Tuesday, 9 October 2012

Personal Sins

The elaboration of pain brings little
In the way of ease, it systematizes and
Contextualizes actions into places
I wish I had never been

You are unanswered messages behind
A blank void of a screen and lost formalities
Ignoring a call which my throat was too weak
To verbalize properly

You are bodies too close together and
Music whose lyrics intoxicate into a sleep
The slumber keeping us from prayer
The slumber whose lucid dreams you seek
Yes, you are movies on replay while books
Lay unopened at the sandal-clad  feet
You are Japanese cartoons, pastime of the fools
No shyness in the truth , that your measly
Addictions are breaking you limb from limb
Perhaps you can look me in these two red, swollen eyes
And still clutch to those desires and whims
Your sin is so interconnected with you that you claim absurdly
That Quran is judging you , that sunnah is but a man and
The times have moved beyond a decree set for worldly eternity

I am ripping you stitch by stitch because this
Gnarly mutated limb is not your own and
I am screaming let go but you point accusingly
"Your hands are red"

My palms are filled with blood, sometimes
It feels that I am cupping the life you throw so readily
Watching it drop miserably , trying to return it,
To explain but you don't want to understand

I try to pray with these full hands ,
I know the answers are descending
But the stench of blood overwhelms
I am stained, confused, where do I even begin?

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