Is Past to Blame?

Tell me, how am I supposed to feel

When all I get are crazy things to hear

my childhood was full of fights and nights of tears

I grew up shy with no words to ever say

I’ve never had no friends and today it’s still the same.

And now I’m always afraid of what move to make.

I feel like I’m stuck- I’ve lost from the beginning

Maybe it’s fate, or maybe I’m sinning.

I was never free, despite what it appears to be

But I’ve held onto faith and smile for hope.

I know I’m alone, but from above there’s a rope

for me to climb up, and let all else go-

ignore what’s happening, and keep writing

my list of wishes,

like how I wish someone would do the dishes-

I still struggle to live as life should be

But maybe one day, I’ll live as me

With a tough past, but free of grief.

and maybe I’ll finally write

when I’m not sad, but happy.

 

Advertisements

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.

 

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 

I can. speak

Was I ever in control- wwas I ever in control
when my mouth slips and slurs
when my brain forgets the words
despite my heart knowing exactly which grain of sand
I’m trying to put into another’s hand —
the pain of ushering rush, tongue tied
tight in knots, I know which grain I want to lift up to share, exactly which angle I want the sun’s light to glint and glare, as you wait n stare
What is it that makes me stop and sputter a stutter?  I’m stammering as I’m hammering my thoughts to bring out the diamonds the sapphires the emeralds but lifting the jewels with
Buttered fingers, blushed cheeks
apologetic smile, flushed stiff
cold sweat and jittering streaks I used to stuff toilet paper under my armpits to hide the overwhelming feeling of my feeling like a freak, an adult who doesnt know how to speak–

Nervous and frail I hear my noise..  I say I do know poise,

I do not have my tail between my legs, But this twist and whirling zoom is not tamed on a leash,
How much can I beg myself my self to OWN my self and find the word I know exists, the meaning I know matters the feeling I know is real, and even when that word comes out of the treasure chest I dug out of the marked X that I placed, the one whom I’m in command of- my tongue- decides to hide or my lips miss the signal that it’s time to dismiss another message to the listener I hoped to entertain with my play, my lines, my words, my simple auditory communication,.. now I wonder was I ever in

control

when I became shy and couldn’t say

why

With the Light of no source

behind the curtains
above these windows
with not a single star in sight
there gazes a certain light
belonging to no source
despite the thundering plight
ringing against my ears
bringing me to tears

I’m fighting for my sake
because my purpose is all I have
far away from the regular world
swarmed by the stories that are lived as untold
It’s not the material I desire to take
and rub it into my hands
pretending it won’t turn to dust
nor is it the lust
that bewitches hearts to rust

rather it’s what dries away my tears
the cool wind thriving through my years
guiding me to the light
I was sure was ever real
helping me see myself
above the petty things
that were grown with crooked wings
failing me to fly
to the greatest height of one’s sight
no
I see myself
above those petty things
grown with crooked wings
above the lavish
that seizes to quench the thirst of gluttonous eyes

I see myself rise,
not needing the sugar in the lies-

nor the endless tales in ties-

I see myself

going

towards the heaviest in size, succulent clouds
with rain drops
of no owner shared
ready to give
to that which is none unless paired

so here I am
behind these dark curtains
listening to the lightning
with no stars in sighting
having the one thing
that is the world’s most heightened
glory, with the wind keeping my secrets

to myself