Bonjour à nouveau, la tristesse

*sad*

my muse no longer sings

i shoved her down a pit and revelled in the silence. but now this quietness is- ah, who gives a fuck eyh? all i know is that until i am sure i can be sincere i am not to jot down another word, not for that purpose at any rate. i do not despise this but yes i do resent it. this is not stagnation, this is an upheaval.

as long as it takes. i am to remain steadfast this time around. 

•  It is selfish to burden someone with the weight of your love. They didn't ask for it.
• There is one especial thing I ask for in particular in my duas, "Make me sincere."
• This bullet point is for the metaphorical bullet in my head. Bam. 

and we return to this solitude, always, always. nothing in this world appeases our soul. we kneel upon the sajadah and pray fervently for light. light to wash away the dark shadows of the past, the poison in the present and the uncertainty of tomorrow. invoking Him. peace visits us upon the sajadah. peace visits us in the fatihah. peace visits us in the takbir. He hears those who praise Him. peace visits us in our prostration. peace visits us in our dzikirs. peace visits us in our dua. in our hands during a dua we know they are not empty. in the company of people, encounters with them, we speak when spoken to but we know they do not know our sadness. nobody knows. nobody cares. nobody matters. so we think of rivers, of crossing them, of drowning in whiteness.

I just want to fade away

Razbliuto

Do not read too much into my words
not all of them are for you
sometimes only a shadow of your shadow
but I confess, I have exploited you often enough
just remember, not always
not anymore.

There was a time when a spectre of you
lived in my mind, haunting me
but all that is in the past
I am past those confused times
I haven't forgotten them but I have lived
without them.

Intermittently, I am visited by your wraith
for I have never been able to slaughter it
I have not the heart
I am weak and it is no secret
A connoisseur of sentiments
you were my nonpareil.

All my verses if they rob you of your peace
as they have robbed me of mine, I apologize
The subconscious is beyond my control
but I slay all ideas of you in me that are conscious
I am aware of the present irony
but this is where I part with you.

Charlatan

I crucify you in these lines
I am a charlatan as much as you are one
My heroism is a farce
I am empty
I open my mouth and all that comes out
is the wind blowing through me
                               — A ghoul
who apparates every now and then
looking for somebody to
make aperçus of my soul
Nothing more

You are my intermediate
        I dwell in your resonances

Enough of this. 

Speaking in circles

In my mind
I have brewed your words

for years

They have come undone

from you

These apparitions now

are mine

I am a bystander

Of your bystander heart
My words do not fade
they wait

Of eternity I remain

desirous

Nondescript

Though I may appear to be so
     what visions I harbour of you, are not.
     Make no mistake of this.

My professions to your ineffability
     are all very dear to me
     and believe me to be
                     — very sincerely yours.

Do I dare?

Do I dare come forth
and profess it all in a single breath
this secret yearning to be your Icarus?
Do I dare disturb
this armistice and risk it all
for the sake of my unrequited auspice?
Do I dare?
Will my illusion not shatter
and you disgusted with me
disapparate as you often do?

Between us
 is an unscale-able wall, gargantuan.
                — An absolute effrontery.
And this is why you're my poetry.

Singularly insane

Sentience, is a singularity
like an Agave it greets death
with a spectacle as if to say
          — This world is not for me.

Am I not a singular?
Am I not a person?
I pass myself as one, but
             — I do not belong.

Darling, sanity
Sweet sweet, sanity
Pick your stones, arrest your hopes in them
             — I will not by by you.

tired