Tuesday, October 25, 2011


When the world come crashing upon you
you expect it to be loud in a morbidly epic sort of way
but to the contrary, when it really does crush you
it is silent.

I confess, I've spent many a flight
of fancy imagining what my personal apocalypse would be like.
I pictured time to warp into slow-motion
but above all I hoped I would be standing on top of the debris.

None of that played out.
When the last knot that ties your life together is undone
you can only watch and relish the numbness that paralyzes even horror.
You rationalize in your mind and when it doesn't compute, more silence.

I made my way through the hallways and down the stairs quickly
I could hear my heartbeat exploding in my ears
but most of all I wanted to stare at the sky in private
and hope rain would fall.

I looked for a tree in the park, one with enough girth to hide me
and sat under it where dead twigs, bark and leaves littered.
I stared at the green grass and the great clouds sailing above me
and wished that this beauty I'm looking at is all that mattered.

I wanted, needed time to stop. Instead
time went by faster than ever.
I knew I wouldn't be able to pick myself up
fast enough to catch up.

Because life's not like that.

The wind blew harshly, ceaselessly, coldly.
It helped to freeze my fears and dry my tears.
When you finally lose it all, you're only inconsolable for a while
then, a shroud of stillness comes to match the silence.

I cried for an hour under the tree,
until I'm sure the weather's trying to kill me.
Crows flew across the sky. I wondered if they were carrion birds
looking for something dead, like me.

I didn't want to go back home and I had but a few dollars in my wallet
not enough for a motel or even a bar of chocolate.
So I went back to my apartment, where waiting are my friends.
I stood a long while in the landing, making up stories for lying.

Underneath the tree, I was more alone than I've ever been,
more unhinged than I ever imagined.
God is wise. He made us so we would never die
of heartbreak but for me, it might be too late.


Knowing your place in the world is half the battle
the other half is to embrace it.
The eternal question of one's raison d'etre
preoccupy the minds of the restless.

A man in searching, travels
A contended one occasionally ponders it
A happy man stays at home
but a lost one, he is a prisoner.

Monday, October 24, 2011


I used to think you and I share an understanding
of what it means to be dazzled by light
as seen from the depths of an abyss.
Reaching out to the world above.

When the dark seeps into my marrows
I reassure myself that you feel it too.
When my nights seem endless
I believed that you too were sleepless.

Time unraveled the cocoon I've spun
over my eyes and now I see they're all lies.
Don't fret I do not blame you
I realize now you were never my consort.

For awhile, the confusion caused me turmoil
and I was spiteful and inconsolable.
Now I see clearly, truly,
you're not understanding, merely condescending.


I now know how poisonous heartbreak is
it cripples your mind and weakens you.
Your thoughts swirl with the elusive pain
giving the illusion that nothing is wrong
when everything is.

Taking the edge off by drowning yourself
in whatever that numbs your senses or otherwise
set fire to it entirely. As long as you don't feel
that acute awareness of hurting. You're so withdrawn,
each heartbeat explodes in your ears.

I have never known you to be cruel but you actually are,
just not intentionally, which makes you infinitely more so.
I don't think you realize that  each time I come to you
I give it all up. Each time, in complete surrender
I let you caress my crystal heart.

In fear that one of its many cracks growing
of it completely shattering, I bare you my flawed existence.
I tremble when you sigh. Your dissapointment
suffocates me. I silence my cries when you turn away
and pretend to leave me. It kills me.

I stand before you today to ask for one last favour,
that you never say my name again. Don't even whisper it.
Not in your dreams, not even in the muted privacy
of your solitary thoughts because each time that you do,
it echoes through the universe and finds me.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

My silence.

Time and again I regret words I've spoken
they hung in the air, alone and bare.
In my head I play constant revisions
of things I wish I've said differently
but more importantly, more honestly.

Most of the time, meanings are left behind
for my half-utterances are half-truths.
I do not mean to side-step when questioned,
just an impulse born of this fragility I'm sanctioned.
My world is small, what intrudes stays for good.

If I do not say much and it hurts you
do realize that my silence is my strength.
What little I have shared with you
if it's not enough or worse, offends you
I apologize but realize my silence is just a disguise.

In my dreams I show you a great painting
that bare to you all that I want to say.
You run your hands over them where lay
all my truths, all my feelings.
Before it we stood and embrace in silence.

Saturday, October 15, 2011


I stumbled upon Rimbaud
and his lunacy entranced me.
But then I discovered blasphemy
and it disgusts me.

But Rimbaud, upon your last hour
you  repeatedly whisper 'Allahu karim'!
'God is generous'.
Did you finally see?

Your renouncing poetry and your
was the travelling in search of Truth?
Of you, too much is mystery.

But you taught the children the Qur'an
and studied your father's translation.
Am I naive?
For wanting to believe that you too, believe?

Regardless, the elaborate affairs we live
rests in the blessings of The One.
What flowers we pluck in this life
its pollen, this poem everything comes from Him.

