There’s a story behind those eyes.

There’s a story behind those eyes.

The sun sets differently,

and the moon shines in the other

Secret gardens blooming in each alcove

with underground troves of words and memories

too deep to rediscover.

Be generous, oh eyes,

cry and cleanse the treasure beneath them

the treachery witnessed has flooded your ponds

wrecking havoc and drowning your gardens.

Weep away the dirt you forgot to sweep away

before they fossilize and erode the wisdom

you’ve been polishing over the

silent, exhausting, and broken years.

Beneath those eyes there lies a hero

fighting the mirage of a ghostly, ghastly, phantom devil

always watching and peering through

at all the scenes you see and do

collecting all the reasons for you to falter

digging ditches and setting traps for you to fall for

These are your nightmares, mirages that don’t exist

But the hero within, is real and persists

waging a war, a single warrior waving a flag

and waiting for your order

as You are the commander

and the phantom awaits your surrender

But the hero- the warrior, remains ever standing

for the call to finish your battle

every night.

ready to gift you

your due victory

and rewrite the pages

of your story.

 

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splendid manners of the wise

your poetry is just words and lies

if your tongue speaks with envious eyes

and you hold anger in your heart, further engraving your demise.

Because poetry reflects feelings; and the best feelings are of truth

And truth begets knowledge, and begets splendid manners of the wise

 

 

Determination

Palms soft, unwithered from hard work

Paper and pen are witness to your strain

Don’t you worry, your effort’s not in vain. 
Stubborn with concern, yet you stand strong unconsumed.  Your conscience is overpowering, yet you remain unconcieted. 

Don’t you worry, success is self control and constancy 

Not to live this life and advance it in joy

Victory and glory is an old ploy, used to fool those cowering into tools of greed
Don’t you worry, your hopes will soon be real

Just don’t forget how to forgive and feel

Draft for Perfection

Striving for the best will always come with a test

Struggle after struggle with no real rest
Have faith in Allah and Forgive any failure
Keep praying to Allah And forget your flaws
He’s the one in command
And loves for you to withstand
So tighten your belt
And draw out your pen
Its a different battlefield
One with red ink
So rise and devise
And keep your eyes on the prize 

You are the Feast

It can be your own mind that makes you trip
Cower and wince in pain
As if there’s a burning oil on your skin, you try to whip it off but you can’t

because it’s inside your head.

Something else poured that oil in
Spreading through inside your arms- not outside, it’s on the other side of your skin

Nobody can see the blisters forming on that side
Except the tears and dark circles of exhaustion around your eyes
You wonder why you can’t make it go away
Its 2018- you should be on top of this, but this toxic burning sensation is an age old poison

Where the only cure is that you survive it through before it kills you

You wanna scream and go wild
There’s a wildfire burning the forest of tranquility in your eyes
But its on the other side.¬† It’s inside of you. It’s in the world. of you.
Not the world you live in.

Why don’t your tears extinguish the flames
you hold your breath, for as long as it takes- yet the flames continue searing with dark shades of blue

something else poured the oil in, something- or someone, some how

fed the snakes slithering beneath your skin

and now there’s hell dancing in excitement, ready to devour what it has prepared with delicacy.

you are the feast. roasted and rattled.

all inside of your mind.

but something brought it in.  something real, something actual

and part of the world outside.