Rhymes and Frames

Ondoy (Typhoon Ketsana)

tshauambea — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 11:00:53 +0000

Richard Yulo

richardyulo.wordpress.com

Photographed in the Philippines using a Canon 40D and 10-22mm lens.

Ondoy (Typhoon Ketsana) was undoubtedly the most devastating typhoon that has ever hit the Philippines (in my lifetime, at least). You need only to make a quick image search on Google to be reminded of how destructive it really was. The storm brought with it massive winds and an awesome amount of water, which it dumped on the country for about 18 straight hours.

"niagara horseshoe falls" by elec neo...

tshauambea — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 10:59:06 +0000

Reblogged from Pixel.me:

via xiangsu.me

Writers’ Block

tshauambea — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 10:37:41 +0000

People hardly ever believe the fact that I don’t choose when to write and that whatever is is that I want to write about finds me and not the other way around.

The relationship between writing and I is one beyond my control, my poems find me. Poetry has found me through some of the most difficult times in my life, it has also found me at my happiest and sometimes it doesn’t even come looking for me. Its like a stranger that comes and goes hence I cannot claim it as my own, rather a visitor whose arrival I sometimes anticipate for months.

Poetry has been a stranger for the past 8 months; maybe it doesn’t see the need to comfort me, keep me company or add to my joy… Maybe poetry is giving me some time to find myself and resolve my issues, maybe it has packed and gone to never return but until then I’ll stay waiting.

I hope poetry returns to me to fill the blank pages on my notebooks and to give me that unique eye through which I see the world through its metaphors and strong vocabulary.

*Image source: http://dresswithcourage-elissa.blogspot.com/2011/12/blogging-through-writers-block.html

At work

tshauambea — Fri, 15 Jun 2012 11:36:40 +0000

Reblogged from waldinaoliveraphoto:

I was standing outside of work yesterday and happened to look up. The sky was a beautiful almost-summer blue and the day had a rather nice breeze. So of course, I mourned a bit the fact that I had to step inside and start a rather long work day. I looked at the tourists flocking down sixth avenue and felt a pang of jealousy (more envy) that I couldn't enjoy the day as they were.

We are burning

tshauambea — Mon, 28 May 2012 17:45:18 +0000

Reblogged from hovercraftdoggy:

Burning tires / photography by Mohammed Alsultan

I just had to reblog this amazing photo to my followers, please checkout http://hovercraftdoggy.wordpress.com for more lovely images

Northdene Rooftop View

tshauambea — Mon, 28 May 2012 08:02:18 +0000

By Tshauambea Ndou
RhymesAndFrames@gmail.com

Amber My Beloved

tshauambea — Thu, 24 May 2012 04:05:23 +0000

My fingers yearn to strum her strings with my right elbow firmly gripped on her body.

My days aren’t the same without her beautiful tunes ringing in my head, her vibrations constantly birthing celestial melodies and her frequent collaborations with my poetry.

This is no poem, I just miss Amber, my beloved guitar. I cannot wait to go home and hold her close to me

By Tshauambea Ndou
RhymesAndFrames@gmail.com

Today’s Sunset

tshauambea — Mon, 21 May 2012 20:30:56 +0000

I love sunsets; they’re always something to look forward to at the end of a long day

By Tshauambea Ndou
RhymesAndFrames@gmail.com

What is a Poet?

tshauambea — Mon, 21 May 2012 20:14:06 +0000

“A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.” ~ W. H. Auden

By Tshauambea Ndou
RhymesAndFrames@gmail.com

My soul weeps

tshauambea — Sat, 24 Mar 2012 22:09:10 +0000

My soul weeps,
My ice cold heart has been melted into a river of tears,
Overwhelmed by the social inequalities that have spread like spores over the years,
Septic sores that have turned rural virgins into whores,
My soul weeps for humanity is in a coma, drifting closer to death daily.

My soul weeps for the widows who lost their husbands in struggle,
The same women that barely have food on their table,
Feeding on government’s promises that their husbands’ deaths were not in vain,
Waiting on their spouses blood to fertilise their barren soil.

My soul weeps for dust babies,
Whose only desire is to own a pair of shoes,
Who walk through dark valleys in pursuit of food,
The very same children left to nurse themselves for the angel of death has claimed their parents,
My soul weeps for Africa’s starving young.

My soul weeps for 13 year old Duduzile,
Forced into prostitution so she can fend for her younger siblings,
Constantly beat on like a marimba drum by her pimp,
The scars and wounds on her feet from those that wanted more than what they were willing to pay for,
Her legs, always open like a cheap Hillbrow store that knows not of any public holidays,
My soul weeps for 13 year old HIV positive Duduzile.

My soul weeps for the tenderpreneur,
He flashes his assets yet has an empty soul,
He drinks himself to sleep for the screams of those he cheated to get where he is are constantly tormenting him,
Exploiting minors to obtain his blood diamonds,
Over working orphans in sweat shops,
He lingers around expensive boutiques yet he knows not that salvation is what he really needs,
My soul weeps for the black diamond who knows not that he has sold his soul to the devil.

My soul weeps for the Congolese refugee who fled to South Africa in search of a better life,
Knowing not that he’ll be abhorred by hostile hearts,
Termed “lilwerekere” and set ablaze in broad daylight,
Not knowing his search for safety would lead him to his death bed,
My soul weeps for the Congolese refugee who fell into the arms of Xenophobia.

To be continued…