Gather your horses of hate,
I have a waterhole of love,
they’ll eventually have to drink from.
I’ll outstrip you in patience,
and know you’ll come full circle,
back to oblivion,
as to why you floundered,
knee deep in ignorance and regret,
panting just like your horse.
-Wesam El dahabi
We’re most certainly not on the same page,
your flailing and erratic disproportion,
is no mantle for a man,
Alone is still the best
Especially when it feels like you’re being chewed on,
and I’m no morsel for fetishes,
not especially for men of ingratitude,
nor women of lust.
#lifesaver @morning.owl this arvo
I didn’t plan this, but I wish I had.
If I had, then I could have arrived much earlier.
Many a breath would I have saved,
many a wasted heart beat,
a dry mouth.
Perhaps I could have not wrestled with so many souls,
with so many egos,
with my own ego.
One of the greatest changes,
I have ever experienced,
is feeling the urge to answer everything,
to not wanting to answer a soul
Perhaps finding You,
means tasting everything that isn’t You,
Your largesse, although not never in need,
is only experienced through my faculty,
by what minuscule it comprehends.
Being alone is only quietude to the outer world.
In reality there is nothing quiet about being alone.
Your mind is amplified, and the cacophony of noise is deafening.
Your soul begins to speak to your heart and the conversation is loud and outrageous.
The difference is, you choose the music, the setting, the volume and intensity.
If people who are outwardly loud knew the inside of us, they’d flee in terror.
-Wesam El dahabi
Irrespective of natural predisposition to introversion,
for some of us, it becomes a conscious choice.
Unbound by what nature wants,
we forge our way inwards past its reservations for us,
to kingdoms of our own accord.
The folly is not on one who lives there,
imaginary as it may be,
but for the one who hasn’t the conceivability,
who hasn’t the will.
You can’t double tap or swipe this into existence.
There is a method,
there is a way,
there’s the grueling of loneliness,
when you have so much to say.
When did my skin become real estate for anxiety,
and this world fool me to its allure?
When did my tongue choose the way so cowardly,
and my way become so impure?
My lips haven’t moved, and tongue hasn’t faltered,
yet still I’m victim to mediocrity,
my hands are frozen, my heart become hardened,
left bereft and abandoned without cure.