IN THE AWARENESS OF
REAL LIFE HERE ON EARTH
Try not to let your
Inner nefelibata
Blind real life from you:-
Be in awareness:
Today’s earth canvases
Herds of distortion:-
I sit in my home and I often pine
For the forest scent
Three days in my smelly tent and I moan
For my bed at home
A tent or a mansion, why do I care
I’m not quite happy neither here nor there
In the halls of Kimberley, so vast,
Where dreams of greatness were built to last,
Boys walk the paths of struggle and fight,
Each step a battle, each day a plight.
The echoes of whispers, the stares that sting,
Lessons in silence, the pain they bring,
Where pride is tested, and spirits fall,
Fighting for respect, one and all.
The teachers’ words, sharp as a sword,
Lessons of life, not just the board.
The pressure mounts, the days grow long,
In this kingdom where the weak don’t belong.
But through the torment, the endless test,
Some rise above, giving their best.
For Kimberley Boys, though harsh and cold,
Shapes the brave, the strong, the bold.
In this place, not all will survive,
But those who do, will truly thrive.
For the cruelest paths bring strength untold,
And the warriors leave, with hearts of gold.
Sekhing, My Home
Sekhing, where my heart finds its place,
In your arms, I feel a gentle grace.
A land where the earth holds stories untold,
Where the ancestors rest, their spirits bold.
Though I don't know the blood that runs deep,
Your soil is where my memories sleep.
The wind whispers their names in the breeze,
And in your hills, I find my peace.
Here, where the bones of the past lie still,
Sekhing, you're more than land or hill.
You carry the weight of forgotten years,
But you soothe my soul and quiet my fears.
I may not know the faces or the names,
But in your embrace, it’s all the same.
For the land remembers, and so do I,
Your presence here will never die.
Sekhing, my home, my sacred ground,
In your dust, I am finally found.
The echoes of those who walked before,
Guide my steps, as they forever soar.
You are where my roots begin,
Even if the past I cannot pin.
For Sekhing, you hold my heart and mind,
A place of memories, one of a kind.
The sun rises slow, casting light so sweet,
In the Kasi, where the streets meet.
Wheelbarrows roll with greens so fresh,
Hustlers hustle, working to impress.
On the corners, voices rise and fall,
“Tomatoes! Spinach! Come buy it all!”
The clink of coins, the sound of trade,
As Saturday's tiredness starts to fade.
Grandmothers with prayer beads in hand,
Walking slowly, their hearts so grand.
Hand in hand with little ones near,
Their laughter echoes, pure and clear.
The scent of stew fills the air,
Pots bubbling, food everywhere.
Mothers and daughters, side by side,
Stirring the pot with love and pride.
Some are at home, busy and bright,
Cooking up dishes to end the night.
And others gather, all smiles and grace,
Sunday in Kasi, a familiar place.
Here, the rhythm of life never rests,
A dance of hard work, faith, and the best.
In wheelbarrows, in kitchens, in church—
Sunday in the Kasi, where love doesn’t search.
It’s not in riches or fame we find,
But in shared moments, hearts intertwined.
Where vegetables are sold and prayers rise,
Sunday in the Kasi, under open skies.
To those who’ve walked this road alone,
With hearts that ache and minds that roam,
A void where guidance should have been,
A silence loud, a secret sin.
Your steps were small, but dreams were wide,
Yet shadows came, no hand to guide.
In every tear, in every fight,
You’ve found your strength in darkest night.
No father’s voice to calm your fear,
No words of love to draw you near.
But know this truth, through every pain,
You’re not defined by what you’ve gained.
For strength, dear soul, is in your heart,
A warrior’s fire, a work of art.
Your worth is not in what you lack,
But in the courage to come back.
So rise again, with all your might,
Turn every storm into your light.
The world may not have shown you how,
But you will teach them, here and now.
You are not lost, though you’ve been tossed,
In time, you’ll find your path across.
And when you do, let this be known
You’ve never truly been alone.
Real-Life Demogorgons
Life felt like Hawkins—
quiet streets hiding screaming sirens.
Mind Flayers weren’t fiction anymore;
they learned my name.
I was lost like Will,
vanished between breaths,
woke up shivering
in an Upside Down crib—
air thin, walls breathing fear.
I walked on jagged glass,
barefoot in my own thoughts.
