Monthly Archives: December 2011


Catching dirt with your eyelashes,

 You lay down like violet fields,

 Somebody told me that a rainbow

 melted in your eyes

  it sank in so deep that behind

one-lid lies a forest and behind

 the other is an ocean,

 I love it.

 Tippytoe-walker how you dodge

 glass chippings with ease yet

 you set yourself  in no man’s land

 with your eyes tracing clouds in the


 oblivious to how crazy I am for explorers

 those who can name the stars backwards

 and tell you exactly how many bicycles there

 are in Beijing.

 Looking at the world like it’s a mere town along

 the roads on your palms.

 . And sometimes  your acetone words

 and your cold shoulders startle me

 but they don’t take anything from

 how I feel at home when we come

cheek to cheek

how my forehead ever has a print

of your lipstick.

 How we link arms and chase shadows

 in city streets

 mimicking car alarms and eating

 Corn in tiny cups that we clench onto like

 life itself.

 Hijacking carousels and laughing

 At innocent bystanders as they raise their


 Sugar cookies and chamomile tea we have

 Tea-parties with park ants.


 I see you lifting your limbs and dancing

 wherever visible sunrays meet dirty pavements

 and I watch you glisten like snow flakes

 and I watch you unravel, who would have known

 how you hid yourself, shy eyes?


by Upile Chisala 26/12/2011

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..I have always worn my heart on my sleeves.
am I guillible?
or insane?
How I can fall in love with strangers
the way clouds do with blue skies?
and never think twice about giving my heart
to sunshine
to warmth
to being in an envelope of arms
surround me and take me in.
And maybe I don’t see the sense in holding on tight
to things that weren’t made to be hoarded.
I know the universe is good at giving back,
paying back,
so I say that my karma is honey-sweet kisses from
big-hearted angels,
hugs that linger even when you’re free,
dreams that extend into the daylight,
handshakes between souls.
When sitting in tight places together may we exchange
names too
because it makes no sense sharing flus
without even knowing each other’s names.
And maybe this time round  when I’m paid back
they can make that check out to laughter
coz it seems it cost a buck too many to get even a chuckle
out from people these days
Wake the beast universe
its time to laugh again!
I miss looking at children making funny faces in
their car seats
and now they roll eyes and raise middle fingers
whatever happened to laughter?
He is no longer making his rounds
I’d like him back please
coz it seems like him and Santa have misplaced
a lot of folks addresses this year.
Someone told me that ‘Zia’ in Arabic means ‘Light’
I guess if its paying back you are doing world
then I beg you pay me back in placing
a entangled ball of sunrays
on my outstrecthed naked palms
so I too share it where its needed
where it can shine out
and fill in the gaps of darkness
just to add some color to that
one room in heavy hearts
thats left unopened
especially when nosy vistors come round.
Since I’ve done some good to the big old bad world
it won’t be much to ask that my
karma be Zia.

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I write letters sometimes,
to no one in particular really
just so I can explode like ink on a paper
and share myself
even if in the smallest form
I know tiny particles of me will be somewhere else but here
and sometimes I even post them
just for the sake of it
for the fun of it
with no addresses so to speak
nothing you can read
often I scribble “to heaven” so tiny only ants can read it
I wonder where they end up?
maybe in the bottom of a postmaster’s pocket
crunched into the prettiest ball
as though he’d known to crush with care
because whoever sends these letters feels whatever they do.
Maybe they’ve been made into something else
and though you’ll never see the words again
maybe they are your notebook
your diary
your calender
and maybe you make plan days and draw dreams
right on the paper that I’d written down all the tales of my failed dreams
and plans that I’d made on a wim
with a handful of fairydust
and not a droplet of sweat on my forehead.
and you won’t ever know it.
I wonder.

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by Jonathan Bernal

…I asked my mum about Butterflies
she told me that they were tiny souls
in place,
floating around gathering
the sweetness in the small things
like flowers
enjoying the sunshine
just like flowers too…
I told her they were beautiful
I would like very much to be one
“Then how would I ever hold your hand?”
by Upile Chisala December 24,2011

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~To My Brother/Bestfriend~Happy Bday!

