Show Navigation

Stone Flower

FOR THE LOVE OF LITERATURE ,NATURE, THE ARTS AND GOD

Mother taught me

Mother taught me to be graceful,
To live as though the winds were golden dusts whisking about me,
As though my heart were seasoned with Spring months;
Meticulously moulded
by the past
And a Hand of Love.

She taught me to be faithful-
To myself-
Appreciate all beauty and
Hold on to my heart
As though it might break,
Cherish my soul and my mind and body,
Nourish them with utmost care,
With foods of green made of love,
With the water that falls as raindrops from above.

She taught me to love
with all my spirit
As though the spirit
Were God itself,
As if with time it gained
Devotional, divine wealth
And all pain would be redeemed
After all that was earthly dealt.

She said that with all that,
With pure love,
I would find
the source of myself
And with all that she taught me
I now know and feel that
I’ve live in Grace’s veld.

m.boikanyo

philuhlol:

VARNƱAK | via Tumblr unter We Heart It.

philuhlol:

VARNƱAK | via Tumblr unter We Heart It.

(via sola-rosaa)

Half

I loved you so much that I could
Share my chocolate with you,
Not just giving you little pieces-
I broke it in two halves, Two!
So that we could share sweet delight!

I loved you so much
That I let you touch me
With your two grimy hands, Two
Soiled prints on my clear face!

I loved you so much
I let you share my space,
My private time; my private
Time split asunder into two
No longer mine,
But now for you,
Crudely, my belongings
Broke into half
With the crumbs falling about everywhere
And the syrup Centre oozing
Out abundantly

I loved you so much
That much was sacrificed
I loved you so much that
Half of me is gone.

m.boikanyo

You get a little moody sometimes but I think that’s because you like to read. People that like to read are always a little fucked up.

Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides (via observando)

(Source: prettybookish)

"PASSING OUT OF EXISTENCE"

We’re all just “Passing Out of Existence”…
For what is the creator to do with us? 
And as we pass, we fill our days and years
With small moments of pleasure
That will become greater with the passing of time…

And it will be wonderful…!
For when we look back 
We feel we did exist, 
But for now as we go
WE’RE “PASSING OUT OF EXISTENCE”…

I love the passing- 
To see a pretty girl
Disappear in a narrow path, 
To hear a song faintly fading
In its ending, 
To close your book and wonder, 
To feel the tear trickle,
To feel it burn and leave its mark..-

And that is what we do- leave marks, traces, ideas that suggest that we
Might have existed
And God knows if we ever really did…!

poetry: m.boikanyo
quotation: James Joyce, Portrait of a young artist                                                 

photosource: http://render.fineartamerica.com/displayartwork.html?id=1035507&width=250&height=344&domainid=1

"PASSING OUT OF EXISTENCE"

We’re all just “Passing Out of Existence”…
For what is the creator to do with us?
And as we pass, we fill our days and years
With small moments of pleasure
That will become greater with the passing of time…

And it will be wonderful…!
For when we look back
We feel we did exist,
But for now as we go
WE’RE “PASSING OUT OF EXISTENCE”…

I love the passing-
To see a pretty girl
Disappear in a narrow path,
To hear a song faintly fading
In its ending,
To close your book and wonder,
To feel the tear trickle,
To feel it burn and leave its mark..-

And that is what we do- leave marks, traces, ideas that suggest that we
Might have existed
And God knows if we ever really did…!

poetry: m.boikanyo
quotation: James Joyce, Portrait of a young artist

photosource: http://render.fineartamerica.com/displayartwork.html?id=1035507&width=250&height=344&domainid=1

Empty Words

deganamfeihcsim:

I wasted all of the beautiful words I owned on you.
Our dalliance a mere sigh, foolishly I thought it sempiternal.
You pressed yourself into me and I conflated an erstwhile tryst
With love.
I imagined you were demure, your evanescent smile constructed to disguise,
To conceal your ever efflorescent soul.
You granted me your imagined self, composing yourself a symphony built on mellifluous nothing.

View On WordPress