Anne loved birds and butterflies

She loved birds and butterflies, although she never knew why. When I asked her; “Why birds?”

She said, “I don’t know why I like them, but I do!”

As I got to know her, I leant that Anne was one of the least freest people I have ever met. She never said or did anything without a great caution. She never danced without thinking about the reaction of those around her.

But I noticed that like a bird that flies in the sky, free and unconfined, that Anne had the potential to reach a high place. When she said something, it wasn’t the average; they were words that had the potential to travel far.

When she did something, it was often something worthy of doing or something that transformed another or turned into something new. And that’s when I made the connection with butterflies. For they transform from one state to another.

One day, more than a decade after last seen her, I met Anne and I couldn’t believe how much she transformed. I couldn’t recognise her at first, but when I did I was amazed at the transformation.

Anne wasn’t burdened by the years for she was lighter, about 10kg, nor was she burdened by caution for she freely spoke over two hours, over wine and cigarettes.

As we got ready to leave and part ways, I said to Anne, “You have truly changed!” She smiled and told me life pushed her onto a different road! Anne never drunk nor did she smoke in her former life.

As Anne left me, I noticed something that hasn’t changed and it was her love of birds. Attached to her hippy bag were several badges of birds, nestled in between “love and peace” signs and “freedom” badges.  

I guessed that Anne transformed but was still not ready to fly!

I waved Anne goodbye, almost expecting her to fly off. But she walked, and turned around before disappearing from view to blow me a kiss!

© K. Leeban

Spoiled Beauty

In a place that held magic and beauty in abundance – magic not always in its light form – a little girl with many interesting gifts was born into an ordinary family. One of her gifts was beauty; an outer beauty only eclipsed by her inner beauty.

When she was born her family gathered around her, taking in turns to hold the beautiful little girl. No one was more taken in by her beauty than her father, who would call her, “A Gift.”

As the little girl attracted more and more admirers, she also attracted the anger of a local witch. They called her a witch because she practised dark magic. And she liked being called a witch because they feared her. Sometimes her magic worked; sometimes it left her frustrated as it had no impact on her victims.

So the witch began casting her magic. She mixed a potion designed to make the little girl unattractive. It didn’t work, or so the witch thought, at the time. It would take many years for it to manifest itself in her life. However, some things did start to happen to her that immediately pleased the witch. The little girl’s parents split up shortly after her first birthday. A couple of years later her father died in a tragic circumstance. Still, the little girl remained the most beautiful in her village and the witch continued her evil attacks.

As she grew, so did her beauty. In her mid-teens, long jet black hair danced around her tiny waist and her smile radiated rooms, only now her admirers changed considerably and she had very few female friends.

When the witch’s magic made its way to her physical appearance, the girl, by then a young adult, lost a foot in a horrible accident. At the time she had moved away from the village for college. And the witch also moved on – in her case, she died a few years earlier.

One day her cousin who was sitting with their grandmother lamented her cousin’s condition. Her grandmother told her, “Sometimes beauty has to be spoiled for us to accept it – look at her; she now has more friends than she ever did.”

© K. Leeban

And what becomes of religion?

While led by men,

Its purpose to control

Free from questioning

Tied to a region

And time.

Abandoned by the free

And the thinkers,

It becomes confined.

And when those who find themselves in confinement,

Break the chains

For they prayed for a bread

Kneeling for the Lord’s mercy…

It never came,

They, too, will stand…

Then religion will be read in the history pages

Confined to past civilisations

In the same way as the Seven Wonders

And we will wonder…

About what they saw!

© K. Leeban

Homeless, I roamed

Homeless, I roamed…

I’ve been homeless for most of my life…


You may ask…

What’s a home? I’d say…

It’s belonging,

It’s love!

And that’s why I’ve been homeless.

As a homeless soul

I roamed

In searched for a home…

Bags packed,

I travelled foreign lands

From Rome to Ramallah

I roamed.

I scanned different faces

In cafes,

For a place I can call home,

And I went from a place to place

From a face to face

In search for home

Until I found home

Because I knew that home is not a house

Or a place

But a heart

Where one belongs…

© K. Leeban