My Brother and I


We’ve grown up a perfect pair, two peas in a pod.
We get each other completely
And we’ve got each other forever
The perfect sister-brother team
I miss you and your loud dancehall music
I miss: The way you call me Beavis and I call you Butthead ♥.
The way you drive me crazy one second
and make me laugh until I cry the next.:)
The way you randomly tell me that you love me
and hug me when I least expect it.
The way you daily teach me so many things.
Just the way you are You. I miss it all.

20 years is no joke, its a milestone! Its the beginning of an adventure.!! Gome no one is like you. no one compares to you. I love you Big Brother!! ♥

God blessed me with such an amazing brother, this post is just for him. Oh how I love this one human madly.:)

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~Once More~

From time to time
I reoccur
slipping from my
atmospheric home,
back to Earth and moments.
In turn I return
to life
and all its scattered things.
Time did not end with me
the rusty clock ticks on
Everything is different
Everyone is distant
They have all changed
moved on
leaving their footprints
in my graveyard,
their fallen tears
have turned to ice
tiny diamonds
on my tomb
They don’t know
I am around
they stopped looking
for me
and now the wailing wind
is simply wind
the shadows
are of trees
they never think
they never hope
that that presence is simply

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He held her hand
earthy brown fingers linking in a twine of understanding,
The palms of perfect strangers but imperfect humans the common entity.
No names .
No memories.
No knowledgeof each other,
yet in the darkness of life they hold hands .

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And did he break you?
putting his hand where the wind breaks
and the softness of a woman lies
where it was sacred
and if he’d simply asked you to you would
have loved him like a river song sang
before they dip people in and they arise
lungs filled with water and a holy ghost
dancing within them.
But greedy and impatient his masculinity pushed
you down and made a ‘nothing’ of you.
And you are beautiful like that river song
Your grief-struck eyes and your twirling limbs
as you try your level-best to fly
only to fall like an aching dove
But you’re beautiful
the way you hold your arms against yourself
as to keep from falling apart
and shattering
suffocating the warmth which you yarn for
. And how you bite your nails when you are convinced
the world is staring at someone else
whose’s misplaced their glow.
How you never shake hands
fearing not touch but that they might discover
that you’ve always carried your heart in your palms.
I see you stand as far as you can from tall buildings
coz hasn’t the world shown you enough that you are
small by towering you?
How you halt whenever you see sun-rays and open your
pockets slightly and try to capture as much sunshine
as you can fit without anyone catching you.
and you’re beautiful the way you speak low hoping that
they can’t detect the numbness inside you.
You dodge mirrors and yourself, afraid
you’ll still see how the light has been beaten out of you
but you’re beautiful.
With your crystal eyes
the roses blooming in your cheeks
the beauty in your person
the way your shoulders arch
and your lips curl when you hear music
no one could steal that.
You’re beautiful.

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~Spinning Thoughts~

Again and again
I am left alone
To a room that is mine
But that is not my own
To the thoughts I own
That are not my own,
When these times come
I sit in silence
Un momento
Alone with myself
to be myself alone
I shift and turn and think
si Precisely
Borrowed thoughts
linger in my heavy
Ponderous pondering
under my skull
whimsical mediocrity
pre-thought thoughts
even in my mind I can’t
escape from ordinary
the reign of trend
and again in me a
trailblazer is set ablaze
and when i arise from
adopted ideas, fostered
I once more live in sync
with everyone but myself
I once more belong
and lead the life of
someone else.

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~Floral Stains, Cats and Love Trains.~

I am doomed to talking to walls
and felines
collecting what’s old and making
it older,
living in a small house
that’s draped in floral
every curtain every cloth
suffocated by flowers.
I can almost smell the loneliness
or is that just my future cats?
running around
purring unstoppably
communicating with me when
humans cease to effect me,
music stops to move me
and I’m GRAY.
It’s inevitable the way I go about
too late for the love train
Each time I punch my ticket in
and wait in elongated lines
then follow a stream of punctuated
clocks tick and tock
but I am late.
Once again I miss the love
And I return to waiting for my
my feline-filled floral-stained
lonely days.

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