His Stare

I still remember his stare,cold brown pupils dim with fatigue. His retina crimson white polluted by anger,a patch of daily tears down his cheeks meander.

Large gulps of saliva down his galet ,his lips cracked by dryness “letha le-phone!!” ,he demands 

His stare begs…

“Awungizwa..” He dips his slender palm into his pocket,draws out a sharpened rod.

But his stare waves a white flag,his ciliary muscles slacks,his voice cracks.

he blinks,his stare is replaced by tears.


Gogo will sit on her plastic matt,the sound of friction as her worn out marrows rub.She folds her bipedal limbs…

 Her wrinkled slender fingers will beat at the chords,in a slow slow hypnotic tune,her blood will pulsate at the very vivid connection with the rhythm…

Drawing a breeze,her diaphragm will heave..as if the molecules of her oxygen were bonded with musical notes… 
The Acoustic.

Casualties Room

She sits across me in a hospital waiting room one morning,

Her cheeks are crimson tenders of red with magical dimples ,delicate landscapes of concaves..
..her eyes are crystal hugeness, beaded like glaring convex..
You can see them vertebrate ,ciliary muscles taut to accommodate distance..
..I can’t fathom the depths of this  trance ,she occasionally steals me a glance…little Tinkerbells doing back flips in her lens ….muscles slack she blushes, as if between her retina and optical nerve exist a Kingdom of fairies ,the side of her cheeks hollows ..her lip flowers blooms ,her decay infested teeth glows….sparks on the spectacles firmly fixed down the bridge of her nose….
” Africa….Africa…”
In a distance,echoes of her luring voice…
“Africa…” It gets hoarse,I wake up..
Shaken by a psychiatrist nurse,
“You’re are next.”
…across me, in the wall is a chart of a muscled skeletal of a woman.