Imperfect Poet

Poetry, short stories and other things.


August 2017

Our world is ill.

Our world is ill.
Our world is broken.
Our world is sick.

Our world is filled with the left overs of previous generations. We have to endure the chaos that they have caused. We have to end what they have started. In Germany, they are still paying for the Holocaust. In South Africa, we are still paying for Apartheid.
Yet the question is: Is there an end to this or is this the end?

We see our world falling apart, yet we never stop to do something to change it. We complain about the poverty and pollution and the draughts yet we never stop to pick up a paper, to offer a job or to stop wasting water. We keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change, yet we are the change that we so eagerly protest for. We expect to get better all on itself. Yet it is like buying medicine, not drinking it and expecting to get better. Maybe we should finally follow Micheal Jackson’s advice and “start with the man in the mirror”.

We are not blind, yet we struggle to see past the lies that we are fed.

We live in a corrupted society. We try so hard to fit in, yet all we want to be is different. We want to be accepted so we follow the rules. We tick the boxes. We do as we are told. And we are still unhappy. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), 350 million people worldwide suffer from depression. Our world is NOT a happy one. Why? Because we are told that happiness will come if we choose it and if we accept and love ourselves for who we are. Then we are told how to choose it and who we are supposed to be.

But we won’t let them tell us who to be, right? So we “rebel”. We are all so desperately trying to be different. So you wear your hipster clothes, tie your man buns, head to the gym. You listen to folk or rock bands, read old books, write deep poems, contemplate life. Now don’t get me wrong I too love reading a good book, that I found in some second-hand bookstore, while cuddled up in my over sized sweater, listening to indie folk music and drinking a cup of tea. But when we look back on it all, we realize that we aren’t so very different from the rest of the world. We fall under a category. We are labeled no matter how different we try to be.

We try to be unique. Yet if everyone is unique, then no one is. For to be unique one has to be one of a kind but if we are all one of a kind, we are all alike in that fundamental aspect.

We bully other people. We gossip. We judge. We bad-mouth. Then we stand in front of a crowd or sit behind a screen and tell people not to be bullies, not to judge, to be kinder and NOT TO BE HYPOCRITES.

We live in a world where crime is only frowned upon when committed by celebrities or presidents. We live in a world that thinks nothing of lying and cheating. We live in a world where we demand better lives, just to complain about them later.

We live in a world where “love” is now nothing but a lie. Love is a few months comfort, a year or two of roses and kisses and lies. Then the lies come out. The huge lie unfolds: It was never Love at all.

It is a sad world that we live in. Yet we accept it as such and live our lives to the fullest because “YOLO”, right? We turn from the horrible truth and live our happy lives. All the while waiting for someone else to fix our broken world, for somebody else to save us, to clean up the mess. But He already did, didn’t He?

And so we keep on waiting, waiting on our ill world to change, to heal, all on her own.


A peaceful world

I want silence

I want peace

I do not want to hear

Or listen
I do not want to speak

I do not want to be spoken to

I do not want to be told

Or to listen
I want a deaf world,

a dumb world.

One where no hateful words

can be spoken

or listened to.
Perhaps then the world

will be at peace.

A world like ours

will always find a way

to proclaim hate,

to make themselves 


without listening.


Happiness comes in many forms.

A bookstore is one, 

tea is another, 

coffee another, 

good company another.

So how can one then not be content

coffee in hand, 

surrounded by books, 

in good company.

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