Biography of Anand Brown
I am Anand Brown a 20 year old poet from the industrial town of Uitenhage in South Africa.
I am Literature student at the Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University.
I wrote my first poem at the age of 17 and never looked back.
I hope my work will speak to you as it has to me.
Anand Brown Poems
Awake In The Morning
Have you ever been awake in the morning? To see the golden Line hug the horizon when Sun meets Earth.Feel the
I Don'T Need Much
Tossed with neutral hope out of a kind hand, Towards an uncertain future. I don't need much, not much at all, A little sun,
The gong of the sun rises upon a dusty plain where comparitive kids join to welcome the heat haste day. They are unwashed by waters and standards of civility, but when they play they hug the world and their laughter creates a tune. As the hot pots of pap simmer in the rays of the eye in the sky, mothers wash small babies under dripping taps of little water Their love escapes them as they carress these little beings with kisses and song, as babies giggle and look up to the heavens with a twinkle in their eye
Bitter But Better
The darkness creeps so soft and fast, And terror fills our bones to last. But light is there in all its glory, I fight my flesh because He is worthy.
First Letter To Myself
Part 1 The time continues to tick away, And I lay still, like a
For The Khoisan - Son Of Man
Were you there in 1652 when the Drommedaris hit our shore. And the Dutch came armed and eager for war. An overlapping ecstasy of man, All to desimate the San.
On And On And On
Arch your back for a familiar God. Mechanised reasoning Conditioned thinking Expected speeches
I Call Her Sarah
She comes to me in the quiet of night, When all is quiet. She touches me gently, carefully And commands me to come.
Life On Earth
Africa Is Dark
Look at that poor child He is the face of Africa! Black, snot-nosed, hungry and filthy.
Flesh Is Not Flesh
I woke once to a scream of terror. The people crowned him with a tyre and set it alight. I heard too how they cursed him Shouting: 'Go back home, you foreigner.'
Trials Of Life
Life begins with a short breath to a long story. A silence march towards experiences all too gory. I savor joy, for it is short, I must smile for happiness cannot be bought.
I drag my body to appear before your revealing throne, With down turned eyes. I scrape together what is left of my courage to Face the truth and it is too much to bear.
A Paupers Prayer
He stood then bent over As if drawn to his bag Stationed at his feet. He scratched in his bag
Flesh Is Not Flesh
I woke once to a scream of terror.
The people crowned him with a tyre and set it alight.
I heard too how they cursed him
Shouting: 'Go back home, you foreigner.'
I saw his eyes, I wish I hadnt but I did.
And what I saw in them will haunt me forever.
His eyes did not give away pain or anger
But they shone of innocence.