Unless you’re burdened with a weight upon your shoulders,
a rumble in your belly that makes those near you quake and tremble,
hands that shake like a fein waiting for their fix,
and this happens daily, repetitively, perpetually,
ever a marriage you cannot divorce from,
you’re not writing from the seed of your creation.
There is a place for you still,
but it is not amongst those of us who need the nucleus of truth,
who care not if it means dousing ourselves and striking the match,
just to free a waft of poetic incense into the air of your doubt.
Confidence scares people,
foresight terrifies them,
intuition will make them think you’re a sorcerer,
and all this time, you’re just alone enough to hear the voices they quell.
Crack open the nut and cloak in the Qit-meer of truth
Qit-meer is the word for a lace like barrier that exists between a date seed and the date fruit. It is the filter like, one way passage that sucks all the bitter marrow out of the fruit and passes it through into the seed. Try as you may, a date is unbearable when it is unripe, but once the Qit-meer’s job is done, it is oft forgotten as the martyr that allowed you to enjoy a fruit of immeasurable benefit. Sweetness is often the extrovert, whilst the introvert who absorbed it all remains pale and fragile, withered and forgotten.