Tussen Mure
Elke boompie het 'n gat,
Sluit my toe tussen mure wat ek verdien,
Saggies, mooi en opgevoed,
Vuil gesiggie klaar gewas, het ek gesien
Dis winter in my heiligdom,
Koue klooster, huil huil sag,
Glo is leeg - ek leef vermom
Vat my terug, leer my lag
Sluit my toe waar daar vensters is,
Ken my toe wat ek verdien,
Lei my heen waar genade rus,
Vergewe my wat my oe wou sien
Friday, 13 November 2015
Still in Afrikaans
Sulke Mense
Voel-voel skuifel jy deur die gange van die lewe,
Soek maniere om te leef en te vergewe,
Jy wat loop deur die wereld so onaangeraak,
Geweef in woorde wat sondaars maak,
Donker oe vertel van verlate lugkastele,
Lewe van gebroke jare met vermisde dele,
Uitgesny en agtergelaat deur familie was jou wense,
Opgesluit en grootgemaak tussen mense-gemaakte grense.
Elk van ons meet die binneste op n ander skaal,
Al is die hart geklee - die siel bly kaal,
Hardloop tog die padjie uitgetrap vir jou,
Slegs op voorgeksrewe drome mag jy 'n toekoms bou
Sluk die gees van jou hart se moed,
Maak droog die water wat gedagtes voed,
Leer slegs die wysheid wat ek s^e is genoeg,
Smoor daai gees - jy maak die wereld moeg
Ouers stel hul kinders voor aan Afrikaner lief en leed,
Tyd bring vrede wat harte laat vergeet,
Vroe passie wat hulle as mislukking merk,
Wilde passie - verban deur volk en kerk.
Voel-voel skuifel jy deur die gange van die lewe,
Soek maniere om te leef en te vergewe,
Jy wat loop deur die wereld so onaangeraak,
Geweef in woorde wat sondaars maak,
Donker oe vertel van verlate lugkastele,
Lewe van gebroke jare met vermisde dele,
Uitgesny en agtergelaat deur familie was jou wense,
Opgesluit en grootgemaak tussen mense-gemaakte grense.
Elk van ons meet die binneste op n ander skaal,
Al is die hart geklee - die siel bly kaal,
Hardloop tog die padjie uitgetrap vir jou,
Slegs op voorgeksrewe drome mag jy 'n toekoms bou
Sluk die gees van jou hart se moed,
Maak droog die water wat gedagtes voed,
Leer slegs die wysheid wat ek s^e is genoeg,
Smoor daai gees - jy maak die wereld moeg
Ouers stel hul kinders voor aan Afrikaner lief en leed,
Tyd bring vrede wat harte laat vergeet,
Vroe passie wat hulle as mislukking merk,
Wilde passie - verban deur volk en kerk.
Thoughts in Afrikaans
Vyfde Wiel
Die lewe klink romanties - trust my dit is nie,
Ek is die woorde in jou verlede,
Soos muure is jy al om my,
Ek kan my nie vergewe
Moenie weg gaan nie,
Ek wil jou vra om te bly,
Dit wat nooit begin het nie,
Is tussen ons ook nou verby
Jou skaamte dra nie meer die gesig van n kind,
Skuld gevoelens is ou vriende van my,
Tussen dogter se twyfel word pa gevind,
Jy is die skaduwee wat by my bly
Te jonk om rerig jou as siel te begryp,
Dalk besef en weer vergeet,
Vrou wat haar aan drank vergryp,
Jy wat my teen perfeksie meet
Ek n sondaar - my pa se kind,
Wil he jy moet my siel verstaan,
Het gesoek- maar nooit gevind,
Iets wat in jou plek kon staan.
