A.H.S.L (Love without Fear.) By Khabazela Mkhize

What is a/the word?

Word


From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia



For other uses, see Word (disambiguation).


A word is the smallest free form (an item that may be uttered in isolation with semantic or pragmatic content) in a language, in contrast to a morpheme, which is the smallest unit of meaning. A word may consist of only one morpheme (e.g. so, very), but a single morpheme may not be able to exist as a free form (e.g. the English plural morpheme -s).


Typically, a word will include a root or stem, and it may also include one or more affixes. Words can be combined to create other units of language, such as phrases, clauses, and/or sentences. A word consisting of two stems joined together form a compound.


Word may refer to a spoken word or a written word, or sometimes, the abstract concept behind either. Spoken words are made up of phonemes, and written words of graphemes.

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Weet-Bix

by Khabazela Mkhize on Thursday, 03 June 2010 at 18:20

In a world far removed from the sane we search blindly for ourselves. Dancing the shine away as if lost in blatant trance. With every turning of the earth we rip each hair from its proud root attempting to prove our boldness. Sure, we watched ourselves rise to this plain justification of existance. Through bloodshot eyes we even chose to consider the pain. Why life is only sweetened to those who worship her within their fullness. For me, she has just become deja without the fucken vu. Even the thickened streaks of love have lost their blow, their elasticity, their saturation...now i sleep on my pale belly just to look into her [life] shaken eyes and dream. Dream of the butterflies beneath my lungs, the cold music from my lovers' tuned tear ducts. Life gave birth while flying, most of her babies choked on their own blood from the drop into planet earth. While i hung by her grimy converse laces amongst the shy stars. The ones with scribbles of loves' name on their front. Tilting the light to enlarge that only one positive negative life took of us. If we are special then we should envy the doomed ones. They know lifes true flavoured beauty while the blessed ones know only her over-rinsed flaunt.

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.Untitled (You are her sky.)

by Khabazela Mkhize on Thursday, 07 October 2010 at 19:29

This time i sat with myself under the bonzai and we watched a dying star. This is what he had to say:.."That exact place you didnt want to be. The feeling of sure pain and coldness in your heart. The universe always manages to answer your prayers the other way around. What you expected not to happen happens...then what? You supposed to be grateful with life and what you have. Grateful for the fact that everything you wanted for yourself is at ruins. You wished and your nightmares came true. The thing is... With life the more you dance the more you loose yourself. You stood at the edge and released that last bit of yourself into nothingness. Where you chose to dream of love is where love never comes around. A dry ritual, in the name of lollipops and brown eye winks . Well join me now as i lay under the tree of a thousand stars. Your coy heart roaring next to mine as we orbit a dying sun. Your heart in mine as we breathe in life and point to the childish sky as it comes to a sweet shatter. It really takes the sky to cry for the clay to feel the cleansing love. Now the sky falls for you. You should drink and see who you really are. Who youve become... You have become her. Youve touched every corner of the universe looking for her. You touched every star and every bit of silent space looking for only her. Now you sit here and watch her die. Empty your heart out and touch hers. What youve become is a butterfly. Yet you are sacred to fly. Do you really know what the high sky tastes like? Every soul in the universe urges you to shine on. Light up your own sky. You are her soul, she your mind, you her body and together you make the spirit of your god. Dont let your fears be your memories.

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Quinta Essentia(to the birth of Timeless Memory)

by Khabazela Mkhize on Monday, 31 January 2011 at 21:54

Today by the cool water the lady of the universe shines. 53 days and she has grown to her prime. A banana dream. Today...when she was given we pray for lunar showers. A specticle to soften the black adobe. A show, for the birth of timeless memory. Today the wild child hovers, free over the teary shrooms, fresh wings that shave the silent air. Her shine is the magic of our life. The reason our mother the earth lotions her soil with wild blossom. All things are made ready for my lady. Today she is the mystical philosophy, sitting high on her throne, touching the secret alchemy. This day is ours to ride foever. For her to fold for heaven. I asked our god to make me 53 days to shape her and as the ultimate gift, with his fingers he chose to color her. By the dead and hum water a new world is created. The day fire gave birth to earth, earth birth air. Beauty is the fizz of ebony hair. More butterflies! More sundrenched butterflies! On the day of the birth of the Tao, the timeless memory...the universe. So we may bang our lovely heads foever!