Locked inside my skull,
my body spasmed with truths unsaid.
My mind—flayed
not by monsters,
but by my own sins.
Arggh!
I wanted out.
The Demogorgon loomed—
faceless, black, relentless.
Should I speak this pain aloud,
or bury my life
in a pit of silence?
No—
I heard footsteps of the other me,
the one who survived.
Friends became flickering lights,
stringing hope through the dark,
showing me a path I couldn’t see alone.
I was found—
not dead,
but drowning
in endless shadows,
Eaten by real-life Demogorgons
with familiar faces:
fear, shame, loneliness.
Yet here I stand—
scarred, shaking, breathing—
proof that monsters are real,
but so is salvation.
fourth of July 2025
people are celebrating Independence Day
Texas is unaware of the tragedy about to descend
a Christian summer camp will never be the same
while innocents slept, they were torn from their beds
By flood waters who had sneaked in like giant serpents
I cannot imagine their terror as they tumbled into icy cold water
dark and dank, a real- life nightmare
many of them children, others just a notch older than this
carried away, downstream, by a flood that stole their hopes and dreams
a flood that will not soon be forgotten,
a monster that carried away many families’ most precious gifts,
their children
Man, there we were sitting in the front row,
this one night now a fantasy come true.
There is no way we could begin to know
in that moment what we would need to do.
A backstage pass you were able to go,
Prince let you in I had to fret and stew.
The Artist's spontaneous meet and greet,
woke up now I want a real life repeat.
When a mishap takes place...
I ignored it, and pressed on.
What else to do?
Grace is not always polished.
But I can smile between the screams.
If I stumble, that's how we grow…
and if luck feels absurd,
I'll chuckle all the way under...
Because every problem has a resolution
in its own time.
No matter how far the clouds may stretch…
I'm sure it won't last forever.
Life glimmers softly in its simple grace.
Do not complicate the gentle things
We never knew what comes next.
So live, and live fully.
Our life a horror movie they played to us in real life
In horror films black people die first
We always make smart decisions
And yet they still manage to find a way to erase us even in film
They don't leave us alone
Not in life
Not in death
Not even in fiction
They do this to show that no matter what we will always be trapped
That even if we follow the rules
We still die
We are still erased
That we still have no control
Over our own fate
We will always be puppets
To a system
That doesn't control by using string
But by barbed wire
Making sure every movement is painful
Making sure we have a slow and violent death
That with every breath
The barbed wire strips another piece of our flesh
Slowly peeling away our blackness
We are seen as the disposable one
In life
In movies
And shows
To be the one who helps
The one who saves
And the one who sacrifices
Their life
For their white counterpart
To make sure they get to the end
Where's our happily ever after
We always get the struggle trope
And when we ask to change the ending
They just say nope
Yesterday, while walking home,
I saw some people who
Were gazing past the river rail,
But why? I had no clue.
Two cops were there as well and so
I looked to where they leaned
And saw the body of a man;
That’s why they’d intervened.
More people gathered and I learned
That he was still alive.
He’d either jumped or fallen;
No one knew if he’d survive.
Within mere minutes, boats arrived,
The rescue underway,
The efforts of our civil servants
Proudly on display.
They carried him onto a boat
Then to a nearby dock
Where an ambulance was waiting
For the stretcher down the block.
Up close, I saw he wasn’t young
And injured on his head.
I never learned if he pulled through
Or passed away instead.
It felt like watching as they filmed
A TV cop show, but
The victim, sadly, didn’t move
And no one shouted, “Cut!”
.
save
my auntie
she may have solved
yet
she cauzed
likewize
wuz committed for
each one
and i
left to stutter
your mindz
with hern lunatic
yet
'tiz i
who
gabblez
.
save
'twuz tuh feed
mine he
and here this tattered i
share storys with mine host
i to be the pingtan
imagine i
the balladeer
i
the jester
and tuh
share her'z
yep
.
save
I lived it only by sight
the criminal offered mine
lodging
thuh
b&b i'd say
swine'z lodging
his wife 26
her daughter 14
(he didn't off hiz wife)
hiz time with her
the spring'z must be
broken
gotta
go guy
and with i
off
sprint'd
dude'z
Remington stay'd
Pump'd i
"excuses edvard
excuses
Innnjoy"
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