Die lewe klink romanties - trust my dit is nie,
Ek is die woorde in jou verlede,
Soos muure is jy al om my,
Ek kan my nie vergewe
Moenie weg gaan nie,
Ek wil jou vra om te bly,
Dit wat nooit begin het nie,
Is tussen ons ook nou verby
Jou skaamte dra nie meer die gesig van n kind,
Skuld gevoelens is ou vriende van my,
Tussen dogter se twyfel word pa gevind,
Jy is die skaduwee wat by my bly
Te jonk om rerig jou as siel te begryp,
Dalk besef en weer vergeet,
Vrou wat haar aan drank vergryp,
Jy wat my teen perfeksie meet
Ek n sondaar - my pa se kind,
Wil he jy moet my siel verstaan,
Het gesoek- maar nooit gevind,
Iets wat in jou plek kon staan.
I can still dream
If I asked you then, would you have known;
About a place,
That I would find,
Roam around, and call my home?
If I called, would God have came?
I miss you now,
It's lonely now,
In this empty room, engulfed by shame.
Your lyrics spoke of a world that you would one day own,
Yet estranged from hope,
You stay there still,
Healing wounds your past have grown
There is an existence that you were suppose to be a part of,
Time is playing out,
Behind you,
A whole life that you are missing out of.
I can dream all I want; for I have time,
Carried on my hands,
I have time,
Enough to conquer this and still be fine.
If I write down all the words that wrote my history,
Would I then,
Once more believe,
In a fleeting dream named destiny?
About a place,
That I would find,
Roam around, and call my home?
If I called, would God have came?
I miss you now,
It's lonely now,
In this empty room, engulfed by shame.
Your lyrics spoke of a world that you would one day own,
Yet estranged from hope,
You stay there still,
Healing wounds your past have grown
There is an existence that you were suppose to be a part of,
Time is playing out,
Behind you,
A whole life that you are missing out of.
I can dream all I want; for I have time,
Carried on my hands,
I have time,
Enough to conquer this and still be fine.
If I write down all the words that wrote my history,
Would I then,
Once more believe,
In a fleeting dream named destiny?
Tuesday, 10 November 2015
Feeling less than intelligent
I googled myself. Okey I know - the epiphany of self-love.I must say I was quite surprised to actually find myself. I am on the world wide web.
Strange though. I mean it is strange what people will see when they look at it. This screen supposedly describing me. Its flat. It's just words and a picture. No matter how technology advances it will never be able to capture who we really are.
Bowled me over - did this pharaoh's wind
I ran within, in hand with mist.
I seek your eyes- those lips I've kissed.
Thorns of truth grow here abound
A naked earth, boundaries rule within.
Sun scorched soul- drenched in sin.
They call you hope, I call you foul
A dreamers desert tool the thoughts I had,
Now swept and smothered - crushed beneath a grain of sand.
Motionless I stand here still
My feet so raw, my legs but clay
Lost it here, yet I'm still here - till this day
Waiting I guess, for that angel of mine
All, yes all of me, I heard them say
Every tortured soul has the power to call it's judgement day
Why do I feel so stupid when I write poetry? I use to love it as a child. I still do, but I somehow feel judged. Do all people perceive artists as weak, or is it just me?
Can I not be a writer because I'm scared of how I'll end up? In my mind there is an image of a shaken woman with wild eyes. A caged creature that cannot leave even though the door is open.
Strange though. I mean it is strange what people will see when they look at it. This screen supposedly describing me. Its flat. It's just words and a picture. No matter how technology advances it will never be able to capture who we really are.
Bowled me over - did this pharaoh's wind
I ran within, in hand with mist.
I seek your eyes- those lips I've kissed.
Thorns of truth grow here abound
A naked earth, boundaries rule within.
Sun scorched soul- drenched in sin.
They call you hope, I call you foul
A dreamers desert tool the thoughts I had,
Now swept and smothered - crushed beneath a grain of sand.
Motionless I stand here still
My feet so raw, my legs but clay
Lost it here, yet I'm still here - till this day
Waiting I guess, for that angel of mine
All, yes all of me, I heard them say
Every tortured soul has the power to call it's judgement day
Why do I feel so stupid when I write poetry? I use to love it as a child. I still do, but I somehow feel judged. Do all people perceive artists as weak, or is it just me?
Can I not be a writer because I'm scared of how I'll end up? In my mind there is an image of a shaken woman with wild eyes. A caged creature that cannot leave even though the door is open.
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