Power hungry ignorants

 

To beg to be understood,
to pant and pander for the approval of people,
is akin to sleeping with dogs.

The world and all that is in has no value,
so what then of the opinion of its inhabitants?

Only the feeble wait for recognition.

I have no patience for those who prostitute their character in favour of status.
Nor those who like children wait for every praise,
I don’t care an iota for myself,
what then makes you think I would care for you?

Leave this wayfarer alone,
leave him abandoned and in search,
lost in the wonder of discovery,
alone in solitude,
drowning in reform.

-Wesam El dahabi

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.  – Abraham Lincoln

Chasing the tail of the unknown

I bathe in waves of uncertainty,
I brave in waves of uncertainty.
I’m infatuated with the unknown,
this love affair,
is the elixir of my existence.

I scrape the walls of my soul,
nails bloodied like Qays in search of Leila,
peeling back the veils of the unseen,
just for a glimpse,
a glance,
a dilation of a pupil but once,
a palpation and shortness at once.

Even if they’re my last breaths,
this uncertainty and burrowing towards it,
is far surer than this dragging and temporary.

I have no use for all this mundaneness,
when in the darkness of the morning everything is dead,
and I’m suddenly thrust into the inter-world of life.

One eye open,
the other unwilling,
a physiological metaphor,
an anchor to pull me back from drowning,
my heart hurts and so does my head,
and it daunts me,
that I’m not as in love as I think I am,
this ego trickery,
has dragged me face first into arrogance and assumption,
and shame is now the muse for a time.

Likewise, the unseen does not reciprocate,
show me any signs of acceptance,
is it leading me on, teasing this naive poet,
dragging out a line or ten so that I may realise the uselessness of stretching beyond my means,
or is it stretching me to increase my means?

Maybe, it’s too beautiful for me a companion,
but Divine kindness has intervened with a preview of hope,
because I’m an undeserving beggar,
a dog who’s voice has become grotesque,
who’s request has become insincere,
but on, I request.

W.E.

Image Art  By: Aakash

Self inflicted lonliness

A cure is not required,

when the world is accustomed to hyper sanity,

free me then,

unshackle me from society’s insistence,

that I must breathe like you,

if im accustomed to holding my breath,

and drowning in solitude,

your hyper sanity is hyper sanitised,

and I’m a vagabond of self inflicted loneliness.

W.E.

#poetry

wanting

It’s hard to express kindness,
as much as you ache to,
when the aches,
of having it beat out of you,
remind you to lift your guard.
But there is a caress,
tender and wafting,
a breath on your neck,
a whisper by your ear,
that disarms you,
and suddenly,
you only gush kindness.
Being trapped is a choice,
if you listen intently,
you’ll hear it,
your want will turn into your breath.

W.E.

Image is the amazing work of Hossein Irandoust Moghadam

Erasure is easier

 

 

I’ve driven myself insane with aspiration,
and now without anxiety or misstep,
at the drop of a hat,
I’d wipe all I’ve become conditioned to know,
if it meant a moment with divinity.

In other words,
a maturing thought that pulsates,
that is the catalyst to accelerated achievement,
will have to mean erasure.

A vanishing if you will,
from myself,
this self that does nothing but accumulate waste,
until the toxicity becomes default.

The dragging nature of growth,
doesn’t appeal,
as time juxtaposes my reconciliation,
and mocks my milestones.

Time is having its way with me,
and disappearing appears to be,
the only way to disarm it.

Ironic that I’ve become,
the ammunition against myself,
in the same breath,
poison and antidote,
at odds,
in the minds courtroom.

Some call it schizophrenia,
perhaps bi-polar,
a thousand more names and labels,
man will forever find an excuse,
for dealing with their state.

Still, erasure is easier.

Wesam El dahabi

connection

I often question my aversion to groups,
and distrust in closeness,
and then I remember,
it’s rejection, that’s built my walls so high,
made my tongue fancy with wit,
my hand flowing with writ.
The reluctance to vulnerability,
has furnished my soul with all the excuses,
of why I crave to be close enough to catch your scent,
yet distant enough for you to long for mine.

This connection I crave,
is nothing more than a muse on crack.

Wesam El dahabi

introversion – seventy one

Three AM silence,
is not a healthy way to find your breath.

Depriving ourselves,
of what is normal for others,
awake when they sleep,
awake when they’re awake,
takes its toll on you.

When you think of it,
it’s double the work for half the survival.

That survival is only temporary,
before you use up your heart.

W.E.