happiness.

Stamped, burned on my memory’s wall.

The stench of hopelessness.

Nothing appears better or spacious for change.

They toss and wither away in what has turned out as “life” for them.

Their freedom has gone up in the smoke that engulfs their so-called room.

Heavy gloom. Seems like it’s all not new.

A foreign and shocking view. Yet it’s what they relish in and spend their limitless time seeing…doing.

Are they the worst out there?

Has anyone offered them bread, a better life, love?

Do their taste-buds recognise the drug only?

Have their lungs collapsed and only appreciate their drug?

Here we are. Sitting in cosy surroundings.

Living with hill-high complaints, rebelling.

There they are. Engulfed in a life of filth. Suffocating in their matchbox home and given up on a better chance at life. Definitely rough. Too rough.

As I sit there…taking in this disturbing world. I realise I am the only girl in this bustle of chilling beggars, dealers and possible thieves and hobos…obeying their demons to rust and rot away because of their addiction.

An image never to be forgotten. EVER. Can still see their “yard” of smelly strange heaps of rubbish, possibly mixed with faeces and all sorts of garbage.

Little drug wrappers are lifted off the ground by a random breeze…

At that time, a thought passes.

“Isn’t that a poor being sleeping in the corner of the room, getting tortured by the dusty breeze?”

I’m left with a scarred memory, mind.

A lot of questions roam and wonder if any of us are ever satisfied, thankful…

Grateful for all things we’d like to think we own.

Many can’t imagine such a life,

So busy concerned with nothing, clearly side-lining their blessings.

Witnessing the pits of filth called “My Home”. It’s as if they say “Welcome and relax. Just let me have a fix while you make yourself comfortable. Don’t mind the smell of old urine and worn out shoes, feel at home.”

A constant rewind and play of the same sick routine of getting a fix, wandering around like zombies gathering in aimless conversations and fixing up another hit.

Smother in the gross air and breathe in the off-smell piercing the nostrils.

Somehow…I get used to it. The filth that surrounds me.

We complain of zero yet these hobos have zero but keep killing themselves with the injustice they’ve landed in. The grip of their demons.

This is one day I will not change nor take back. It’s gripped me tightly.

Time to leave. They wave, I wave, throwing them a sad smile. And…without wasting a minute, they go back to gather again for yet another fix.

26 July 2010

The 6th of July 2011

Dear Reader

This is a piece I wrote two years ago. I came across it while going through my old journals. I got chills reading it thinking I disliked the mentioned person so much.  I decided to share it becuase I have fully forgiven the person. I have moved on and replaced his place in my heart with forgiveness.

It is very close to me, read it with an open heart as I allow you to take a walk in my life.

Lovies
Thandi

                                           ***********************

All these years the guys I have eye'd were attractive.
But those who eye'd me were not my type (well sometimes anyway).
Memories flood back to high school...*sigh*
Fast forward to 2009, the one guy I thought the world of took my invites and trashed my soul.
He saw a deformed self-image and vandalised it even more.
He noticed the spark he put in my life and selfishly destroyed the flames of my soul.
This one bloke I held to the heavens tore my every fibre and buried my worth.
Snatched my innocence with his raw hands and left the days ahead to devour his mess.
Is it going to get worse?
Will there be a total release.
Fed up of once knowing you excited me and with ease made me hate you. Fed up of you.
Sick and tired of your name, face.
Knowing you once even touched me, knew me, spoke to me.
The enemy is having a feast about this.
Aren't you just proud of your well planned trap.
Sick and tired of your sneers.
Cheers that you've crippled me.
I loathe your entry into my life,
The doormat you so fiercly cleaned your shoes on was my heart.
You trampled every bit of it and now it beats fearing your image.
The one guy I fell madly in infatuation with...
Bore me a strong, healthy being called HATE.
It reflected in his eyes every time he looked at me.
Now stains of pain are hard to remove.
Stubborn and destroying what little admiration I can offer.
I want to forgive, a part of me probably has.
Just angry at the damage you left.
Feels like a disability of my soul, the unseen feeding off your seeds of rejection.

Fuelled by Love

Days when shyness pinned us to our own demons.

Seeing our hope listed under the removals, since then a woman has stood the trial.

Grey days were when inferiority packaged our existence, having no alliances.

The wise and old, all races…somehow all dream of a free country…

One embracing our intelligence first, ignoring what’s deemed sultry.

Acknowledge our sweet injection of love into everything we touch.

