Afzal Moolla


the seeds of acceptable hate...

between the folds of faith and belief
tucked neatly in cushioned corners
lie the seeds of acceptable hate

through quaint pleasant rituals
and joyously hummed words
dumbed down thoughts
and dazed faces exude
righteous sweetness

belief wrapped in glistening foil
faith painted in gaudy colours
conceal the murmurs of hate
of embraced intolerance
and welcomed bigotry

the seeds of acceptable hate flourish in damp fungal minds
as indifference flowers into the silence of frozen apathy
with blooming petals of finely measured howls of rage
while the ever smiling faces beam with deep pride
drenched in all the pious tears they've cried

and so it is that the viral seeds of acceptable hate 
thrive among the genteel folk that quietly gaze
in silence at the slow creeping of the horror

as more seeds of hate are sown with manic zeal
and in the shrieking of this cowardly silence 
the seeds of acceptable hate 
continue to thrive
and germinate 

a child of war

as she lies bleeding
the girl who skipped and hopped to school
all of nine and a half years old
with ribbons in her hair and a laugh that was
her father's pride

as she lies bleeding
the warm bullet lodged in her torn stomach
she stares at her skipping rope
as her blood soaks it the colour of the cherries her mummy buys

as she lies bleeding
she sees the people through the thick black smoke
blurred visions of scattering feet and shoes left behind
hearing nothing but the pinging in her blown-out eardrums

as she lies bleeding
she slips away quickly and then she is dead
a mangled heap of a nine and a half year old girl
whose laugh was her father's pride

as she lies bleeding
for even in death she bleeds some more
the warm bullet wedged in her torn stomach
steals the light from her bright little eyes

as she lies bleeding
in jallianwala bagh in '19
leningrad in '42
freetown in '98
soweto in '76
jenin in '02
hanoi in '68
beirut in '85
kabul now
basra still
gaza too

as she lies bleeding
this little nine and a half year old girl
whose laugh was her father's pride
we know she'll bleed and bleed some more
tomorrow and in many tomorrows yet unborn
with that warm bullet in her stomach 
ripped open and torn

as she lies bleeding.

I am a 39 year old man and take a keen interest in reading history as well being appreciative of fine writing, wherever it may be found. My 11 year old cat has, thus far, been my harshest critic! I enjoy writing for the simple joy of writing, as well as for the catharsis, by verse, that writing brings out. 

I grew up as a child of a South African family who has forced into political exile during South Africa's struggle for freedom and racial equality. I subsequently gre up in India, Egypt, Finland and finally South Africa.

My father represented Nelson Mandela's African National Congress (ANC) in a few countries before we finally returned to South Africa following the release of Nelson Mandela and the negotiations for a new South Africa.

(author retains copyright)