I'd rather be poor to my bones 
than be rich with your money
that is like a trigger
ready to be pulled in my face

For Syria


I find a way
between my thoughts
and your soul.
A single line, thin and starving,
Like that of a horizon, in a pitch black night

I walk with my extremely long shadow
(Yes, long is the word),
Though I'm short on thoughts;
I'm barely reflecting,
I'm probably just deflecting

From every thought, but you,
Calling in for some hero to
Save you, to embrace your anger
Because it's only fair - 
It's fair for you to be angry enough
To scream, to break the horizon
between us, and make us
-You, I, the world-
One

No, this is not  a love poem
Wake up
From your emotional imprisonment
your sentimentality,

Wake up
Because cowardice is an ocean,
it comes fatal like a single wave
And sometimes so cold,
So tepid you can hardly
feel it on your feet -
Yet it lingers

Breathe in
Breathe in, for the sands of time will
immerse you in dangerous feelings
Like getting used to statistics
Not souls, taken away in half a blink

--

I'm going to break this line even
I'm going to make your soul my thoughts
-My soul, your thoughts-
So we don't recognize
Sea from sky

And your shadow will no longer be
Be heavy on me.
I'm going to make me you
You, me,
And right then,
We will, they will
-the world will-
be free.




*I found myself inspired by the darkness of the sea at night while I was walking with my long shadow ashore. Many parts of this poem are based on real events.
*The last part was not intended, although it appears to be, inspired by Neruda's poem "Perhaps not to be is to be without your being".

Photo Credit to Nonionik

"Poetry is a constant revolution against every injustice"

No no no no, don't seal your lips and widen your eyes as if they're heavy with all the words your lips did not dare utter. Half-close your eyes and pour as many angry words as your lips can carry. And as many heavy feelings as your face can say. Just don't give them silence; I may be able to understand it but they won't. Everyone will condemn it. Like wordlessness over a crime - it's just like committing it.

You can talk about silence, okay? Seal your lips and open them again. Let the pauses and breaks between the two crash the tepidity of the audience, of the world, and burn the coldness of the faces watching you. Just don't allow their expressions to intimidate you, as if they knew you. Never reveal who you are in your words because it's like revealing the secrets of your soul, of who you truly are. And believe me, there is no point in that.

Poetize like you know them, and what they need to revolutionize against. Recite as if you can see your dreams from a distance, trying to get hold of them but something's blocking your way. See how you'll stretch your arms as much and for as long as you can to reach them, to hold them, to fulfill them. Then recite.

And fight, even if you can't seem to find a way to separate your lips.

Unyield.

 Photo© retro

I wish I were the one to write you, with ink, rather than with my inconstant thoughts. I wish I wrote you like I write myself, like I write the world. As if I exist in the very place with my thoughts, not apart, not a single step away. I don't know. Perhaps I was consumed by the fear of succumbing to your presence that I didn't want, yet desperately needed.
I wanted your disappearance, so I wrote you in third person. Like you don't exist, here, with me, with my thoughts, with my being, with too much a burden to bear; the burden of the want to escape, with coward feet to move me from your ground. Which is mine, and yours (sometimes, when you're here). You, are in me, somehow, and you continue to possess everything I own. With a look of "You own me". How elusive!
I was writing and I didn't mean to invoke you like you exist, in second person, I wanted you my third choice; third person. And if there were ever a last person, it'd be you. You, who forever keep my company to possess my entity. To possess me. And abolish my existence.
To leave, with a question. Which one of us takes control?

2:51 AM.

ولكنها لم تَعُد أرضي

..فقد وقعَتْ فكرة في عقول من لا يستحقها

كالفريسة

لغتها أصبحت أجنبية عليّ

كالسائح

دعْهُم  بغرورهم

فيوماً ما سنستردها

بتواضُعِنا

Let's talk about nothing. Look me in the eyes. I'll swim into yours. And we'll just smile. Enough for the whole world to crash behind us.

شيءٌ فيكَ تغَّير

تحت ظلِّ البلُّوط

كَتغيُرِ المواسِم

تسقط أفكارُكَ كأوراقِ شجر

الفرق أنها تسقط حيَّة

توهَنُ مع تنفس نسَمَة الخريف

إلا إذا التقطتها واحتويتَها

في أنفاس ربيعِك. في كينونتِكْ

هي لك مُنقِذ  و أنتَ لها عُنوان

تتخلل أطرافك كلمسَةِ طفل

تُحييها أنتْ ، و ترى في شرايينك

طريقاً لِروحِها. قلباً لقالِبِها

تُغذي هَوان عَقلِك

وتتّخِذُك ملاذاً لها

تروي قلبها بماء أفكارِك

و تتحول نوراً في ظلماتِك

شيءٌ فيكَ تغيَّر

ماتت لكَ فكرة

كما أنت

لم تتغيّر حُزناً لفراقها

ولكن لا مبالٍ بموتها فيك
وهي مِنك. و لك. و أنتَ هيَ..

12:42 ص. 

1. They say a Haiku poem tells too much in too little. I guess I'd wish to be it some time.
2. Once you have fallen for the wrong words, you will be sentenced to death.
3. Everyone's happy with the fullness of the moon but the moon itself.
4. "It really, really hurts.." -She said. "What does?" - He said. "I don't know. I have no idea. But it really does.."
5. The plot of my life is really bad. Can I make it better in a novel? Please?
6. Your train of thoughts should never be interrupted by those who follow foolishly.
7. And in the end, you'll be little specks of truths and realities that waded through my life to make me a different person. Not you. A person.
8. The desert in your eyes fought the wind of my autumn. I wonder who would ever win.
9. If you look me in the eyes long enough, you won't find those poetic sentences in my pen.
10. I shouldn't make sense to you, in the same way you shouldn't make sense to me. And that's how we make sense with each other.
11. How can you not lose the depth of your intention?
12. Fill me in with yet another emptiness. Just a new one.
13. Uttering your name is already like telling you you're beautiful. And I'm too shy to say that aloud.
14. Trite things come beautiful from fascinating people.
15. It was as if I didn't want to see you so that our eyes wouldn't have to meet and you'd realize you were in my dream that night. Except that it wasn't a dream. It was in broad daylight, but called a nightmare.
16. Believe me, you don't want to know..

The pictures seem the same. With slight differences in colors. They don't smell of anything, though. But the words underneath, they are always similar. No matter what the memories hold.



*You know when you look at pictures that have similar colors but each have different words underneath? The words become similar, too.
~Inspired.