reality looks like an exaggeration,
when you’re used to telling yourself lies,
repentance, such a lofty aspiration,
when sins are such in-severable ties.
where goeth my honour and pride,
how distant we’ve become,
my hands are unrecognisable,
i’m a man broken, begging and undone.
leave me a morsel of myself,
empty a crumb of me into me,
something of recognition,
with heart full of prose,
i beggeth thee.
all i’ve done is plea,
all i’ve done is bitten and swallowed,
until every recognition of who I am,
shifting and shapeless like a shores sands.
-Wesam El dahabi