The Poet II

What woes a poet bear is his and his alone.
No other in his world ever breaches his trust
that he may put words from his soul to the air
where they sublimate.

Trysts with muses may occur but the poet will withdraw
when the inevitable solitariness descends.
If it is by accident that this universe is lonely
then it is by nature that the poet sees beauty.

He calls Beauty by names in secret languages
and feeds her his lifeblood.
What is borne then into their private atmosphere
is lost to all spare them.

A wordsmith spits fire. A true poet burns, illuminates his generation
guiding them with voices guiding him, sung throughout his being.
Half-utterances dies on his lips and thwarts him
yet on paper he is a paragon.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Any time now.

Don't insult me with wild accusations
there is little that I care about in this world.
Any less than now would fare me badly.
Any time now.
I won't be waiting
But it's any time now.

If it strikes your fancy, then exclude me.
Just wholly, leave me be.
I'm but bones of a long dead long forgotten idea.
A vague memory not worth the effort of pondering.
So do forget.
But it's any time now.

I will fade slowly but absolutely.
Not a faint image of me will flit through anymore.
I won't haunt you like faint music heard at a distance
because it's clear to me that I'm not capable of such significance.
Not then, not now, not ever.
So it's any time now.

Giant wings will fly me away
and wipe me away
from the shores that is your memory
long before you could even think
of throwing me away.
Because it's any time now.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Cry to Death.

Stinging your eyes
tears brings you bodily pain
giving leverage to the cuts
bruises or scars you merely feel.
A mechanism that purges you
and drowns you.
It affirms, justifies your right to wallow in hurt.
Often you wonder if it heals
or merely aggravates your grief, rage.

If one looks closely, not with eyes, with humanity
each drop bears an image of the poison
or weapon that inflicted the victim.
Each drop bears life of its own
captured words, actions, expressions. 
A parade of tirades.

But tears, I hate you.
Life does not wait and you stall me.
Wretched tears, you trap me.
You pry me of stately grace
submit me to disgrace.
Indolently sliding, sparkly tears
you bare me my fears.
If all my life is flowed into you
and this lifelessness escalates,
tell me, what of me will be left?

Kiss back.

Come board this ship
I am leaving this land of the living.
Join my expedition
we'll race to realms even light touches not.

Have courage, lose your minds
fly like Icarus.
Stars brighter than our Sun awaits us.
Burn in sweetness and be at peace.

Orion strikes fear in the hearts of sailors
yet we long for him.
In this quest for martyrdom
we will find freedom.

When your dreams materialize
and kisses you.
You kiss back.
Eternity can wait.

My muse II

Quick to flare
she's the rage in a vicious glare.
Every move so graceful that
a haloed after-image shadows them.

Garlands of dandelions
matches her golden irises.
Sun-child, fey-like, wild
her laughter carries like pollen in the Spring.

The curve of her shoulder
infinitely lovely.
The arch of her foot
the ground kisses tenderly.

To speak to her of life
is to drink golden absinthe.
A drop sears the lips
a gulp burns the heart.

I, you entrance with
dances that mimick fires
of a great burning tree
whose wisdom go up in ashes.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011


She ran her fingers through my hair
caressing a cheek, tickling my nose.
It is high up here.
It is lonely up here.
Just me and the breeze.

Eyes closed yet the Sun beckons still
her warmth burns through, fluorescing. 
Such an alluring red.
In a moment, the pavement
too will be red.

I inhale their expectations
and exhale disappointments.
I inhale my fantasies
and exhale their realities.
This life is small, it is fleeting.
This jar is small, I'm suffocating.

Nothing echoes in my heart
for it is not empty
what's left of it holds no song.
No reason echoes in my mind
for it's left me.
Any such ties I have torn.

Though I stood still...
the skies my fancies flew in
the plains my ego rests in
my vague universe 
my refuge
my love;
She leapt into oblivion.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Dear Serenity,

Though a raindrop comes from a storm
once fallen, it sits still on a window sill.
Such noblesse is present in you and me
                 it is human dignity.
Violent frothings from whence it came The Sea
a droplet's woe is commonplace
                 With that, comes Humility.

When pondering nature,
one in reality ponders one's self.
Tranquility is not to be sought,
one need only embrace it.

Let your senses roam
let your horizons expand
let stillness drown your extremities
This quiet familiarity from within
when nary a whisper disturbs you
                 lovingly serene.


I like how Rilke describes the 'vastness' of Solitude. I find it soothing.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

New York only a bus-ride-away

I hold you in such esteem that in the few dreams that I've had had of you coming home, I greet you with a smile and kiss your hand.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011


I refuse to put this feeling into a poem because I will then have failed yet again to save myself from this crippling, crippling, crippling-


I divulge this though:
                                             Time and again with Sun-like gravity you ensnare me.

I can afford this one single sentence.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Spring break

(despite the lousy weather) was like sunshine in winter, a gentle morning breeze, caramel popcorn at the movies, a lazy saturday morning, a hug from your kid brother.

All things nice that leave you smiling with fond feelings.