How long will you demand this veil?
This mask of superficial purity, white?
I want to rip into this suffocating lace.
Tear it from my tortured beaten face.
Revealing black haunted eyes to light.
How long must this macabre act prevail?
Come to me my lost and reprobate angel.
Liberate me with your love in dark places.
Let me bleed into the white empty spaces.
Bless my union in the dilapidated chapel.
So that I might be resurrected to the night.
Divinely ordained in pure black and white.
Golden lava-flows of stars plunges
in waterfalls over the edge of a bed.
A faithful fan performs its Sufi twirls
cloistered, as is proper, in obscurity.
Whilst the guitar whispers love songs
an audience of plants listens in silence.
Soft cotton covers hug my naked skin
like the warm touch of an absent lover.
Gratitude dances on my heavy eyelids
as I drift into a sleep void of storms.
In a small waterfront bar in the old Cape of Good Hope,
a place created by the gods for lost souls and orphans,
we drank warm melancholy cocktails out of old bottles
wrapped in cheap brown paper bags to hide our sin
when your soul unexpectedly spilled in from the cold dark rain.
A thousand miles away I lift my eyes to the clear blue skies
and remembering and wondering about the crossroads of life
wrapped up in the inaudible plea drifting up from your voice
wordlessly telling me of pain that the universe holds in my heart
because it sees you and wants to throw its arms around you.
Daar in ń waterkant bar van die ou Kaap
Die plek van verlore siele en weeskinders.
Drink ons warm drankies uit ou bottels,
begrawe in goedkoop bruin papier sakke.
Jou siel val laat nag in uit die koue reen.
Nou kyk ek hier op na die ope blou hemel,
ek onthou, maar wonder oor ons kruispad.
Daar is ń woordelose roep in jou stem,
en praat jy onbewustelik jou pyn met my.
Die heelal hou sy asem op in my hart,
dit sien jou en wil sy arms om jou gooi.
That thing lay trembling on a cold floor
The final desolate implosion of despair
It called for succour but you did not hear
It offered a hand to the abyss you crafted
That thing grew ancient and then perished there
The closing recital from the ghoulish elegy of faith
A celestial untiring lament gently stirs the sable dusty relics
A precious stone tumbles from the heart of that dead thing
Not to be unloved
But preciously kept
with words and songs
timeless as a soul
bright as a moon
reflecting the sun
Strung around my heart
a guiding light
into the unknown.
I hung my love
onto soft white edges
of spring clouds
as waves crash
onto ancient shores
if the peaceful breeze
will be a companion
to my sun
with the clouds
and your love
to unreachable lands