Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Beyond me

You're so beautiful 

It's beyond me, 

You're so beautiful, it's beyond

Deep red apples, philosophies, 

and every periphery 

It's delicious; wholesome, in an appetizing way. It's harmonious. 

You're nowhere near perfect, 

You give handsome a face-

A way for the simple minded to know

What the definition means

You're so beautiful, you make it easy

Easier to be content with 

Your heartbeat and the things

Your mind tells you about yourself

And the people you love the most

Words fails me, i falter myself

I search for languages with enough

Expressions equitable to every point your beauty ascends

So you could know the fill

Of what the eye sees soon as it

Encounters you

If wisdom had a face, it would 

Look like yours

If love had questions to ask

Only your eyes would hold the answers

And if your face was a city full of lights

Surfing the darkness of the night

It would be New York City;

Timeless, first world, and indescribably beautiful

Too beautiful to ever be shy

You play on imaginations

And personify temptations 

With your eyes alone you move me

Like a shadow over the sea

Your beauty transcends me

It makes me feel scared to be

©Raeez Jacobs. 2014. Poetry

Sunday, February 23, 2014

You Millenium Racist, you.

It's 2014, and despite the decade and a half-or-so between now, and the offset of a time many remember sordidly and in much vain, there's a stark similarity in the way ideals are harboured, and in how we communicate our 'angst'.
Riots are the  most poignant of such features still prevalent amongst many today, especially those in said 'government' positions of labour. And then protests of educational and political significance still seem widespread, very reminiscent of the infamous, Sharpeville massacre. It's petrifying to reconcile with these realities, but it's also profoundly hard to be evasive in the face of fact and reality.

One would have anticipated a society less preoccupied with the strife, and outbursts of sporadic violence, that so much as it has damaged our social and human fabric, has simultaneously tarnished our international reputation, along with infecting us with a political amnesia- one by which ultimately, we have become oblivious about a past so many of our forefathers and relevant family members fought to abolish. A past we should presumably have learned every single lesson from.
So then, what seems to be problem? Why do such atrocities, such as; gender-based violence, rape, prejudice, discrimination in the workplace, and cultural subordination still seem to shape the way we conduct ourselves in our so-called 'democratic', post-Apartheid country. We have much to celebrate and to be proud of, but can the same be said of ourselves? what we teach our children, which stereotypes we perpetuate perpetually, and which prejudices we harbour innately, and use to live in our privatised, singular, cultural-cum-religious motivated existences? Do we feel guilty, or do we merely settle for calling ourselves victims of a traumatising past we'll never truly transcend?

Does admitting to the latter say anything about how weak or strong, moral or immoral, ethical or unethical, or about how frugal or excessive we are as human beings?

The cohort of young South African's born just after the infamous 1991 general election, in which the White Nationalist Party was ousted from parliament; abnegated from reigning supreme, that is, share a varied ideology about the nature of unification and the ramifications of segregation.
Racism is obviously not so blatant that it would surface as problematic, and it's clandestinely preserved and projected perfectly enough to go unnoticed. Amid the slew of human rights violations and the tempest of other social and anthropological iniquities we encounter and struggle against, racism which many undoubtedly shy away from even speaking about, just does it thing quietly. Is this a sort of psychological racism?
Most theorists agree that it's innate, or intuitive, and far more relative to preference, than it is motivated by reasons of political dissidence. That is to be otherwise proved nonetheless, since it's not a focal objective of this piece.

                                                              -Raeez Jacobs

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Poem: The Other

       my sister.

Your hand is a stranger
I defend myself always
and these marks don't
stand for nothing

I never accuse you
though time and again
it seems you defile me
as if though I'm the reason

for why you're acting
so strange and out o'
character these days

as if

I never excuse you
or make excuses for you
when they point out your
weaknesses and show me your

© Raeez Jacobs, Poetry. 2014.