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
Three AM silence,
is not a healthy way to find your breath.
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.
Coming to terms,
may mean ignoring your mind,
to settle your heart,
slowing your heart,
to soothe your soul,
soothing your soul,
doesn’t mean mending it,
it just means,
accepting it for what it is.
If it comes, it comes.
If it doesn’t,
there will be aloe for ink.
He with the darkest secrets should master silence,
observant with where his tongue may lead him,
treading lightly around the minefield of egotistical swaying,
until all the quiet becomes a guiding light.
It may be that this introversion is the vehicle for my salvation,
it may be that it lulls me into a false sense of security,
the balance of trusting the light and embracing the darkness,
ever so fine a thread.
Have you ever thought the same,
running away and forgetting your name,
having no identity, no guilt, no blame,
living moment to moment, without shame?
Don’t be jealous,
when my attention is taken,
and my heart throngs,
for more than what your flesh can give.
Don’t be zealous,
all is not forsaken,
just hush, it wont be long,
and in your silence I may be able to live.