Giving the unmaterialistic treasures and giving birth to God’s beauty.

Pieces of His Majesty shining in our off-springs.

Grant us…allow us to defeat the injustice and constant beatings.

Give us a chance to not see the green-eyed monster, looking back in our reflection.

Allow us to smile without having a flood of tears drowning our stint of joy.

Allow our voices to drown the critics.

Deafen the whistles gasping at sights of beautiful skin.

We love the sight of harmony.

The feeling of understanding.

So long we’ve waited for complete freedom for the world’s life-bearers.

Warm nurtures, replicas of angels...

Fear the power they possess,

Well mannered and hardly careless.

No perfection but a journey to wholeness.

Greatness is forever in us.

See our worth not from what pleasures you had in mind.

Rather polish our worth with genuine words while appreciating our presence.

Women are sprinkled with only what we know and understand.

Morals, values and good characters.

Lovers of love and abundant givers love.

Foreign Dream

One day that laugh will be my morning melody, blissful and I shall be engulfed in your aura.

Sense unknown, smothered in this pull of humour, a diamond worthless in the eyes of the vain.

Your knowledge I dream to gain.

Days are an enjoyment with your presence in them, blessed to have met a soul so tame.

Ways I’m intrigued by you…limited by names.

Restricted by time, forever cruising in my mind.

What is it called when it’s not an often find?

The wishes and hopes our hearts carry,

Seem too heavy, desires too crazy.

Why have we been created to attract others?

So far from reach yet our imaginations display not typical but extra-ordinary possibilities.

Re-playing the captured smile, plastered on my memory’s walls.

The rush of your words, that’s all I am concerned about.

A harmless sound, the support I get from you has lifted me off the ground.

A re-play of that star lit night, looking on two soulful birds that understand our plight.

A resemble of your ray of immense light.

A rush of feelings I’m unfamiliar with,

But again, pits and rough edges seem to slow my happiness.

Our baggage and their concerns,

Allow love to give us a turn.

-Thandi Xaba

Septemebr 2009

No Name No Face No Identity

I now walk this ground hoping to find your smile,

Walk on it and trample it coz you were quick to crush mine.

I now seek the best from the rest yet you feel aroused not from my soul but big bust.

Find my worth and ability, look past my skew imagery.

Had I spoken out in turn when I stated my yearns, in turn killing my fantasy.

Insane, mad, mental...tags attached to this realities.

How long will we recite when their worlds are cloaked with sin.

Embrace the sights your vision can grasp, for all we are seeing isn't going to last.

Excited by his reciting that easily shapes my thinking so fast.

This soil I walk on penetrates my pores.

Healing my sores, am I a critic for rejecting their blows?

Will I now face punishment for these statements.

My fellow man killed by resentment.

He thought by protesting he would get an applause.

Have my eyes not seen enough...

When enemies claim to have forgotten their fights and fake love.

Soon the war you have with your soul will fade.

Better days to stay,

People helping people, life with no dismay.

Thandi Xaba
April 2008

From the brown bottle.

Dear Reader

 

This poem is very close to my heart. I wrote it in 2008 after meeting a certain person. It is originally very long and I decided to edit out most of it (for personal reasons :) ).

 

Thank you!!

 

Lovies, Thandi

 

                                                  ***********************

 

 

From that brown bottle.

 

It was his grasp on that brown bottle that led him to say I’m beautiful.

 

He claimed to be enticed by my speech,

 

Claims I’m intelligent, cute and not typical.

 

Yet I ask where he is…his hold on that brown bottle,

 

Drove him back to his sanity.

 

He’s awoken and now realises his mistakes on conversing with this plum flabby copy.

 

How taken I was, believing him.

 

His words forming rainbows of hope, wishing things turn out different.

 

Simple for him to step on my terrain,

 

Inflict some pain…yet he holds high his brown bottle and still claims I’m beautiful.

 

Where there any sincere words? The way he held my hand, activities he’s over-used, girls now forget he just doesn’t understand.

 

My importance, your significance.

 

Just because he warmed your skin, rubbing you gently certainly doesn’t mean you are anywhere near his book of greatness.

 

That to him is spreading open and giving him a taste of your pride.

 

A taste and an unpleasant ride.

 

He’d unlock your chambers and take you on a walk of sin.

 

Once his seen your paradise, he’s gotten a bite from your ripe orange, he’ll either reside or seek sweeter oranges.

 

Amazing how he used the best known gestures,

 

Sweet, empty words that seep from his sweet lips.

