Dear feminism

uzo6

I was wondering where in your confines,
my wife’s spirituality fits,
where her chastity sits,
if at all within your boundaries,
can her need to be free from men and women,
she can exist.

Will her devotion,
you permit,
will her night vigils and devotions,
you allow to be moonlit,
what of her veil, her shroud,
or is it attire you’d omit?

Ahh, her feminism,
for you stops at her outfit,
for you, even for her, unfit.

A word of her spirituality,
she can’t transmit.

Nay, your feminism,
is laced with prejudice,
and is pseudo-liberation,
white only, Holy writ.

-Wesam El dahabi

#justcurious as to how inclusive your mantras are,
if a woman content in her devotions,
liberated in her submission,
to her creator her orientation,
in complete volition,
has a divine addiction,
and is enshrined in her tradition,
she chooses to be abandoned,
from your pop culture couture versions,
devotes to her husband through choice,
would she still be deemed a free woman,
even though neither her husband,
her son, her father or brother has reigns over her,
would you still hold her and embrace her as woman as you?

Believe it or not,
not everyone wants your version.
So don’t be surprised if POC have aversions.

Image by david uzochukwu

balance

balanceCowardice,
has subconsciously become the default,
men and women overwhelmed,paralysed,
submerged in laxity, passiveness and gluttony,
too busy being fed the lie that they matter,
and all that matters is taking care of themselves,
putting themselves first,
and thus they grow,
age, and un-mature,
yes, UN -Mature,
candles flickering barely keeping a semblance of light inside them,
and never develop the character and spine it takes to help others.

Cowardice comes from never being vulnerable,
cowardice comes from believing your own hype,
never taking one on the chin,
just to see what it feels like.

Both the warrior who won’t engage his soul,
and the sage who won’t engage his sinew,
are complimentary cowards,
bathing in faux austerity of  character.

W.E.

dear grief – 5

dear-grief-5
Aren’t you ever the penance,
the saviour for my sins,
giving me a scapegoat,
from all that lurks within.

How dare they look at me,
with all my faults and gloat,
can’t they see this pain,
and tussle with the goat.

This horn and fleece,
this wolf and berceuse,
if ever a wrestle,
to lull and cease.

These dragging feet,
bones that creak,
grip strong, fingers weak,
solid, astute, meek.

And all your cohorts,
a reply to this deceit,
the gathering pool,
where flesh, grey matter and vapour meet.

Ay this grief,
is just irreconcilable,
unpicked,
meat between teeth.

And we all know,
how quick meat rots, and stenches,
hence why this grief feels like
vice grip clenches.

It lingers and lingers,
pungent,
always on your fingers.

Stains your sheets,
you wake up in sweats,
remembering someone,
un-relinquishing debt.

W.E.

Meeting

 

54860b2883f54c73d2cf571a49effc60

Bring your disorder,
and I’ll bring my anger,
perhaps we’ll revolt each other,
into calm.

Does it take one,
uglier than the other,
to acknowledge how vulgar we both appear?

Does it take,
fear to persuade,
to see past,
our masquerades.

There’s nothing nice,
about two people playing niceties,
just to pass through necessities.

Perhaps,
rising up to the subtlety of fine character,
is what is needed,
an acknowledgement,
that you are not sick,
nor am I angry,
but we’re both lazy.

-Wesam El dahabi

Art: KwangHo Shin – Untitled

Shadows of me

me5
And what are shadows,
but bits of ourselves that allow light to bounce off,
and make pretend we’re not temporary.

We’re definitely temporary,
ever so non necessary,
if granted pardon,
for the folly of ignorance,
and being carried away with importance,
we still, are responsible for remembering.

None of us have amnesia,
not so long as we have breath,
the soul records everything,
to the egos vexation,
and the scroll awakens,
when we lather,
to the spume of death.

A prayer bead hovers over my right shoulder,
ever the reminder,
that it should be between my fingers.

Were it not I had family,
I would have wandered in starvation,
in rags,
in desolation,
isolation,
a dervish, a gypsy, a vagabond,
nomadic, poetic, troubadour,
an alchemist of the heart,
absorbing strangers misery,
sorrows and hurt,
and returning a poem.

W.E.