Niks beweeg nie, my hart hardloop asof dit wil weghardloop.
Trane begin te vloei en ek begin glimlag. Ek is dankbaar!
Ek haal asem as of dit die laaste keer is! In ‘n wêreld waar mens aan soeveel dinge moet dink voor jy by jou huis kan uit stap… is ek net dankbaar vir klein dinge.
Asem , ń glimlag en nog ń kans om op te staan in die oggend.
Die Here ken my hart en hoor my gebede.
My glimlag is ń simbool van hoe dankbaar ek is.
My geloof word nie in die donker tye verswak nie, maar versterk met die wete dat dit ń seisoen is en my glimlag weer sal terugkeer.
Just imagine love like… Fresh flowers on the first day of spring, watching them bloom and knowing that they do it all in praise of you. Each one better than the next, hoping you’d grab them by the stem and bring them closer to your chest.
Just imagine love like… Poetry so deep you get immersed in every verse and then remember that you inspired every word’s birth. Every space, comma, exclamation mark is drawn in awe of you. Period.
Just imagine love like… A warm summer breeze touching your skin with that sweet, gentle caress that only air gives. A fresh breath of life flowing over every part of you, around you and inside you. Touching the very heart of you.
Just imagine love like… The birth of a new dawn, after the cold, dark night when everything gets reborn. Out of the silent blackness grows beauty beyond what’s told, the kind that only the purest of eyes can behold.
Just imagine love like… Her everlasting, never-dreary, riveting, intense, cant-keep-silent about personality. Making you want to get on top of Lion’s Head and shout out loud and in that moment all is still and all is real and though she’s in the kitchen making coffee your words are carried by that dawn breeze and she can feel your gentle whisper on the back of her neck.
Just imagine love like… Art in its purest form. Every brush stroke and melody, every dance move that’s born. Every second arabesque and all the demi plie’s, that leaves us on our tippie toes with arms outstretched and raised.
My mind drift into the dark oblivion Space and time is mine like every breath I take in Granted by the hand of the most high I reach my hand into the sky and form a clenched fist I scream out, but my voice is a mere tremble A high pitched sound, like the crash of a drummer’s symbol This symbolizes the start after the first end, Before I can move on from my path, I gotta first mend Using ink like glue spilled from the tip of my first pen The first ten – steps are always the hardest Its easy being a rapper, its harder when you’re an artist Coz you critique your own work more than they ever can, Like sometimes you forget the fact that you’re a mere man A mere plan can – set into action the wheels of change – if you just Pick up yourself and Wipe off the dust and Take the first step of ten and try to build momentum – coz the moment you slack, you might stop and look back and start to miss the hole you were stuck in. Like, back in the day I would get down and pray for solutions to problems that were older than I am.
Our conversation has turned to Yes, no, maybe Okay, alright, yeah. It used to be sentences, paragraphs of I can’t get enough of you. Now we sit together and talk, but nothings being said.
How was your day? What are you doing? How do you feel? All has answers that’s really just one word. Sometimes just one letter. K
Is this what social media and messaging applications has reduced us to? Turning us into humans that interact with other humans without any human interaction.
We forget people’s phone numbers because we never call. We take it down and send a text, but lately that’s all, I mean lately that’s it. In fact, we rarely ask for phone numbers these days. It’s more, “Give me your WhatsApp number or your bbm pin.” “What’s your Twitter handle? I’ll tweet you and we can keep in touch.”
That works for a while, but how long does it last? Weeks? Months? Years? For some, maybe.
CA Live 
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