The royal rose

She is fragile in her beauty

Yet strong in her being

Having stood so long on her own.

Having the appearance of being delicate

Of weakness and antiquity in her favour,

She forever grows:

Parts age and others start,

Some die and others age.

A circle is what her life is;

Always producing elements of beauty.

She loves both rain and shine alike

And fears no one-

For she is her own protector,

Her own defender till the end.

Her beauty distracts to those

Who unwittingly try

And remove a part of her.

For under the cover of leaves And twigs,

her armory resides-

Thorns so tough and sharp

Are made to maim and blind

To protect her baby blossoms.

She is of contrasting colour;

Of midnight and light green

For her leaves

And of the deadliest red of passion

Makes her blossoms.

Tell me you know her

And I say you lie,

For those she does know

And whose company does enjoy

Shall never be pricked by her thorns,

For they know that she is to be admired

And loved and cherished

Where she is

And will always be.

A lonely soul amidst weeds.

Africa

It is a word so beautiful,

And yet bittersweet

To those who have lived

Or have visited her shores.

Hear the wind whisper over the land,

Blowing the red grains of sand

That are released-

As Africa is felt.

Soil as red as blood;

As the sun boils

In a sky so clear,

Over a land so dark.

Him against society

He is not himself to the world

He is what people expect him to be,

Being a person that is a photocopy

Of a prototype of societies specifications.

Society has evolved in such a way

That every participant is measured,

Weighed and weighted

Against a chart that years ago

Would be thought absurd-

In the extreme.

One should wear this,

Act like that

And speak in such a manner

She decrees, she being society

And society´s muscle coming

From people who hold power

Of the influential and material

Means, only without a thought

Of the ramifications of such rules

And choices of deportment.

A person can only be mindless

To a moment in time

Where freewill emerges

And attacks all that he knows

And starts setting new boundaries,

New wants and listens

To the needs of the individual.

These few who go the mile full

And not just a meter within

Society’s restrictions are criticized

And excluded; ignored and prejudiced.

He has had enough of following the flow,

Being told where to be

And how to get there.

He dresses to suit his frame of mind

For each specific day.

Being his choice black or such

For darkness, contrast and control.

He feels powerful in his choice

And accepting of her treatment

Of him in the future.

She will pressure him and hurt him

With barbs of poison sweetly coated

In suggestive comments and finely

Veiled sneers when he is still within earshot.

He will be tempted to return to her

And be normal on many an occasion

But even if he did she will still remember

And remind him of his errant ways.

If he is as strong as his soul suggests

He will hold onto what he is

And express it to the world;

Working around obstacles that will appear

Due to the ignorance of others

Because of their trust in her.

But he who lives well with himself

In the way he wants,

When his days are at a close;

Spears a light through her

And starts her transformation

Of acceptance and change

To welcome and include

Others like him.

If she is not careful he will overpower her

And become her

Leaving her to battle as he has done

To regain a balance that benefits

Both of them-

But that is impossible;

Yet he will always argue

That impossible is nothing.

the revolution

United we stand

Together we shall fall.

The revolution has started

Going to big from small.

The continent is humming

With the scent of change

For who can bear a dictator

When a freeman´s the rage?

They say the scent of blood

Is the strongest on earth;

But what can be stronger

Than a child´s death?

The innocent shall crumble

Beneath the force

To oust the power

That governs with force.

She – The African Sun

As she sets, she casts aglow

The land so red

A land so old.

Many a man has passed her over,

With a mere glance

And even less thought

For she is a constant

Though ever changing beauty

As she warms the day through.

Without her there would be no day,

No warmth and no colouring

And toning of the African land.

There is no sight more beautiful

As she passes the torch to the moon

Lingering to make sure he understands

How to guard the ancient land

Whilst she sleeps for the night.

The sight she is whilst in mid-sky

Can bring a smile to anyone´s face

For who can frown at the African Sun

And of her fury, not be afraid.

Her fury is like a coin that spins

When she is content

Landing on heads or tails

Depending.

Her wrath has taken many forms

Of extreme heat and intense indifference

Both of which are uncomfortable

To a worshiper of her being.

She is as red as blood on a heated day

And as pink as candy floss on a dawn

And a few dusk's of choice.

Her favourite hue to challenge the blue

Is from the brightest yellow

To the dullest white.

She is the soul and mother

Of the continent that is Africa.

She is unique only to that land

With the open plains

And bold strong red sand.

It is where passion flares

And starts anew

From Good Hope´s Cape

To Timbuktu.