Friday Night in Zimbabwe - published in Plebian Rag - http://theplebianrag.com\

The gastric juices prowled noisily in the caverns of his empty stomach, the acidic contents eating away, corroding the walls of his intestines, sounds emanating from within, like the thunderstorms in November.


He closed his eyes and tried in vain to wish the sounds away, but experience whispered softly in his conscience – such wishes were never granted it said, over and over again; experience told him that the grumbling would continue until he would stand up and gulp down a glass of water, whereby it would cease, and in its place would emerge that sickening, nauseating turning and churning of his insides, like a huge river of mud worming its way around and round, his heart presiding over the proceedings with a dull thud – thud – thud …….


Outside, the wind howled eerily sending clouds of spilt-filled dust into the gaping mouths of the township drunkards as they made their way to their homes, home to their sex-starved, frustrated wives, their malnourished children and their houses, constantly under threat of closure by the local council.


Their “beer-hall” wives staggered drunkenly next to them, making a last desperate reach for the almost empty wallets, proffering in exchange their miserably sunken sagging, breasts and the promises of pleasure from between their shriveled thighs.


Some among the drunkards, held on to their near–empty wallets their unsteady consciousness nagging at them about their nuptial duties – the wife, the kids, the house; whilst some falling head-on for the sagging breasts and the promises of pleasure in the nearby bushes; “quickies” from which they emerged minutes later, wallets empty, sex-drive stalled, hangovers assured and breaths stinking to high heaven of beer, cheap prostitute’s perfume, semen and whatever else cheap prostitutes wearing cheap perfume stink of…


And so it was that Friday night, the son waiting at home hunger threatening to drive him to oblivion, and the father, staggering home, dragging a staggering human piranha, a fisher of men hanging precariously onto his arm sucking away at all his humanity, his being, his dignity …

Welcome to Joburg

Welcome to Jozi


they come for different reasons; but they all come;
some running from old skeletons in their cupboards,
seeking anonymity in this jungle of humanity;
seeking recuperation; bitter from the thorns that life has embedded deep in their flesh;
some bored, seeking excitement in her red light zones;
disorientated, seeking direction, hoping for a second chance;
disillusioned, weary and tired,
seeking asylum within the sagging breasts of the big prostitute that she is;

some are diseased; seeking magical elixirs,
concoctions to cure their ailing souls, their deranged minds and their rotting bodies;
she bares her thighs, like the wanton whore that she is,
and gives them carnal satisfaction they that seek it,
holding them close to her bared breasts, giving them warmth and protection,
and as she opens her legs, they that seek excitement dive in,
like sex-starved travellers in a foreign land;

to the disillusioned, she gives more hope,
illusions disguised and coated with the pseudo lights;
a train hurling through a tunnel, heading straight for them, to crush them to oblivion;
some go back to their homes;
botching up whatever good they have in their lives by using their new found wisdom, and when that fails, they come back;
bitter and vengeful, seeking to ravage this whore; this modern day Delilah;

she accepts them back,
offering them more mirages in the distant horizons,
shrugging off their meagre attempts at revenge,
holding them close, hugging them,
offering them the warmth of her inequities until they finally succumb once more,
sure that this time they will emerge victorious;

she swirls them around in her acid-poisoned intestines;
until she has had her fill;
until, eventually, she spits them all out,
blessed with all the diseases of the body, the soul and the mind,
spoiled, scarred, miserable excuses of humanity,
pitiful caricatures of their former selves,
the remnants of a once mighty nation,
the debri that would be the future of humanity,
the reluctant trustees of the posterity of this great country;

Welcome to eGoli, welcome to Jozi…

(Dedicated to all those coming for the FIFA World Cup 2010, you gotta know the reality!)

My Friend

I have stood at this point before; where you now stand;
Beaten down by life's journey;
bereft of any solutions,
hanging by a thread to my honour, my virtue,
my very being;

I have heard the mighty winds of fate,
howling by in the valley of death below,
the rivers of disillusion,
cascading violently to the waterfalls of certain demise,
waiting to swallow me up, with no hesitation and no mercy;

I have known that there would be no way out of it,
save to fight for my life,
and so with one foot hanging over the abyss,
and one foot on the shifting sands of my circumstances,
I have held on to my sanity;

I have stood up tall, and looked fate right in the eye,
I have grabbed her by the balls, and refused to let go,
And with the roar of a castrated bull,
I have shouted in her face,
" Go to hell, see if i care!"

मिस्सिंग यू...

Missing you…

I wait here;
queitly, silently,
watching the never ending traffic in and out of your life,
sometimes angered by the choices you make,
sometimes amused by the demeanor of the other watchers,
sometimes intrigued by those you decide to invite in,
sometimes blown away by the splendid colours emerging from within,
the sounds of joyful laughter, of soft sobbing and of quiet breathing;

I wait here;
smiling, grinning, and even crying,
remembering the journeys that we have travelled together,
knowing that once, a long time ago, i was a part of it all,
of the joy and the pain,
of the tears and the laughter,
of the past and the future,
of the hopes and the dreams,
the magic of knowing you once embracing my very being;

but today , i wait here;
and as the winds of time begin to erase our footsteps in the sand,
I continue to wait,
hoping that my dreams of you will not give in to the nightmares of my today,
wishing that my tomorrows would be as defined as they were when you were in my arms,
longing for the solitude of the valleys of your exquisite body,
dreaming of a joyful reunion far away,
missing what we had,
missing you...


© Thamsanqa N. Ncube