The Tap

It is always difficult to find that one specific place to start. It is not as easy as making a cup of tea. You start at the tap, for water, then you do the rest...

What actually brought this up, was my line of work and how I got to know about blogger.com. A good friend of mine sent me his blog and it kinda regressed me to a place in my life that I was and was so desparately trying to cover up. Why I was trying to cover it up, heaven only knows. The blog was about "Timeless quotes". I remember when I was in high school, I used to find myself writing down short philosophical quotes that made sense to me.

What I ask myself now is, how the hell did I get it right to write such words and make sense out of them? Ok here is a piece of  a"Timeless quote " poem I wrote, 3 years back.

"  No tidings of the moon, nor dewy smell of a garden rose could conjure a well thought incantation to subside such brialliance; the burning sting of passion had spread out in his void  "

- Divinity by Given Nkanyane

Like wtf is that even supposed to mean? Honestly I think I was high on something when I wrote that. From this, a huge challenge araises. A challenge to go back to that way of thinking and evaluate all the "Timeless qoutes" I wrote. Until I can get a starting place, I won't be able to make sense of any of these scribblings of mine.

So in conclusion, I am saying, without a starting point, not even a GPS can calculate the distance from your position to your destination. Ok maybe someone can tell me if this makes sense. Here is the whole Poem .

Divinity

An essence of pungent passion proudly filled the canvas,

Or did it print on it?

With nerves as raw as meat in a butchers window,

The focus was on the meadow,

So tranquil, steadfast and tentiously relieving of the reality that is at hand.

For a moment, he dripped, and it broke...

The bilious crooning of words that inaccurately depict unforseen forms;

A kaleidoscope of thoughts.

No tidings of the moon,

Nor dewy smell of a garden rose could conjure a well thought incantation,

to subside such brilliance;

The burning sting of passion had spread out in his void.

The drop of a pin would suspend the flow of life, an untamable act.

Alas!, with a stinct of gold,

the complete story was effervescently and prudely told.

What was lacked, filled

Longed for, got

and what stands before him, us,

 is the great divinity of art 

 by Given Nkanyane

  This is an S0S....