Skip to main content


What wouldn't I give, for one more chance...

But you are Judas.
Betrayal hangs thick on you like a monk's cloak; dark and heavy.
Waves of heat and nausea wrack my body. Thinking of you makes me break out in a sweat, my head spins and I lose my appetite faster than a vegan in a McD's.
You are casual in your toxicity, cool in your remorselessness, spitting out words to bruise: "Crazy!"

So I steer clear.
And you remain... living just beneath my skin, in my blood, present with every breath.

What wouldn't I give, for one more chance...

But you are Delilah.
Deception wielded with the skill of a marksman.
Waves of lust and longing consume me, dulling my judgement. It leaves me weak at the knees and weakens my resolve.
You exploit my weaknesses, leaving me wanting.
I am hungry, my appetite for you a deep well; an empty pit: dank, dangerous, deadly.

I am Samson to you; my hair, my sexuality, my faith in us, cut away.
And you remain.
You live where you once lingered... in the nape of my neck, the curve of my back, at the edge of reason.

Digital numbers flashing at me as if to rile.
I groan.
Oh sleep, you fickle friend, when did you and I part ways?
I punch pillows, yank cold blankets up, burrowing under the covers. I reach an arm out into the offending cold and grab my mobile.
I log onto whatsapp seeking connection, you're still there, like a ghost.
Your profile pic taunting me.
"Check out my new pp," you said.
"And that look in your eyes?" I asked.
"I was thinking of you when I took it..."
"Naughty and greedy," I laughed, slightly drunk on lust.

I know that look, it tells the story of us in better times.
It says, "I want you."
It screams, "I can feel you."
It mocks time and distance, sanity and peace.

Like Samson I rise.
The glow of the screen casts shadows on my pale skin.
I stumble through the dark, a shadow of my former self
But I stumble forward nonetheless, touching cold walls to steady me, walking purposefully towards the light.

Popular posts from this blog

Right here, Right now.

The wind whistles & howls, shaking up Cape Town ; waking her weary chidren.

Dazed I wake up for a second time, opening heavy lids to find that Monday had dawned softly. Ribbons of red are slowly beginning to caress the darkness as I stretch out lazy like a cat, lying in the middle of the kingsize bed, my thick winter frame engulfed by fleecy bedding the colour of candy floss.
"Sweet!" I utter out loud to an already empty house as soft light filters in through aluminium blinds making stripes like tattoos on my pale skin.
I should get up, but I am perplexed by the day which stretches ahead of me demanding nothing!
I'm at odds, not used to so much time on my hands, "busy" being my usual setting.

I'm beginning to like this new reality.
The ticking clock by my bedside sets a steady rhythm, as all around me the world is on the go, moving in circles. It's as if the world's forgotten about this one, tiny space. In my cocoon I groggily sit up, twisting m…


Furrows deep and pronounced line my brow. I contemplate them,  willing them away, stroking them gently, each stroke meant to iron them out. I am their canvas, they are my storylines.

I seize my ironing, and listen to their tales.
I feel the cold to my bones!

Not the usual Cape Town cold I grew up with in the Southern Suburbs, but an iciness matching any day spent in Tewkesbury more than a decade ago in the UK.  The kind of cold that requires down feather jackets and knee-high fake fur boots.  The kind of cold that leaves sleet on windshields, and soup pots full.
Central heating!Pah! Our homes in Cape Town are ill-equipped for this kinda torture!
I hug my hot water bottle to me like a long lost lover, it's squishy, and pot-bellied and jiggles when I squeeze it. Raising the white mug to my lips, I slurp the almost scalding coffee quickly. My fifth cuppa and it's only 10:42am. Two bars glow bright orange at me. Mikey hogs the heater, and Georgie sits on top of the TV cabinet like a …

The Road to Al Dhaid

I wake up from a deep sleep, startled by silence and a bed devoid of him. I lay spread eagled, entangled in white cotton sheet, a sense of solitude overwhelming me as soon as I open my eyes.

The desert heat clings to my body while a pale moon tries it's best to break through thick, brown silky drapes. I drag myself up, feeling a twinge in my lower back and pull the clawing nightdress down thick hips and thighs.
Middle age bringing unwelcome changes.

My feet hit lukewarm tiles as I stumble the short distance to the window, hanking the brown open to reveal the the mosque the colour of sand.  In the distance it's soft lights are alluring against a dark sky.
The call to prayer begins as I stand silently staring out at University City Road. No screeching tyres, honking horns, or irate drivers to disturb the peace. Only an ocassional early morning traveller making his way along the quiet streets of sleepy Sharjah.
The adhan is soothing and I am instantly alert, a sense of urgency gu…