The windows to my soul

the windows  to my soul

are not my eyes lined with kohl

it’s these pages I write with zeal

to free the voices locked in the embers

of life’s burning coal

There are different inks to give the links

and express the way I feel

From the ink of tears I share my Pain

and the Hope I transpire from the nectar

of dreams wished to render

 

However the bane is just the same

as eyes give their secrets

when they shift or dilate

My weaknesses are as easy to read

 

when what’s omitted becomes a riddle

to solve the tampered thoughts unwritten

of the smitten child  hidden in the middle

 

Tethering Scars

lend your broken hand for it’ll become whole faster

since there is no better healing

then to give your heart to those

who’ve been rigged from feeling

 

Become the open arms

that everyone refused to you

so you’ll know that you’re worth the while

than what the past

lies to be true

 

Charge at your trial with dominance

and you’ll love and cherish the moments that pass by

For without them, you won’t hear yourself cry

in gratitude

 

Giving In

It’s like painting a new picture

for the strange object that never fit in

Like a sock on a vase

rather than flowers within

 

Strange and despised

What nonsense is this

A sock on a vase? 

This art has no face!

 

Refusing to be abashed

The artist changes state

It’s the viewer who was wrong

And the meaning was misplaced

But the vase was painted over

with a desk and a sitting mother

knitting the last sock

for her dying little child,

because the idiots whose understanding

of life and living

is so very mild.

 

 

Lost to be Found

Not everyone who loses their way finds their way back.

Rather, they move onto a place better

Where their surroundings provide what the previous had lacked

And their differences are regarded as talent than trash

Of course the sadness carries on- for that’s part of life

But their happiness is greater

compared to their previous strife

 

 

Angels, I whisper back

Oh angels, I’ve given in

Your guiding whispers were never misguiding

It was me who always chose my own decisions

You were always right, voice of Iman.

I wish it were easier to abide by what you’d say

But you’d only speak once- or I’d only hear you once- for my own distractions and fervor would blur your song away.

Without you, my heart would be dead

and leave no goodness to plan ahead

If only I can take your hand when you lend it

and accept the offer to see what you see

But I guess it’s a matter of a leap of faith

from my own stubborn emotions

to actually make the will to further into your world

of patience and peace

It’s my lack of courage

to escape from my confusion-

afraid to face my very own delusion,

my ego,

my arrogance.

 

So angels, I’ve given in

because all the same- it never made a difference in the pain

except that with you I actually had something to gain!

I’ve come to your doors

to give you my message

that I actually

want to listen this time.

thnx-

 

Footnotes-

http://www.islamweb.net/emainpage/index.php?page=showfatwa&Option=FatwaId&Id=87539#vot

Iman- Islamic term for faith and belief

 

 

 

Looking for the Unborn

Why dwell on the past when the future guarantees your self-worth

Why live on moments that are not different than death

It’s happened and it’s gone

It’s forever away

and nothing more than a figment

or a nightmare

The reason is, you are never alone.

Those who are like you are hiding just the same

Living in the past

of shackles and thorns, bleeding away

distraught and cold

they hope to find the sunshine

in something already rotting

They dig to see if there may be something left,

unborn.

A plea that it may regain the light and bud into a new life

But everyone knows, the past is like the afterlife.

Just death and memories

Instead search for respite, come out of your graves

begin your quest for inner peace

there’s no telling what fortunes lie ahead

except that you are in control of the piece of flesh in your chest

that creates the line between you and your past