Sunday, 13 March 2022

Oh what were the joys back then? by Nkazimulo Mvemve


Oh what were the joys back then?

In the simplest way we’d tend to each-others wounds, licking the blood saltier than sea and heal the ends.

It was never difficult when…

That was the trend, although too natural we lent our time to lie on each-others side, by side, by side – like a cube stationary in space and time, Schrödinger’s Cat vol-you-tile.

It was all too different when you meant…

The bending backwards that made my spine auto-correct, the alignment of my shock-ras, when the world was not content with covering our faces.

It put me in dark places.

The spaces that wore a nice black-on-white styled piece - that was the time I understood fashion emotionally - we did an experiment I wore white latex gloves.

I never experienced that excitement.

But it was always vibes when we’d shoot the shots and chat the times, laugh and giggle, sober and high, melancholy and delighted whenever we’d eye-to-eye.

A moth flew in my tea.

The dust it dissipated reminded me of a cold winters night outside those doors, we’d talk and come to light, it felt so right so nice, those stars the crowd  to our comedy.

I remember one about a girl.

And this wasn’t you it was him, that locational coincidence coincided our lives, he knew my name before he met me so fate was destined in that timeline.

 We were all there, back then.

I had dreams after I left of others that weren’t the same or you or them, one of them of my ‘ex’ I hated her guts in there, I’ve never seen you in stages of sleep.

But the memories I hold dear to me.

Although my mind is a clouded and forgetful shade of grey, memories of then piercing reminiscent light that take me back.

To my favourite place, to those always cold days, to those relationships that could have worked, to those emotional explorations, to that last light, last laughs and to that last hug I’ll never forget.


Nkazimulo Mvemve

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Matriculant 2019

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Heidegger's Being by Naadir Vorajee

Two great creatures deep within

fighting endlessly without sin

to win the war that plagues my mind

to take control of the fate I’ll find


one is a lion, of Nemian sort

that lures all notions of man and thought

He consumes and digests the Socratic soul

and reveals to Himself the ideas stole


He’s a beast that knows the light at the end

but knows not how or where it does bend

to find its source is his ultimate quest

until then his war will not rest...


The other a beast of gentle might

that sores on Plato’s platonic height

A gleaming soul that wishes to learn

the wings that flew the Arctic Turn


A beast that stares into the stars

and wonders why the night has scars

and feels to learn and learns to feel

of all the beauty the world hath wield


He cannot consume what lies beyond

but wants to envelope what is among

to learn through feel and touch and taste

instead of harsh consumption haste.


And so the carnage must continue

to find the truth that lines my sinew

so that I may become the man I must be

when no beasts fight deep within me.


Naadir Vorajee


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Matriculant - 2013 

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