 

Yet they puncture my ears.

 

And bring to life my buried fears, I can now confess.

 

It’s because of this sort of treatment that has cemented my heart.

 

Preventing me from hearing my soul mate’s knock.

 

So hardened it has become that bottle-holders like him seem to be daily prescription.

 

Appealing addictions which keep luring me back into their ambition.

 

He held high his cigarette.

 

Blowing the smoke out from his sexy lips…I’d fallen deep into his admission.

 

Highly appealing, he’d look deeply into my eyes and fish for my weakness.

 

Hoping I’d lead him to my paradise,

 

Funny enough, I let him look me in the eyes and allowed him to try and find gold.

 

Yes I possess gold.

 

Never seen nor told…

 

It was when he held that brown bottle he claimed I’m special.

 

I seek his warmth now…

 

Missing his prints on my skin though I know many women who carry some awe already have those ‘handsome prints’.

 

Certainly not making me unique or special.

 

You lied yet again.

 

Maybe those are measures you take to feel on top of your game.

 

It was all after you drank the contents of that brown bottle you found me beautiful.

 

Stating you enjoy  my company…little did I know that’s a line that’s escaped your lips more times then your Marlboro smoke.

 

Yet again you’ve successfully left me broke.

 

Have I lost this quest for love?

 

Early to wish for commitment the elders warned us about.

 

Thoughts so divine, that brown bottle introduced me to your beautiful mind,

 

I thank the brown bottle because this being uttered words unfamiliar to my ears.

 

Sad and pathetic as it is…I thank the brown bottle for introducing me to this being who told me I am beautiful.

 

Thandi Xaba

 

7 June 2008

Aura Of Mystery

The bitter truth of us never entwining,

Leaves gaps of despair, clearly visible like new days dawning.

I’d pictured love to be a rose-embedded comfort terrain.

My being longs for your thoughts, sights highlighted only with rusted pain.

Words comfort me, sooth my swollen eyes from this visible strain.

Grieve only when I’m at rest,

Cover me with your warmth, not promising what has remained in the past.

Involve me in your steps in life,

As I will whole-heartedly encourage you to thrive.

Is our future visible, am I appearing artificial?

Some how all that’s sculptured on you is unmistakingly   beautiful.

Your character somehow attractive,

Smart and attentive, all you posses is angelic.

Unseen joy longs  to escape and grace your soul,

Leaving glimmers of my wishes to better mankind encrusted on your being as a whole.

Reside in my poems,

Seems like my visions of our cuddle remain far from my firm hold,

Already bluntly told, never dream for gold.

When it seems I’m only capable of unleashing hurts that either buried or  old.

Is it a never-ending marathon?

Ran only by the luscious and slim many, who seem to win in millions.

Should my energy in binding us richly  end  with yours.

Fight the resistance, press on despite the harsh unspoken course.

Have I lived to the fullest?

Seen and walked with bright souls, graced their sought-after importance.

How we wish to be loved.

Captured, taken to worlds only created by  melodic words.

Spin my inner-thoughts into a twirl,

Drive out all my passions, fulfilling my thirst for love and the feel of sweaty palms rubbing away the dizzy butterflies in my stomach.

A relation of intimacy and involvement is  slow yet growth appears to be frantic.

Am I holding on to the impossible?

Maybe all you house is regarded false, recruiting naïve and gullible girls.

Streams of warm waters easily wet my face.

What could have shaped my out-come left me crushed and wishing for better-looking features.

A dim future, without your existence in it, one might as well not prosper.

3 Feb 2008  Thandi Xaba

Granny Flora

Creased forehead and rosy cheeks appear so clearly on Granny Flora’s wrinkled face. At 105 years old, she is fairly mentally young.

Among the endless riddled stories of her days when Victorian dresses and tight corsets were the in the thing for the ladies, Granny Flora seems more awakened  when opening up about her imprisoned days in the English concentration camp during the 1902 Boer War.

‘Dirty linen, lumpy, earth smelling soup and seeing many people around me suffering from extreme hunger pangs and other deadly viruses is what I will always remember when thinking about the camps’ she says absent minded.

For a minute, Granny Flora’s tired eyes get glassy as she digs deeper in her memory to re-call those grueling seven months. ‘My parents were strong but as a child, you never question their decisions. There were days where people hardly smiled and that upset me.” Granny clearly has not dealt with that chapter of her life and has had to find comfort in a house she’s called home for the past 75years.