Tuesday, February 15, 2011


THE FIRST ARCHIVES- A poetic journey into and through adolescence


The weapon of mass destruction lurks in every corner.

A suicide bomb is installed.

In who? By who? – remains unknown

Listen, and you will hear a hostage cry.

Listen again, but you will hear no more. The merciless beast has struck.

Listen once more, to the silent crawl of the mass destructive beast. You hear nothing yet it draws cl-o-se-r.

And CL-O-S-E-R.

Fear sticks you to the ground, your body is motionless.

The breath of the beast is near.

The bomb is implanted.

You are a hostage.

Listen once again, to hear your own cry.

Does anyone hear it too?

You long to see your family, once more, but

Shame does not allow for you to even glance.

You kneel to tell the world of the beast and it’s army,

But you are blind fold and your wrists are tied together.

You throat senses the cold metal touch as death wraps it fingers around your torso.

Your death is broadcast.

Someone… hears your cry.

The light goes off.

A boy takes a stand and the limelight is his.

He talks about the unleashed beast that has its grip on him.

A child, a boy from South Africa.

An orphan in a parentless struggle against the growing beast.

The beast does not tolerate abstinence so it will climb on to the peaks of every needle.

Camouflaged and hidden.

Dressed in combat gear, hidden it will remain,

There are many of its kind.

A baby is born without the arms to be cradled in.

The beast is aware and without a moment to spare….

Dead is the baby.

Dead is the child.

Dead are the children.

Dead, dead and dying.

I you can hear the plea of the boy.

The plea of the baby,

And the plea of the people.

If you have heard the plea of Nelson Mandela for his 86th birthday.

Please hear mine.

AIDS is a weapon of mass destruction. HIV is a beast unleashed. We will remain HIV posistive until we tame the beast and free our families from its grip.

Help us end THIS war.

- This poem is so very dear to me because it is a poem I wrote in 2004. I must have been exposed to some form of televised news because I make references in here about former South African president, Nelson Mandela’s plea and birthday wish, which I remember being an aspiration to end all suffering from AIDS and HIV, and indeed being in my country one doesn’t have to go far to witness the ravaged remnants of an AIDS infested population. As much as people did try to hide it, there were posters everywhere advocating the use of condoms and even billboards urging people to get tested, public service announcements.. etc… etc. I also remember this was the era where I was first introduced to an America which was at war with terrorists. The word terrorist was thrown around the news constantly, in association with America. I felt sorry for my nation, which was and is being eaten alive by AIDS not to have as much publicity, and I thought ‘this is a war too’, we are all fighting against AIDS and the spread of HIV. I also make a reference to ‘a boy’ in my poem, his name is Nkosi Johnson, a South African boy, born with AIDS. Johnson put a face on AIDS and was and is considered a child AIDS activist. I only heard of him in 2004, he had died in 2001, but I had the privilege of hearing one of his speeches given in the year 2000 where he addressed delegates from all over the world in Durban at the 13th international Aids Conference. He shook my world. I will not forget him and in honour of him I will strive to continue his work as an AIDS activist myself. This poem was published in TACAIDS a bimonthly magazine distributed all over Tanzania in 2004.