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Sunday, 24 April 2016

Gibberish

It's been raining for two and half hours , trust me I'm sure
And your freeze frames are piling on top of each other
Like bedazzled mountains blinding the peasants
Nobody needs to know how it feels to fall into a fissure of time itself
Or how the white tiles reflect back words repeated again and again
And you're choking on the silence, on the space between understanding
Like someone you should recognize
From an old poem I gave you a copy of once

I finish the paper exactly thirty minutes early
the admissions that hit the paper warrant only broken smiles
I would've done anything to take the sadness from your eyes that day

When I tried to ask the answers came quicker than my question
The walls of this box were tighter than I first imagined
So I learnt to breathe shallower
Then the words came abruptly
Like driftwood tossed by the sea

My riddles weren't riddles
They were tongue tied , suffocating
Between reaching something they could not reach

Really I'm a coward
always afraid of the things I want the most

My words hurt me before any one else gets a chance

A hodgepodge of untold stories
Of narratives that do not match

The whole world is one colour
And I am another

Maybe one day I could bleach the jagged edges to these sentences
And forget the watercolour rain

There is a price to being free
and there's little in me to give

Thursday, 14 April 2016

.

It feels like my insincerity is making a noose around my neck.

This narrative is laughable.

The light burns inside.

In the end, my end will be others beginning.

Grind my bones into dust and a singsong for the children when they sleep.

Minutes

I'm taking time and redefining it to end points I don't share with anyone
Because I've found burdens are more often offloaded than dealt with
Let me show you the detour every day until we run out of days
And I never get round to carrying it too

I've compartmentalized destinations into narrow strips of land
Where my kingdom collapses in on itself with every resting of this eye

They cant find these roots like the statue of a man
Knows nothing of whats beneath his feet

Help me.

Sunday, 20 December 2015

Laws

Winter tried to strip the trees of sun 
Our practicalities become unnecessary realities
Create elaborate labyrinths 
Where what is to be or to come 
Is a mindset away 
Because all it is , is outreached palms

It is cold and the laughter marks an old poem
Made young
False youth , and truths
And all these false appendages 
The wild baggage shall fall like leaves
Soon to be free



Thy Lord bringeth to pass what He willeth and chooseth. They have never any choice. Glorified be Allah and Exalted above all that they associate (with Him)
Surah Qasas

Thursday, 17 December 2015

Impressions

The storytellers are scribing their lives with the clouds
Strings drawn out , weaved into soft hammocks where only the children sleep 
Calculating probabilities of catastrophe
Like mushroom men whose furtherest stretch of reality
Are worn knuckles and greyed hands

There are lives that try to bypass God
Who sit in these fields and stare at the sky
The stars shine for all men

But the moonlight is mercy  


There are nights that shall speak
And rains that shall cry
And golden portions of time
that make clockwork of our lives

A decade old request turned into a breath

For all , for them , for us. 



'What is the matter with you? How do you judge?'
Verse 36 Surah Qalam 

Thursday, 26 February 2015

shame

Shame is where the poem ends empty

In my time of need , God covered me
When I left all honour behind, God covered me

Shame is the shrouds beneath which only God sees
Shame is a stagnancy , a rotting
Shame is left lying still

My eloquent tongue and black heart
My poem ending empty

intermittent

I teach myself lessons I once taught
Closed doors and epiphanies when apologies
Too late , always too late

Maybe goodness will be dispersed
Like flickered light in the periphery
Like something you felt once it was gone

Nowadays I am heavy with justifications
Such that my heart won't give way
Let me explain what its like in the limbo
Between hypocrisy and disbelief
Between too much and too little
Inside the silence of all the things I ought to say

I'm so sorry